FYM - 168

The mention of “man-made calamity” caused Wei Bi’s expression to shift. He looked at his daughter with a subtle, complex gaze, sighed deeply, and finally pushed open the door to the study. “Come in and speak.”

Wei Lan immediately followed him inside. As soon as the door closed, she anxiously pressed on: “I guessed correctly? This battle is truly a conspiracy between Father and Chang’an?”

“But… why?

“Our dynasty is already so impoverished—another war will only…”

She couldn’t bring herself to finish, fearing that uttering the word “collapse” might make it come true. Perhaps at that moment, she had thought of an even more terrifying possibility, causing her lips and tongue to stiffen involuntarily. “Unless this battle isn’t meant to be a life-or-death struggle with Chang’an…”

“But rather… to kill Lord Fang?”

That single word, “kill,” sent shockwaves through the room. The moment it left her lips, a thick layer of frost seemed to form in her father’s eyes. Wei Lan’s heart plummeted into an abyss, overwhelmed by an unprecedented surge of fear that left her flustered and disoriented.

“So you’re really planning to kill him!”

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Father, how could you be so foolish—”

“How much Han blood has stained the hands of the rebel king Zhong He and Wei Zheng? Aligning with them will only bring eternal infamy! They are already at their wits’ end—do you intend to follow in the footsteps of the Zhong family, becoming puppets of the Tujue?”

“Lord Fang has been a protector of our nation! Without him, the Zhou dynasty is finished! And what good would killing him do? Even a centipede writhes after death—how could the mighty Yingchuan Fang clan possibly be uprooted?”

“At this critical juncture, our court must not sow discord within its own ranks! Only by standing united with Lord Fang can we ensure temporary stability! Father… please reconsider!”

Her words were heartfelt, each sentence brimming with insight—an impressive feat for a noblewoman rarely exposed to such matters. But her father only shook his head and chuckled, countering: “Wasn’t it you who always hoped I’d avenge your honor when Fang Yizhi refused our marriage proposal? Why now defend him? Could it be you still can’t forget those old feelings for him?”

The notion of “old feelings” was entirely baseless. In truth, there had never been anything between Fang Xianting and Wei Lan beyond the latter’s one-sided infatuation. She harbored no hatred toward him—it was just…

She couldn’t explain, nor did she have time to sort through her emotions. The next moment, her father brushed aside her words: “‘Protector of the nation’… perhaps in the past the Yingchuan Fang clan was indeed selfless and dedicated, but now…”

His expression turned cold and disdainful, as if speaking further would sully his mouth. Wei Lan furrowed her brows and took another step forward. “What does Father mean? Lord Fang has fought tirelessly for our country. Even if he disagrees with you politically, that doesn’t mean—”

“He has impregnated the Empress Dowager!”

Wei Bi shouted, cutting her off. His face flushed red with intense anger.

“Such reckless behavior! How can you believe he still holds any loyalty as a subject?”

It was as if someone had suddenly gripped her throat—Wei Lan fell silent, unable to utter a sound. Her wide, stunned pupils reflected the dim flicker of the lamp, her expression vacant and bewildered.

“You think the court wants to wage war at this time!”

Wei Bi’s voice grew louder, as if venting long-suppressed panic and agitation.

“What are Wei Zheng and Zhong He? They’re nothing but dying dogs, clinging to life by a thread! Even if they knelt before Jinling begging for mercy, they wouldn’t deserve the emperor’s attention! The real danger lies with Fang Xianting! With the deceitful Yingchuan Fang clan!”

“When the Song woman first ascended to power, how many opposed her? Now, over time, everyone blindly follows her lead! Ministers like Xu Zongyao and Jiang Chao only know of the Empress Dowager, not the emperor. Where does that leave the dignity of our imperial family?”

“And now she carries Fang Xianting’s child! Even if they don’t fight for themselves, who can guarantee they won’t fight for their child? Both military and political power rest in their hands. A single thought from them could overturn the heavens, a single ambition could change dynasties! Our great Zhou dynasty’s three-hundred-year foundation will crumble in the hands of these two traitors!”

His eyes bulged with fervor, every word seemingly spoken for the sake of the nation. Wei Lan listened, her mind in chaos, tears streaming down her face without her realizing it. Still clinging to denial, she asked: “How does Father know about the Empress Dowager’s pregnancy? Could it be a mistake? Perhaps…”

“How could the information relayed by the palace eunuchs be false!”

Wei Bi roared again, his disappointment palpable as he saw his daughter’s continued obstinacy.

“The late emperor knew long ago of their affair. The Fucheng Hall is riddled with the emperor’s spies! That Song woman thought avoiding the Imperial Medical Office would keep her safe, but the signs of pregnancy in women are numerous—every aspect of her daily life leaves traces. How many women has the palace eunuch seen in his lifetime? How could his judgment be wrong!”

Wei Lan shrank back, speechless.

“You say the Zhou dynasty will collapse without Fang Xianting?”

Wei Bi leaned closer to his daughter, his words both a challenge and an attempt to calm his own inner turmoil.

“On the contrary! He is now the greatest calamity for our Zhou dynasty! Only by removing him can the emperor and the people find peace!”

“A centipede writhes after death? No! Fang Xianting has already destroyed everything his father left him! The Yingchuan Fang clan has lost all popular support! After this battle, he will become the eternal sinner and chief offender of the land!”

…Yes.

The late emperor had once said that the most terrifying thing about the Yingchuan Fang clan wasn’t their military power or their dominance in the court—it was the hearts of the people. As long as they retained popular support, they would always hold an unassailable shield. If this were ten years ago—or even just two or three years ago—no one in the world could have killed Fang Xianting. But now…

Water that carries a boat can also capsize it. The fervent adoration that once elevated him to great heights could now crush him just as brutally in defeat. Everything gained comes with a price, and the Yingchuan Fang clan would ultimately be obliterated by the very thing they once relied on most.

“The Zhou dynasty will not fall—”

Wei Bi’s voice grew louder, his tone a mix of grand proclamation and self-deception.

“Our dynasty will inevitably restore Central China and return to the old capital! It will achieve a glorious revival and unity for generations to come!”

“Traitors will pay with their lives! Once Wei Zheng, Zhong He, and Fang Xianting exhaust each other, the court will reap the benefits!”

“Only through destruction can rebirth occur! As long as we endure this most difficult period, hope will come—”

“They must all be exterminated—exterminated completely—”

His lofty declarations rang with force, but at the last moment, Wei Lan caught a glimpse of fleeting tears in her father’s eyes. She didn’t know what he was thinking, just as she didn’t know whether the so-called “truth” she had desperately sought was right or wrong.

It was a clever manipulation.

And yet… it was also an inevitable fate.

On the twenty-fourth day of the first month in the third year of Guangyou, Jinling was struck by an unexpected snowfall.

The wind howled fiercely at night, and soon the snowstorm intensified. The flakes falling from the sky resembled salt scattered in the air, though some likened them to willow catkins dancing in the breeze. By dawn, the palace halls and towers were blanketed in white, and the streets alongside the long roads were covered in pristine snow—a rare phenomenon in Jiangnan.

At the hour of Chen, the palace gates opened wide as the three armies prepared to march northward to battle. The reigning Empress Dowager personally came to see them off, reportedly intending to bless the soldiers in Yangzhou. However, the streets of Jinling were eerily empty, devoid of the enthusiastic crowds that once thronged ten miles deep to bid farewell. Passersby avoided the scene, bowing respectfully but with unmistakable weariness and disdain in their eyes.

Song Shuyan sat in a spacious, luxurious carriage. Despite the ample charcoal fire keeping her warm, a bone-chilling cold seeped through the cracks in the windows. Her hands felt like ice, and her heart seemed to be buried under an endless snowstorm.

“Open the window a little more…”

She spoke softly. The palace maid beside her wanted to dissuade her but dared not. When the window opened, the desolate street scene came into view. It seemed that even the once-prosperous Jinling could decline and fall. She had been trapped here for so long, and today she was finally escaping, yet strangely, she felt no joy—only an indescribable sense of guilt and sorrow.

…Was she reluctant to leave?

Or was it simply that she felt her ties to certain people and events remained unresolved?

She hadn’t been able to see Xi’er again. That morning, someone from the Imperial Medical Office had reported that he had caught a cold and shouldn’t rise from bed, so naturally, he hadn’t come to see her off. But this was likely their final meeting. Even though he had grown closer to his birth mother and more distant from her, she still regarded him as her beloved child. Not being able to properly bid him farewell was a regret.

She also hadn’t had time to see her father again. Since the last visit to his memorial hall, they had been separated by life and death. Sometimes she thought their grievances weren’t significant—she had always hoped he would genuinely love her, yet neither her heart nor her words could admit it. He had been one of the best people to her in the family, second only to her second brother. If she were never to return to Jinling, she should visit his grave once more.

And then…

There were many causes and effects to consider, but upon reflection, the ones truly tied to her numbered only two. Perhaps she was simply a person of shallow sentiment, lacking the blessings to form deeper bonds with others. Only this snowstorm seemed fated to accompany her, escorting her out of the city gates. When she turned back for the last time, all she saw through the frosty haze was the blurred outline of the towering walls, and within them, joys and sorrows no longer concerned her.

“It’s windy outside—be careful not to catch a chill.”

Her second brother’s voice came from outside the window. The commander of the imperial guard escorting the Empress Dowager would accompany her to Yangzhou, after which he would lead ten thousand troops from the Northern Palace to join the battle in the north. Their parting was drawing near.

“There’s nothing worth lingering over in Jinling—Shuyan, look ahead.”

…Look ahead?

She felt dazed but still poked her head out into the snowstorm to gaze into the distance. The imposing army stretched endlessly before her, and she, utterly useless, was safely nestled in the heart of the central forces. He must be at the very front, but in the vast expanse of snow, she couldn’t even glimpse his silhouette.

“Look ahead…”

She repeated softly, her expression growing even more vacant.

Within two days, the army reached Yangzhou.

Her last visit here had been two years ago. Back then, the banks of the Yangtze River were teeming with people, and he had willingly stripped himself of armor to protect her and the young lord. The bloody character “归” (return) carved into his flesh had once been celebrated as a tale of heroism. But now, the people of Jiangnan no longer seemed to yearn for northern expeditions or the restoration of the old capital.

From inside the carriage, she heard the roaring of the river tides. Amidst the howling wind and snow, a chaotic neighing of horses reached her ears. The scene felt familiar—it reminded her of their first encounter on the official road in Shangzhou. The horse’s whinny was unmistakably the same—Zhuoying’s voice, clear and proud, always carried a hint of arrogance.

“What’s wrong?”

She recognized his restlessness and called out to her brother through the carriage window.