FYM - 145

— Those were words she couldn’t understand, secrets he had never shared with anyone. Until this very night, he had even thought he would take them to his grave, guarding them for life.

... His survival was not honorable.

The events leading up to it were well known across the land. Lou Xiao had disobeyed orders and attacked Liangu Valley, leaving the southern gate of Mount Mou open, causing great suffering to the people. The Shenlue army was forced to urgently reinforce the southeastern defenses, while he personally led troops north of Yanchi to block the enemy. In Shangxiao Valley, a deadly trap awaited them. Wei Zheng and Zhong He appeared, and even Tuona Khan of the Western Turks arrived personally. Surrounded by one hundred thousand Turkic cavalry, the ten thousand elite Shenlue soldiers were driven into a dead end.

He would never forget that day: the yellow desert sands obscured the sky, and the rugged barren mountains served as coffins for the three armies. The Shenlue warriors fought fiercely, each man worth ten in battle, their eyes red with bloodlust. He lost count of how many times he swung his sword to cut off the heads of enemies. Blood blurred his vision, and the hot wind carried the heavy stench of gore.

No one on either side spoke of retreat. Cornered, their rebellious nature flared up even more. Men facing certain death felt no fear, only the noble resolve to sacrifice themselves for their country. Finally, seeing the situation turn against them, the Turks used fire oil to burn the mountains, even sacrificing thousands of their own soldiers as bait. The remaining Shenlue forces were trapped in the valley by a sea of flames, black smoke rising to the heavens, lingering for months without dissipating.

“King ordered Nan Zhong, to fortify Fang. Chariots rolled forth, banners fluttering bright. The Son of Heaven commanded me, to build the northern stronghold. Mighty Nan Zhong, drove back Xianyun at Xiang. When I left, millet and broomcorn were in bloom. Now I return, through rain and snow-covered paths. Royal duties are fraught with peril, no time to rest. How could I not yearn to return? But I fear these scrolls.” (1)

Amidst the flames, he heard a mournful song — the final chorus of his comrades. Having donned the military uniform, they entrusted their lives to the greater cause. Their fates were already sealed. Supporting each other until the last breath, he watched familiar figures fall one by one. Exhausted, he finally knelt on one knee, supporting himself with his sword. He knew this burning valley would be his burial ground.

At that moment, he felt neither pain nor injury, only the relief of having given his all and the helplessness of being unable to change the inevitable. His heavy body felt like it was crushed under a mountain, unable to move an inch. Just before sinking into darkness, he vaguely saw dark shadows rushing towards him, bony hands gripping him tightly, and the world descended into chaos.

... When he awoke again, it was months later.

He found himself in an unfamiliar hut, his wounds tended to by unknown hands. A strange child came and went, bringing him medicine. Seeing him awake, the child fled in shock. Too weak to stop them, he soon fell back into unconsciousness. In his dreams, he gradually felt a sharp pain. Struggling awake in the dark, he met a pair of familiar yet alien eyes.

It was...

... Wei Zheng.

He was tightly gripping his arm, his long nails digging deep into his flesh. His face, hidden beneath tangled hair, was sunken and emaciated, almost unrecognizable.

“You’re awake...”

His voice was hoarse, reeking of alcohol, but his eyes were astonishingly bright, as if staring at his last hope.

“I knew... you wouldn’t just die like that.”

“Yi Zhi, you wouldn’t let yourself die like that.”

He laughed, a trace of madness in his expression, his grip so tight it drew blood. At that moment, still groggy from awakening, his memories of the defeat at Shangxiao Valley were hazy, but amidst the surge of emotions, he regained clarity and called out, “Your Highness...”

Wei Zheng’s hand paused, the sharp force suddenly easing. Perhaps it had been too long since anyone had called him that way; his expression stiffened noticeably. He remained silent for a long time, memories of their youth in Chang’an flashing before his eyes like a revolving lantern. Gradually regaining consciousness, Fang Xianting remembered their current positions and circumstances. Their gazes met briefly, distant now, for they had never truly walked the same path.

“‘Your Highness’...”

Wei Zheng repeated, tears spilling from his eyes and falling rapidly.

“You always called me that... In the past, it was out of caution, but now? Mockery?”

“Why won’t you ever become my friend?”

“Fang Yi Zhi... you could have saved me.”

These words were filled with such anguish and regret, perhaps fate itself was inherently unjust.

He was the son of Emperor Ruizong’s favored concubine, backed by an ambitious and insatiable maternal clan. He, however, was the legitimate heir of the Yingchuan Fang family, whose sister married into the Eastern Palace, destined to weigh gains and losses and eliminate treachery. He harbored aspirations to ascend to the throne, while the other held unwavering loyalty. Perhaps initially, neither was wrong. But youthful friendships cannot endure forever, and they eventually drifted apart on their respective paths.

— What was Wei Zheng thinking at that moment?

He had always resented him for favoring others, refusing to stand by his side despite earnest invitations. Had he extended a helping hand, he wouldn’t have been cornered by the tide of events. How could he not know his uncle’s corrupt heart and lust for power? How could he willingly grovel to barbarians and slaughter his own people? Yet fate pushed him to where he stood now, surviving only by feigning madness.

He did not cling to life, but he lacked the face to die. How could he face his late father and ancestors? They would denounce him as a traitor who colluded with foreign tribes, a criminal who destroyed the nation’s foundation. He could only resort to any means necessary to survive, grasping at any faint opportunity to atone for the sins he could never repay in this lifetime.

“Now, I don’t ask you to save me...”

His tears fell onto his cheek, perhaps for the rest of their lives, they would never clarify whether the person before them was friend or foe.

“... Only, save the Zhou Dynasty.”

“Wei Qin can’t do without you... You must resist the Turks and Zhong He, stabilize those generals, and soothe the hearts of officials and the common people...”

“The world is already in chaos... Fang Yi Zhi, only you can salvage it...”

“You must live! — You absolutely must live! —”

His voice grew louder, almost hysterical by the end. After the painful scream, he seemed to lose strength, collapsing on his knees before him. A prince born to kneel only to heaven and parents, at that moment, knelt before his subject.

— The world would never know how much effort he put into saving him.

On the surface, he showed utmost respect and obedience to the Turkic court, even personally killing hundreds of captured Shenlue soldiers to gain their trust. The barbarians mocked him as a spineless stray dog, surviving only by licking their boots. He didn’t care; the more they despised him, the less they guarded against him. Thus, on that day, he managed to secretly rescue Fang Xianting amidst the chaos, substituting a burned, unrecognizable corpse dressed in his armor. Risking execution by Tuona and Zhong He, he secretly sheltered and healed him, clinging to any chance like a lifeline.

He had to send him back.

He must... let him take over and clean up this mess.

— But who would know what Fang Xianting was thinking at that time?

He was a defeated general; his ten thousand Shenlue comrades had perished in the flames. How could he alone survive and abandon them?

This was the shame of a commander.

... And the sin that would haunt him for life.

“All blame the rebel king for his lack of virtue and praise my achievements, yet no one knows the truth of Shangxiao Valley back then...”

In the Watchtower under the moonlight, everything became exposed, the icy wind freezing hearts. For a moment, Song Shuyan had the illusion that he wore white robes, about to leave her.

“I was never some miraculous hero brought back from the dead...”

He smiled bitterly, self-mockery evident in his gaze.

“... Just a useless person who survived alone with the enemy’s help, bearing false fame without revealing the truth.”

He spoke with difficulty, and for the first time since they met, she sensed him avoiding her gaze. Perhaps he wasn’t avoiding her but merely questioning himself internally. Her heart ached intensely, wondering why someone nearly perfect still bore such heavy guilt over eight years. The next moment, she couldn’t help but reach out and hold him tightly, his scarred body finally resting in her arms.

“It’s not like that—”

She shook her head desperately, trying with all her might to dispel his absurd self-loathing.

“You never colluded with the rebel king, never thought of abandoning the army to survive alone! — You were always with them. You didn’t need to reinforce the southeastern defenses personally, but you did. Wei Zheng saving you was his conscience not completely lost, understanding only you could handle the mess he left behind!”

“He was right! The late emperor needed you; without you, the Zhou Dynasty would have fallen during the Taiqing era! The people revered the Fang family more than the imperial house, revered you more than the emperor! You kept silent for the sake of the nation, otherwise, if the world pitied the rebel king, how could this war continue?”

He remained silent, his scars speaking for the hardships of his life. Her heart felt as if crushed by stones, each beat grinding painfully. How could she have been so careless? Until today, she had never asked about this secret buried for eight years. He had borne it alone for so long; what state must those invisible wounds have rotted into?

She dared not think, crying harder in his embrace. Wiping her tears, she saw again the character “归” carved into his chest with a sharp knife, fresh and bloody even after months. She gently touched it, feeling his heartbeat pounding strongly against his chest. Life was so intense and painful that she couldn’t imagine what everything would have become if he hadn’t survived that hell.

— She couldn’t live without him.

Many people in this world... couldn’t live without him.

“Why do you always treat yourself so harshly...”

She asked him sorrowfully, voicing all the grievances she had felt on his behalf over the years.

“Was it wrong for you to seek survival?”

“Was it wrong for you to remain silent?”

“Was it wrong for you to live as an ordinary person for a few days?”

“How can humans be gods? How can one always be the hero praised by all?”

“... You’ve done enough for others.”

“Third Brother... you have always been pure.”