FYM - 162

“... Are we going back?”

When she said “back,” she probably already knew where her place was. But hearing her words, he frowned and instead of turning the horse toward the palace, guided it deeper into the bustling streets. She was momentarily surprised, unsure of his intentions. The desolate cold wind continued to blow, and only by staying nestled in his arms did she feel any warmth.

“Over there is Jiangyun Pavilion. Do you remember?”

He suddenly asked, his gaze directed toward the dimly lit right bank of the Qingxi River. She followed his line of sight, memories from a decade ago flooding back—Madam Jiang’s laughter, the sensual music drifting from flower boats outside the windows, the squabbles among sisters vying for attention. Now, all of it felt distant, as if it had happened in another lifetime.

“I remember,” she smiled softly, then looked at him again. “I’ve also heard that you still frequent it.”

He chuckled at her teasing, their banter effortless and unspoken understanding. It was remarkable how they hadn’t spent much time together in Jinling, or else tonight’s shared memories would have been endless.

“Do you want to visit Qiantang?”

His question caught her off guard, leaving her uncertain how to respond. She sensed something unusual about him tonight, and her expression grew more worried. “Third Brother…”

“I want to take a look…”

But he went on as if he hadn’t heard her soft call.

“Shifan and Yuhuang are both wonderful places. I was in such a rush when I visited last time. If we go again, we should stay longer.”

“I haven’t been back to Yingchuan in a long while… If there’s ever a chance to return home, I hope you’ll come with me.”

His tone was calm, seemingly devoid of joy or sorrow, but hearing this made her heart ache. She understood these were wishes unlikely to be fulfilled. Yet, she nodded, brushing aside her earlier worries, and tried to smile brighter. “Alright, just the two of us. No one else allowed to disturb us.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Zhuoying let out a loud snort, as though agreeing and reminding her not to forget him. This time, she genuinely laughed, reaching out to gently stroke its mane. “Of course, we’ll bring you too—he can’t do without you.”

Seemingly satisfied, it shook its neck comfortably under her touch, its relaxed gait full of ease as it slowly ambled along the empty street. Song Shuyan couldn’t help but reflect on how deep her bond with this horse had grown over the years. Back in Lishan, it had been hostile toward her; even later in Qiantang, it had been aloof. Yet after more than a decade, they now got along harmoniously, allowing her to treat it with the familiarity of an owner.

“It must be close to twenty years old now…”

She asked softly, her voice tinged with a dreamy quality, addressing the man holding her from behind.

He responded with a quiet hum, his hand lightly stroking the horse’s back. “Ordinary warhorses retire at fifteen—it’s worked harder than most… stayed by my side until now.”

She knew how dire the situation in the country was. Longyou, once a grazing ground for horses, had been lost after the fall of Central Plains, leaving the military critically short of warhorses. These days, most officials could no longer afford carriages drawn by horses and had resorted to ox-carts instead. Precious horses were conscripted into the army for battle, showing just how strained Zhou’s resources had become. As a commander, he shouldn’t be riding a nearly twenty-year-old veteran steed. Though Zhuoying was brave and skilled, age had dulled its agility, making it less nimble in combat. A single misstep on the battlefield could cost him his life. Secretly, she wished he’d prioritize his safety more.

“We should let it rest soon,” she sighed softly. “Leave it in the palace next time…”

Her words trailed off abruptly, realizing she didn’t actually wish for another “next time” of war. He understood her implication and sighed as well. “I don’t want it to suffer alongside me anymore either, but it’s stubborn. If I leave it behind, it throws tantrums…”

She couldn’t imagine how obstinate this horse could be—he hadn’t planned to bring it during the northern campaign. But upon sensing this, Zhuoying refused food and water in the stables, thrashing about wildly. Having shared life-and-death moments with it since his youth, relying on it countless times to escape peril, he couldn’t bear to see it hurt itself in despair. In the end, he relented and brought it along.

Perhaps it understood his concerns because, over the past year, it had been unusually obedient and gentle. Yet he knew it was growing weaker. During long journeys covering a thousand li a day, he could sense its pain. The time it had left to stay by his side was dwindling, and both were silently testing ways to say goodbye.

“It…”

Before he could explain further, a commotion erupted at the far end of the street. Night patrol guards enforcing the curfew had spotted someone violating the night ban and moved to apprehend them. The leading general, clad in armor, shouted sternly from a distance: “Who dares violate the curfew? Halt immediately!”

This law had been strictly enforced since the previous dynasty and became even stricter after Taiqing rose to power. Its purpose was to prevent bandits from disrupting the capital’s security. After curfew, unless carrying official documents, violators would be arrested and severely punished by the Jinwu Guard, with persistent offenders potentially being shot on sight.

Song Shuyan was the current Empress Dowager, and Fang Xianting was the head of the Five Regents. Over a decade ago, he had served as the Supreme General of the Southern Palace Guards, technically outranking even the Jinwu Guard’s commanding officers. However, their identities were too sensitive to reveal, so instead of issuing orders confidently, they found themselves fleeing like fugitives, adding an air of skulking to their escape.

The Jinwu Guard, seeing this, naturally wouldn’t let them off easily. They pursued diligently, the sound of drums echoing as reinforcements were summoned from nearby districts.

“Swish—”

An arrow cut through the air, startling Song Shuyan so much her heart raced and her face turned pale. Yet the man behind her remained composed, calmly reassuring her. “It’s alright—it’s an empty string.”

One warning shot with an empty bowstring, a second aimed at the feet, and a third meant to pierce the heart—this was the Jinwu Guard’s protocol. Remembering these rules, Song Shuyan barely had time to relax before the second arrow struck near their feet. The diligent lieutenant of the Jinwu Guard shouted menacingly: “Halt!”

Zhuoying ran faster, energized by the chase and determined to prove it still had some fight left in it. Its reckless sprint infuriated the pursuing guards. Song Shuyan heard a sharper whistling sound, followed by the sudden release of the man’s left hand from around her waist. A crisp “ting” rang out as the legendary martial prodigy, Lord Yingchuan, drew his sword and deflected the incoming arrow.

“Whoa—”

With a slight tug on the reins, Zhuoying slowed with a long neigh. The tense Jinwu Guard surrounded them, brows furrowed and glares fierce. But upon finally recognizing the rider, their expressions shifted to shock, fear, and unease.

“Your humble servant greets Lord Hou!”

They dropped to their knees en masse, fully aware of the grave crime of harming the empire’s most powerful minister. Sweat poured down their faces, trembling with fear, too preoccupied to inquire about the woman concealed in his arms.

Song Shuyan, however, was sweating nervously despite knowing her hood concealed her identity. Unable to resist, she buried her face into Fang Xianting’s chest. His heartbeat remained steady, and his voice, when he spoke, was calm. He simply said, “Rise.”

They mumbled their assent, rising but keeping their heads bowed, avoiding eye contact with the lord. Song Shuyan felt his arm wrap around her waist again, the gentle pressure both comforting and affectionate, as though he enjoyed her closeness.

“The Southern Palace Guards are diligent in their patrols. General Lou deserves credit for his leadership,” his tone was cool, exuding the natural authority of someone accustomed to command. “However, this lord dislikes prying eyes. Tonight’s events must remain unspoken.”

This was a clear warning, delivered without pretense or politeness. Everyone understood the lord was protecting the beauty in his arms, unwilling to let tales of their midnight rendezvous spread across the southern capital. They nodded fervently, almost ready to swear oaths of loyalty.

Fang Xianting had no intention of lingering. With a nudge to Zhuoying’s flank, he quickly disappeared into the night. The rhythmic drumbeats of the Jinwu Guard continued, likely informing other districts to clear the way for the lord’s passage. Song Shuyan had never witnessed such a scene. The earlier tension of nearly being discovered gave way to a sense of relief, mixed with exhilaration at being seen openly with him for the first time. The thrill brought absurd joy, and she laughed uncontrollably in the biting cold wind.

“Are you really that happy?”

He asked from behind, his tone a mixture of exasperation and unmistakable affection. Her laughter only grew louder as she boldly shouted into the empty night: “Third Brother—we’re together!”

“They saw us—”

“We’re together!”

What bittersweet happiness. Something so ordinary between lovers felt rare and precious to them. She clutched this fleeting satisfaction as though it were a priceless treasure, unaware of the intense guilt and sorrow her words stirred in the man who loved her deeply.

He couldn’t reply, remaining silent as he spurred the horse onward into the night. She didn’t ask where he was taking her, willingly surrendering to his guidance. Zhuoying galloped freely, slowing only much later in front of an opulent mansion. She looked up at the solemn gate, engraved with the late emperor’s own calligraphy: “Yingchuan Marquis’ Residence.”

“This…”

She hadn’t expected him to bring her to his estate—a place she had gazed at countless times from afar within the palace. Now, standing before it, she felt a mix of awe and trepidation. Lost in thought, she remained dazed even as he lifted her off the horse. Taking her hand, he led her up the stone steps, each step blurring the line between reality and a dream.

Creak—

The heavy red doors opened slowly, indistinguishable from any other noble household. As she stepped inside, an inexplicable pang of emotion struck her. Imagining him coming and going here day after day while she was trapped in Tai Cheng, a world imbued with his presence unfolded before her. Before she could take it all in, she was already overwhelmed.

Soon, she realized the residence bore striking similarities to the once-mighty Duke Jin’s mansion in Chang’an’s western capital.

Though unfamiliar with the latter, she had attended the late duke’s funeral with the Song family. At the time, her focus had been on him and his mother, paying little attention to the mansion’s furnishings. Still, the place felt familiar. The main difference was the abundance of plum trees here, their branches heavy with blossoms. Despite the harsh winter night, they bloomed defiantly, as if oblivious to snow and frost.