FYM - 157

The war began again.

A force of two hundred thousand troops crossed the Yangtze River in three divisions, heading north. By the time they reached Xiangzhou, they turned west towards Chang’an. The entire Central Plains was thrown into turmoil, with the clash of arms and the roar of war consuming vast distances like a tiger devouring its prey.

The long-oppressed northern refugees had been eagerly awaiting the return of their royal army. Now, seeing the banners of the Fang family once more, they were overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down their faces. Wherever the Yingchuan army passed, tens of thousands knelt, shouting “Long Live!” louder than if the emperor himself were present. However, the hearts of the people in Jiangnan had subtly shifted—since the implementation of new policies, livelihoods improved, and the land investigations yielded significant results. Many counties’ citizens received land and experienced rare stability. But now, with renewed warfare, chaos returned. The massive army consumed enormous resources daily, all drawn from the treasury that had only recently begun to recover. This mountainous burden was divided into countless pieces, mercilessly pressing down upon every commoner who yearned solely for peace.

Voices of resentment rose from the south, but in the face of the grand vision of reclaiming the Central Plains and restoring the old capital, they were ultimately suppressed. Precious supplies flowed unceasingly across the Yangtze to the front lines, mobilizing the entire nation’s resources to the utmost extent. The Fang family did not disappoint; after the first month, victories came frequently. After passing through Xiangzhou, they captured Jinzhou to the north, and Shangzhou was within sight. Just a hundred miles northwest lay Yongzhou, the heart of the empire, with Chang’an right before them. How could this not stir the hearts of millions?

The puppet court in Chang’an, seeing the Fang forces advancing fiercely, immediately sought aid from the Turkic royal court. The nomads understood the significance of Chang’an in the hearts of Zhou officials and civilians. They knew that losing this place meant forfeiting the Central Plains, and they would be driven back to the northwest wilderness by Fang Xianting. Thus, despite their depleted national strength, they fought desperately. Simultaneously, they repeatedly sent envoys to the Eastern Turks, urging Duoluo Mi to quickly eliminate the pro-peace faction under his rule and declare war on Zhou alongside them.

The situation changed rapidly, with military reports arriving daily at Tai Cheng. Countless eyes across the court and countryside watched closely, including the young emperor, who could not help but feel uneasy, unable to sleep or sit still.

He rejoiced at good news and sank into despair when things went awry. His youthful temperament remained unstable—he was too young to govern effectively. That day, Chen Meng entered the palace as usual to teach the emperor. A report arrived, stating that the Marquis was about to cross the Han River to engage in fierce battle with Zhong He’s forces, personally slaying his son Zhong Ji. Morale surged, and they were now stationed north of the Han River, preparing to move westward.

“Good, good—”

The young emperor was overjoyed; the anxiety that had plagued him for days finally eased. His cheeks flushed with excitement as he paced back and forth in the hall.

“Marquis Fang truly deserves to be called the greatest general in the world! I haven’t misjudged him!”

“With Chang’an restored, the empire will stabilize! Our dynasty’s revival is imminent!”

Palace attendants on both sides congratulated him with auspicious words, pleasing the young emperor greatly. Only Wang Mu and Chen Meng exchanged glances, their eyes clouded with worry.

“Doesn’t Your Majesty worry?”

Chen Meng frowned deeply, looking at the youth he had personally raised.

“Now, the entire nation’s wealth and resources are in the hands of the Marquis. The Ministry of War is entirely controlled by the Fang family. A single thought can secure borders and repel enemies, while another can turn weapons inward. If he harbors ambitions of holding power through military might… how should Your Majesty respond?”

The word “turning weapons inward” was terrifying, but the young emperor dismissed it—unaware of the affair between his empress dowager and the powerful minister, he naturally couldn’t understand the deep concerns troubling the Grand Tutor.

“What does the Grand Tutor mean?”

He even felt somewhat indignant on behalf of the Fang family.

“Marquis Fang fights bravely for the country. The court should provide him with provisions and smooth his path, not be suspicious and paranoid, causing loyal and dedicated individuals to suffer unjustly and lose heart.”

Wang Mu’s face changed several times upon hearing this. Perhaps he wanted to reveal the secret buried in his heart for over a decade, but Chen Meng knew the young emperor had been raised by the Empress Dowager, and their bond, though not maternal, was strong. Revealing everything hastily might not alert the young emperor but instead provoke rebellion. Compared to the Fang family, their leverage was minimal, and they needed to choose the most opportune moment to maximize its effect. Clearly, now was not the time.

“When power and prestige reach their peak, such overwhelming dominance is rare in history...”

At this moment, he could only speak thus, each word heavy with meaning.

“It is rumored that when the Marquis passed through Jinzhou, the entire city kneeled by the roadside, shouting ‘Long Live!’ North of the Han River, they know only the Fang family and not the imperial surname. If Your Majesty goes with the Marquis, who do you think the people will see as the true ruler of the land?”

“The events involving Shi and Du may serve as a warning. If the Marquis truly has the emperor in mind, why did he independently launch a southern campaign and forcefully besiege Jinling?”

“Emperor Ruizong once favored the Zhong family, firmly believing they would never betray... But now, with floods overwhelming and the nation nearly collapsing, whose fault is it?”

These three calm questions, sharp and penetrating, exposed the bleak instability of Zhou over the past dozen years. Though not shouted, they struck home profoundly.

The young emperor wanted to retort but... fell silent.

Meanwhile, the scene in Fuqing Hall was quite different.

After Fang Xianting left the court, Song Shuyan was despondent for a few days. However, military reports and political affairs continued to come in, one after another, forcing her to hurriedly gather herself and resume her routine—presiding over morning meetings at Qian Ding Palace at five o’clock, then moving to Fengyang Hall to review memorials. Ministers from various departments took turns entering the palace to consult with her on regional governance matters, addressing each issue methodically. By the time she realized it, stars filled the sky and the moon hung high.

She dragged her weary body back to Fuqing Hall to rest, only then finding a brief moment of leisure to read the letters he had painstakingly sent from afar. These missives underwent much trouble, being confidential and unseen by others, so they were first sent to the Marquis’s residence via the Fang family network, then personally delivered into the palace by her second brother. If the Captain of the Imperial Guards was off duty, she had to wait patiently for two days to touch the edge of those precious slips of paper that traversed thousands of mountains and rivers.

Yet, his letters were remarkably short and uninteresting.

Usually less than a hundred characters, with mostly repetitive content. When parting, she asked him to note when he rose and slept, how he ate and marched, and he did just that, adding nothing extra. Yet, she was satisfied. Compared to the chaotic separation ten years ago, receiving messages now was a great comfort. The slightly messy handwriting seemed vivid to her, making her almost imagine him hurriedly grinding ink and picking up the brush amidst his busy schedule to complete this troublesome task she had given him.

“The war proceeds as expected, without unrest; spring chill lingers, please take care.”

The few concluding words carried a rare liveliness. “Spring chill lingers”—such subtle concern delighted her immensely. It was these seemingly insignificant details that made her feel his presence, echoing across thousands of miles. Yet, it wasn’t enough. Even if he were by her side, she would still miss him. How could the few words on paper satisfy her? Gradually, she reverted to old habits, using pen and paper to express her longing.

...Drawing his horse.

Upon reflection, she had never drawn him. Though his image was deeply etched in her heart, requiring no deliberation to sketch freely, she dared not, whether in the past or now. She didn’t know why their journey together was fraught with so many obstacles. After years of practice, Zuo Ying was now vividly brought to life on paper, his spirited eyes seeming to gallop towards her through the scrolls.

She was somewhat entranced, unaware of someone approaching until a sigh suddenly sounded behind her ear, asking, “...Why does Mother love drawing horses so much?”

Startled, her brush slipped, marring the flowing mane and tail with an improper blot of ink, ruining what was otherwise a fine painting. Turning around, she indeed saw the young emperor standing behind her, almost pressing against her, the distance between them mere inches.

“Your Majesty...”

This was quite inappropriate. They weren’t true mother and son, and their interactions always required observing proper etiquette. Moreover, it was deep into the night, she had removed her ornaments and wore no makeup—it wasn’t fitting to meet the emperor like this.

“I have said many times that entering Fuqing Hall requires prior announcement by palace attendants!”

She was irritated, partly by his abruptness and partly by the ruined painting.

“If you dare to do this again—”

Before she finished, Wei Xi, half-serious and half-joking, began to plead. This was a trick he often used, throwing a few jesting words her way to smooth things over.

“Mother hasn’t answered me yet—why do you love drawing horses so much?”

He continued to pester, neither referring to himself as “I” nor as “your subject.”

“You’ve been drawing for so many years... Don’t you get tired of it?”

He had indeed seen her draw horses since childhood, especially during the days ten years ago when Fang Xianting had just “survived” and returned to court. She drew incessantly day and night, almost obsessively, filling Xianju Hall with ink-stained papers, once frightening the young boy and giving him nightmares.

“It’s nothing...”

She avoided the topic, setting the brush down with a calm expression.

“Why have you come to see me?”

He clearly disliked her referring to herself as “I,” his expression a mix of grievance and dissatisfaction. After a moment of silence, he suddenly stepped forward, attempting to embrace her, startling Song Shuyan into taking three quick steps back.

“Your Majesty!”

She scolded him, her expression severe and fierce, yet her eyes remained beautiful. Her slender figure appeared even more delicate beneath the loose sleeping robe. He could smell the fragrance of her hair, daring not imagine what it would be like to kiss her...

Uncontrollable lustful thoughts swirled in his mind, and his desire to embrace her became overwhelming. The young man’s height had increased significantly, and ultimately, ignoring the woman’s wishes, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forcefully into his arms—he embraced her tightly, feeling her graceful curves pressed fully against him. His bones softened, and his heart burned uncontrollably.

“Wei Xi—what are you doing?”

“Let go!”

She struggled fiercely, but the former child’s strength was now beyond a woman’s ability to resist—he was no longer Fang Xianting, desiring her without cherishing her like her true lover. His increasingly strong hands left red marks on her wrists, knowing she was uncomfortable yet refusing to let go.

“Mother—I am afraid—”

He still tried to use the false “mother-son” title to justify himself, seeking endless attention and sympathy from her.

“They say the common folk kneel to the Fang family and shout ‘Long Live!’ They say that one day the Marquis will rebel...”

“I... I fear...”