FYM - 144

It was difficult for her to articulate her feelings at that moment. It was as though a thick layer of dust had been suddenly brushed away, and her heart immediately became light and clear. The wooden door silently closed behind her, and she quickly stepped forward, throwing herself into her lover’s arms. The warmth emanating from him enveloped her tightly; as long as she was by his side, she would never feel displaced or without refuge.

“How did you come here?”

She regarded his arrival as an unexpected gift from the heavens. Her tone, filled with surprise, also carried a hint of exhaustion. He likely knew about her ordeal today but chose not to respond. They stood quietly in a secluded corner of the deep palace, embracing each other, while the cold winter wind occasionally seeped through the poorly maintained wooden windows.

“I heard that you ate very little during dinner tonight,” he gently stroked her long hair, his voice low and tender. “Perfect timing—come and have some more with me.”

She was startled and lifted her head from his embrace to look at him, asking, “How did you know…?”

He smiled without answering, only taking her hand and leading her toward the inner chamber. She then realized that the place had been prepared in advance—a modest table was set with steaming dishes, including almond porridge, which she usually enjoyed, and nourishing mutton soup, ideal for the winter season. As she sat down, she couldn’t help but laugh, looking at him and teasing, “Lord Fang has such great skills, daring to plant spies in my chambers—it’s truly rebellious.”

Her words were playful. Sensing her mood improving, he went along with her banter, personally serving the dishes while apologizing, “I have overstepped, Your Majesty. Please forgive this subject’s offense.”

“Forgive you?”

But she was now thoroughly immersed in their playfulness and insisted on feigning anger.

“Such a grave offense cannot be forgiven so easily—kneel before me!”

He sighed, his hand not pausing as he ladled porridge for her, replying, “I’ll kneel tomorrow. Can we skip it for today?”

This simple, affectionate remark inexplicably made her burst into laughter—her laughter was like the chirping of orioles, her beautiful eyes curving into lovely crescents. Laughing, she leaned closer to him, extending her hands slightly, and coquettishly pleaded, “Then hold me... and I won’t make you kneel.”

Hearing this, he chuckled softly, his gaze becoming even gentler. Finally, he set down the bowl of porridge and lifted her onto his lap. She seemed to enjoy being held like this; he had noticed it back in Fengyang Palace. Now, she softly leaned against his shoulder, her slender arms tightly hugging his neck, as if determined to deeply embed herself in his embrace.

“Did you suffer injustice today?”

He held her securely, gently inquiring near her ear.

She obediently responded when he asked, first shaking her head gloomily, then saying, “I didn’t suffer any injustice... I am the Empress Dowager now; they can no longer bully me.”

Her words sounded somewhat childish, almost like self-encouragement. He understood that by “them,” she specifically meant the Song family. Perhaps in the more than twenty years of her life, she had never truly escaped the shadow of the injustices she endured in her youth.

“You didn’t do anything wrong...”

He felt a pang of pain for her enduring patience and silence.

“In principle, you acted justly, and emotionally, you’ve already given him ample leniency... You owe them nothing.”

She acknowledged his words, shifting slightly in his arms and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Their tight embrace seemed to give her a sense of security, allowing her to confide all the hidden twists of her heart to him.

“I know...”

She sounded like she was sighing, her tone carrying a subtle hesitation.

“But just for a moment today... I harbored murderous thoughts toward him.”

The latter part of her confession was hard to utter. She shivered slightly, seemingly frightened of her own admission.

“He brought up the past and threatened to expose our relationship... Xu Zongyao and the others were present, and perhaps I panicked then.”

“I’ve already let go. I don’t hate him, nor do I consider him family... But we share similar blood. I shouldn’t have entertained thoughts of killing him.”

“He accused me of hating him out of selfishness, claiming that my heart has never been pure... Maybe he’s right. I indeed...”

She stopped speaking.

—Why did she stop?

She was afraid, suddenly struck by a terrifying thought—she wouldn’t have reacted like this in the past. If things didn’t go her way, she would silently endure, and if endurance failed, she would argue. She would never have considered killing someone. It seemed she had changed; the sudden surge of power had twisted her heart. In what way was she different from the Wan family of the past? Both relied on something they had that others lacked to oppress the weak, even worse... attempting to decide life and death arbitrarily.

In that moment of clarity, she was chilled to the bone, finally understanding the source of the confusion and suffocation that had lingered in her heart all day. It was as if she had lost to herself while simultaneously losing to many others. She had to admit that she was no different from those most deserving of disdain and rejection.

Though the latter half of her thoughts remained unspoken, he somehow understood. Perhaps only truly virtuous people endlessly reproach and reflect upon themselves, while those who truly err always believe the blame lies elsewhere.

“‘Not pure’...”

He repeated those words, his voice unusually low. She looked up at his eyes, seeing under the dim lamplight that the mole near his eye glistened as if about to weep.

“Third Brother...”

She called out to him uncertainly, unsure of what he was thinking. He lowered his gaze to meet hers but, contrary to her expectations, did not offer comforting words. Instead, he once again personally brought the bowl of porridge to her, saying, “Have some. It will warm you up.”

He handed her the spoon with his right hand, lightly touching her hand: “You’re too cold.”

She wasn’t cold anymore—she felt warmth and comfort the moment she was with him. Still, she shook her head, saying she wasn’t hungry. After much coaxing, he finally managed to get her to drink half a bowl of hot porridge and eat a few pieces of mutton. Gradually, her previously pale cheeks regained a rosy hue, and her complexion improved significantly.

He seemed reassured and stopped urging her further. A moment later, he asked, “Do you want to go up and take a look?”

She blinked, her gaze following his to the spiral staircase not far from them. The Liang Palace was extravagantly luxurious, and this ancient tower, over twenty zhang tall with seven stories, was once known as the Pagoda Tower, built by the Liang Emperor out of devotion to Buddhism. Climbing to the top offered a panoramic view of Taicheng.

She wasn’t particularly interested, but since he suggested it, she wanted to comply. With a soft acknowledgment, she rose with him. He walked ahead, holding her hand, both of them moving through the dim light. The old wooden stairs occasionally creaked, and the weight of history seemed to brush past them in those faint sounds.

“Lighting is inconvenient at higher levels; be careful where you step.”

He carefully reminded her, seemingly worried she might be afraid. After the southern migration, the palace had cut expenses rigorously. Ancient towers like this one, rarely used, naturally received no funds for repairs. They lit a couple of candles at the entrance, but going higher was impractical for lighting, so they ascended in darkness, which was indeed somewhat eerie at this late hour.

But she wasn’t afraid. Though she couldn’t clearly see the path beneath her feet, she could always see his figure ahead—so steady and composed, as if capable of bearing immense burdens alone, ensuring she wouldn’t encounter any danger.

Thus, she remained silent, quietly following him as they climbed the winding wooden stairs. When they reached the highest point, everything suddenly opened up: twelve wooden windows on all sides were wide open, revealing a clear, cloudless winter night sky. The bright moonlight flowed like water, illuminating everything clearly. The entire city of Jinling seemed to lie beneath their feet, and the distant lights of countless homes seemed intimately connected to them.

For a moment, she was awestruck. What she felt wasn’t the exhilaration of “standing atop the peak, overlooking lesser mountains,” but the vast freedom of “drifting on a reed, amidst boundless uncertainty.” She moved out from behind him, walking toward the snowy moonlight, braving the cold night breeze. The only shelter was a simple, plain painted screen. At the sight of it, her heart began to race uncontrollably, overwhelmed by fervent emotions. When she saw the familiar spring landscape and the “Nine-Nine Winter Counting Chart” they had sketched together ten years ago, she inevitably welled up with tears.

That...

What was...

She reached out in disbelief, never expecting to see this weathered old chart again after ten years of wandering. When was the last time she saw it? In Yingchuan, in his study, she found the wooden box she had once given him tucked away in a corner of his desk. Their severed connection continued in a nearly mystical way on paper, but she was hastily taken back to Jinling by her elder brother and never had the chance to retrieve and take the old painting with her.

But he...

“I brought it back...”

He had walked to her side, gently embracing her from behind, the familiar warmth enveloping her again. At that moment, she truly felt she had received all of fate’s blessings.

“All these years... it has been with me.”

His words were always simple, providing only results and never mentioning the convoluted processes in between. He wouldn’t describe the desolate scene he encountered when he returned alone to Yingchuan eight years ago, nor would he tell her how he felt half a year late visiting his mother’s grave. He wouldn’t speak of the complex mix of sorrow and joy he experienced finding the last traces of her memory in old papers. None of it would be said—he would only say, “It has been with me.”

She cried until tears streamed down her face and her body trembled. If not for his tight embrace, she surely would have collapsed weakly to the ground. The ink marks on the silk paper had faded somewhat, but the joys, sorrows, loves, and hatreds between them were evidently deeper and more profound than they were ten years ago.

He lifted her horizontally into his arms. Behind the painted screen was a bed. He carefully wrapped her in a thick brocade quilt, while slowly undoing his own clothes, revealing his bare upper body. The pure, white moonlight clearly illuminated his chiseled, handsome physique, covered with grotesque scars. These were his medals and his pains, densely recording all the hardships and calamities of his lifelong battles.

“They say your heart is ‘not pure.’ What about me?”

He looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with indescribable struggle and pain.

“If I told you how I returned from Shangxiao Valley... would you still think I am pure?”