FYM - 146

She had been holding these words in for too long, from their first meeting over a decade ago until now. Finally, she spoke them with heartfelt release, though she couldn’t quite tell whether she felt anger or sorrow at that moment.

The cold wind outside the ancient tower rustled and whistled. The scar on his chest seemed to burn, and her lips were suddenly warm as he kissed her deeply. Their love and desire mirrored his pain—hidden from the world for a lifetime.

He pushed her down onto the bed, where soft brocade quilts finally replaced the musty straw beneath her. Their intimacy was more uninhibited than that night; she lost count of how many times he pushed her to her limits. He embodied both ultimate power and profound humility, as if cherishing her most tenderly while also relishing seeing her cornered. In the pure moonlight, they clung tightly to each other, believing in each other’s purity while firmly convinced of their own filth.

“Yingying...”

“Yingying...”

He called her this again, uttering this secret name only in moments of deepest passion. She felt her heart soften impossibly, melting into a pool of spring water as she sank into his embrace. The moonlight was blocked by his figure, and in the darkness, she could not see his face but only feel his warm breath.

His astonishing strength was frightening. She had no doubt he could easily break her, yet his love for her clashed fiercely with an unprecedented, inexplicable brutality. She was his trophy, and only she could let him find himself in fleeting moments of pleasure. He could live for her, die for her—if loving her was truly selfish desire, then he would be irredeemably selfish forever.

In the final moment, he was about to lose control—he seemed to want… to…

She was already lost in a daze when she felt him abruptly withdraw, hot sweat dripping onto her chest. After a long while, his nearly exhausted body pulled her back into his arms. His hair intertwined with hers, and like fish and water, they were inseparable. His voice carried both restraint and defeat as he called her again: “...Yingying.”

... The moonlight was like water.

The painted screen depicted endless spring mountains.

After an unknown amount of time, the clouds and rain finally dissipated. The Watchtower was silent, and the night had deepened.

Song Shuyan’s eyelids were so heavy she couldn’t lift them. As she drifted off, she didn’t even know where she was. In her haze, she felt herself carefully lifted, then enveloped by warm water. She softly called out, a little afraid, but his hand quickly wrapped around her again. With great effort, she opened her eyes and saw him personally bathing her with care.

“I’m sleepy…”

She complained to him, her voice barely audible, but fortunately, his warrior-trained hearing caught it. He soothed her, saying, “Just a little longer, wait a bit more.”

She had meant to protest further, but his hands gently massaged her lower back under the water. His slightly rough fingers expertly applied pressure, quickly easing the unbearable soreness. She sighed in comfort, unwilling to pull away, and finally allowed him to take care of her.

The room couldn’t be lit, making many tasks troublesome. Fuzzily, she heard him bump into things several times and fumble for a towel for what seemed like ages. By the time he dressed her and carried her back to the bed, most of her sleepiness had faded. She heard him quickly tidy up and return to her side, fully awake by the time he lay down beside her.

“Cold…”

She muttered, burrowing into his embrace as if truly cold. But the windows were already closed, and the room was warmed by several charcoal braziers, just like Fuqing Hall. Unaware of her playful thoughts, he worried she was genuinely cold and frowned, saying, “Are you cold? Should I send you back?”

She chuckled softly, slipping her cool hand into his loose garment. His body was warm, and she felt comfortable again: “...If you hold me, I won’t be cold.”

He paused, then chuckled softly, pulling her closer as he sighed, “Didn’t you say you were sleepy earlier?... I can’t resist your antics.”

The latter part of his statement carried much meaning—it wasn’t an exaggeration. After all, he was a warrior who hadn’t been with a woman for years. Now that his wounds had healed, if not for her delicate constitution, he surely...

She understood, blushing as she lightly hit him. His demands overwhelmed her, and even thinking about it now made her blush and her heart race like a deer.

He knew her shyness and that he shouldn’t push her further tonight. Taking a shallow breath to suppress his desires, he closed his eyes and said, “Sleep.”

She murmured in response, but images from before the bath kept flashing in her mind. He had been unable to control himself, and in the final moment, it seemed…

“...Do you want a child?”

She suddenly asked in the deep, silent darkness.

His eyes snapped open, and the hand resting on her shoulder tightened slightly. For a long time, he didn’t answer, and the silence between them grew profound.

“...Why bring this up now?”

He finally spoke, his voice subtly low, a difference she could discern. No one knew this man’s every word and gesture better than she did. She snuggled deeper into his embrace, her reply light, “It’s nothing... I just thought of it.”

After a pause, her voice grew softer: “...You should have heirs.”

...Yes.

How could a warrior who frequently fought battles remain without descendants? He was past thirty, an age when ordinary nobles already had numerous wives, concubines, and children. Yet he remained alone, and she…

He understood her as much as she understood him. Despite her efforts to conceal it, her longing was evident—she wanted to give him a child, to have the most ordinary completeness between them. But in the deep palace, even a single meeting required countless cover-ups to fulfill, let alone allowing her to carry a child for ten months?

...She would be in mortal danger.

“There is no ‘should’,” his tone was serious, as if demanding she abandon these foolish thoughts immediately. “Shuyan, you don’t need to think about these things.”

“Yingying” became “Shuyan”—she knew he was being earnest. Her sense of regret grew heavier, knowing their relationship could never be complete.

“How can I not think about it?” she sounded a little aggrieved. “Ordinary couples... always have children.”

She wanted to be a mother.

Perhaps because she had lacked affection at home during her youth, her longing for familial bliss was stronger than others’. When she had pledged her love to him in Qiantang, she had dreamed of a future where they would walk hand in hand. She would be a good wife and a good mother, supporting and accompanying her loved ones year after year.

He knew what she desired, but the word “ordinary” was far removed from their reality. She was now the Empress Dowager, scrutinized by the court and the palace. His marriage carried immense implications, and any move would instantly cause an uproar. Where could they find such “ordinariness”?

“And you are the lord of the Yingchuan Fang family,” her voice grew heavier. “...You must have a child to inherit the title, right?”

Some things couldn’t be avoided. Their difficulty lay in seeking survival on a dead-end path—a truth both she and he understood. Thus, his response came slowly, likely searching for an escape in their unsolvable predicament.

“My father wasn’t the eldest son of the household—you know this, right?”

He suddenly asked, though the topic shifted far.

“He was my grandfather’s second son, inheriting the title only because my uncle disliked martial pursuits and had no military achievements. Therefore, he always felt indebted to the main branch and often urged me to care for Zi Xing and the others... If I have no heir, I can return the title to my brother. This would resolve my father’s lifelong guilt and provide some justification to the family.”

He spoke calmly, every word filled with acceptance.

“The ‘ordinariness’ you speak of is indeed the best thing in the world. But for me, everything else is just embellishment—only you are essential. Whether ordinary or not, I can’t bear to part with you, nor do I think anything else is more important than you.”

“You say I’ve never owed anyone, yet you always feel indebted to me... Having no heir isn’t just my regret—it’s an even greater incompleteness for you. Why do you feel guilty toward me? Shouldn’t you resent me for not being able to leave everything behind and take you away?”

His question left her speechless, not just because she didn’t know how to respond but also because she was awed by his frankness and tenderness.

“It’s not like that…” she weakly countered, “I…”

He knew her helplessness, and in the darkness, they clung to each other. The world was so quiet they could clearly hear each other’s heartbeats.

“I also want to take you away…”

His hidden selfishness finally surfaced, voicing the words buried in his heart since the late emperor’s reign.

“If there’s a chance, perhaps later... Shuyan, I…”

These were unsustainable words, and she knew how taboo they were for him—not just because of the Yingchuan Fang family’s highest principles, nor solely because of the characters “Xian” and “Yi” in his name, but because he couldn’t let go of many things that had heavily burdened and entangled him.

“I know.”

She interrupted him, unwilling to let him voice those difficult words. Gradually, she began to understand, and her smile wasn’t entirely feigned.

“I was too greedy… Back in Chang’an, I thought seeing you once would be enough. Later in Jiangnan, I wished to be with you. In Luoyang, hearing news of you from others seemed sufficient. Now, I even want to have a child with you…”

She softly laughed, as if mocking her own insatiability.

“You don’t need to indulge me—I already feel very satisfied. ‘Ordinariness’… in these turbulent times, who lives an ordinary life? Everyone struggles and worries day and night, uncertain of life and death.”

“Besides, there’s Xi’er—”

Her spirits lifted as she mentioned him, her voice carrying joy, as if truly hopeful for this adopted son with whom she shared no blood.

“We can consider him our child—I’ll raise him and teach him how to navigate life, and you’ll protect him until he grows into a wise and virtuous ruler… What’s incomplete about that?”

She wasn’t speaking empty words—he could hear the warmth in her heart. Their paths had been difficult individually, but fortunately, they could still walk together, whatever the future held.

“...Mm.”

He softly responded, placing another kiss on her brow. Under the moonlight, the spring mountains stretched endlessly, and his gaze upon them was cautious yet profound.