FYM - 174

But in reality... it was empty.

There was nothing there, just as this Chang’an was left with only a ground covered in frost. Beneath the fallen nest, no eggs remain intact—a truth anyone could understand. He smiled faintly, but his hand, when he withdrew it, still felt somewhat stiff. As he entered, it seemed he still wanted to bring Wei Zheng along, but alas, his wounds were too severe, and he lacked the strength.

“… Let me do it.”

Fang Yunhui stepped forward, taking the rebel king’s body down from the horse. Though Wei Zheng had been reduced to skin and bones before his death and wasn’t heavy at all, the weight pressed down on him so heavily that he found it hard to breathe, making many rights and wrongs blur before his eyes. As he followed Third Brother into the house, he first smelled a floral fragrance. Looking up, he saw several plum trees flourishing in the courtyard, their gnarled branches winding like clouds of flowers. The blossoms fell softly in the cold wind—a sight he had never seen in his childhood. Upon reflection, he remembered these were planted by Third Brother himself when he returned from Jiangnan ten years ago. Despite the countless deaths in the world over those ten years, these flowers in the corner had bloomed more abundantly than ever.

Third Brother seemed momentarily dazed, then almost smiled—an expression Fang Yunhui had never seen before. Beyond its boldness lay gentleness, and behind its joy lingered sorrow. Finally, he reached out to gently touch the swaying petals, his face revealing only regret and reluctance. What was he thinking of at that moment? It vaguely felt as if he were bidding farewell to someone.

“Third Brother… let me go fetch a medic.”

He couldn’t bear to watch as Third Brother’s blood dripped onto the ground, redder than the full blooms of the plum trees. As expected, Third Brother waved him off, refusing. His steps toward the back garden appeared steady, yet there was an unmistakable hesitation, as if he were testing or wandering cautiously.

Because in the back garden… there was the small pavilion where his father had bid him farewell.

When they moved the capital southward, the late Lord Song had thoughtfully built a new residence for the Fang family in Jinling, resembling the old one in the western capital by seven or eight parts. Yet no matter how similar, it couldn’t fully preserve the traces of their past lives. Now, seeing their true ancestral home again inevitably stirred emotions.

“Yi Zhi…”

That night of recklessness in the dungeon with Yingying, after which his father never entered his dreams again. Even now, he likely wouldn’t. But perhaps it was his own fluctuating emotions that conjured his father’s apparition in the courtyard—he was calling to him, and his mother sat beside him. Such illusions he had seen before, but this time they felt the most vivid.

“I once said there would come a time when no one in the world could save you…” His father’s sigh seemed to echo in his ears, his gaze tinged with the same restrained sadness as on the night of their farewell. “Yi Zhi, do you regret it?”

… Regret?

He knew what his father was asking, but the answer was surely not what the other wanted to hear. Fortunately, he hadn’t been reproaching him then. Perhaps he had already guessed his final choice, knowing that no words could change anything anymore.

“It’s better he comes to see us sooner, sparing himself the torment of staying alone here…”

At this point, his mother also looked at him, her expression so pained, as if she were about to cry.

“But my child… your mother fears for your pain.”

… Pain?

He looked down at the wound on his body, unsure whether she referred to it or something else. His father sighed again, his gaze gradually shifting from complex to simple.

“It’s fine…”

He finally acknowledged him once, after so many inevitable compromises, after so many indistinguishable causes and effects.

“If you’ve decided… then go ahead and do it.”

“Third Brother…?”

His younger brother called to him again, his tone now somewhat anxious. Fang Xianting snapped out of it, and the apparitions of his parents immediately vanished. He then stepped into the pavilion and sat down, exactly where his father had been on the night he left—hoping this night could resemble that one more closely. Though there was no snow, there were falling flowers; only a pot of wine was missing. Turning to his brother, he said, “Go find a stove. Tonight, we have nothing to do; we can drink together.”

This statement of “nothing to do” was rather absurd. Chang’an had been retaken, and even just handling prisoners and rebuilding defenses would leave them overwhelmed. Moreover, Third Brother hadn’t yet reported the battle situation to the court—how could this be “nothing to do”? But he didn’t dare ask. Perhaps he vaguely sensed that Third Brother had something to say to him. So much had happened that night, leaving him confused and disoriented.

“… Alright.”

He responded and went to look, but finding a small stove in the now-ruined Chang’an was extremely difficult. The wine, too, had to be scrounged from the army—cheap, turbid, and rough liquor, far from the fine Chang’an Xinfeng wine that the late Duke had personally warmed.

Fang Xianting didn’t care. Outside the cold pavilion, flowers fell profusely; inside, wine simmered on the stove. For his half-life of ceaseless warfare, this was enough tranquility and stability. He was content. Sitting with his younger brother, he glanced at Wei Zheng, lying peacefully on the stone table as if asleep, and poured him a cup of wine.

“Where does Third Brother plan to bury him?”

Fang Yunhui had no interest in drinking, and seeing the rebel king’s corpse made him feel even more uneasy. It was said that burial brings peace, and they should find a resting place for him soon.

“No need to bury him,” Third Brother replied, his gaze fixed only on the murky moon reflected in his wine cup. “Even if buried in Jinling, people will dig up his remains again. Why disturb him twice?”

Fang Yunhui: “… “

… Indeed.

The young emperor had already declared that if the rebel king were captured, he would be subjected to a thousand cuts and his bones ground to dust to vent his anger. The common people also hated him deeply, unwilling to let him die quietly.

Exhuming and whipping the corpse… was highly possible.

He fell silent, finally tilting his head back to finish his cup of wine. Looking at Third Brother again, he felt braver and whispered, “Third Brother seems to sympathize with him.”

Pausing, he added, “Today, before Zhong He died, he said it was you who let him go… Could it be because of this?”

His voice was soft, but its meaning carried great weight—after all the twists and turns, it turned out… suspicion still lingered.

He didn’t want to doubt, especially since his brother was both a minister of the state and the head of their clan, someone beyond reproach. But some things couldn’t be explained. For instance, this time, he had forcibly sent the Empress Dowager out of Jinling and refused to allow Jiang Chao and Lou Feng to lead reinforcements. Clearly, he had reservations about the battle and hadn’t given it his all. After capturing Chang’an, how did he plan to return to court? Rumors about him and the Empress Dowager were rampant, and protecting that woman with the power of Yingchuan was akin to confessing publicly. How could the court tolerate such a blatant betrayal of imperial authority and insult to the royal family?

Unless… he never intended to return.

Zhong He’s ranting on the city tower earlier certainly aimed to shake the morale of the three armies, but his expression of terror and profound sorrow didn’t seem like an act. He claimed Third Brother harbored ambitions to seize Chang’an for himself—how credible was this? He didn’t want to doubt his most revered brother, but…

… But his attitude towards the rebel king was clearly different.

He didn’t hate him, or rather, his pity far outweighed his hatred. Yet Wei Zheng was undoubtedly the main culprit behind the chaos plaguing the land today. As the head of the Fang clan of Yingchuan, who had suffered greatly from the turmoil, why did Third Brother harbor no resentment towards him? And what did Zhong He mean by his last words before dying, “Ten years ago in Shangxiaogu, it was you…”?

No one had thoroughly examined why Third Brother had survived and returned from the northwest. They simply assumed divine protection allowed their nation’s general to return to the eastern capital. But divine intervention seemed implausible. On closer inspection, how could Third Brother have escaped such a perilous situation alone without someone aiding him?

—And if it was Wei Zheng who helped him, everything made sense.

Many things must have happened during those six months when Third Brother was missing. The most likely scenario was that Wei Zheng secretly saved him while avoiding detection. Grateful to the rebel king, Third Brother thus found it hard to hate him now—beyond this, what else? Had they made other secret agreements? Third Brother held evidence of Wei Zheng’s betrayal of Zhong He and the Tujue ten years ago, possibly using it as leverage to force cooperation. All under heaven sought profit; without benefit, Wei Zheng wouldn’t have easily opened the gates of Chang’an. What had Third Brother promised him? To divide Chang’an and rule as emperor together?

He dared not think further. The more he thought, the more chilling and bone-freezing it became. The Fang clan of Yingchuan had always been loyal, with no one ever harboring thoughts of betrayal. But Third Brother had already entangled himself with the late emperor’s empress—even if their past relationship was indeed a betrayal, it was undeniable! Third Brother was different from Uncle… perhaps his heart towards Zhou had already changed.

… Then what about him?

What should he do?

What about the hundreds and thousands of other surviving members of the Fang clan?

Their reputation had plummeted, their achievements gradually forgotten. Worse, more and more slander was being hurled at Yingchuan. If this continued, the Fang clan might collapse and perish even before Zhou! His greatest fear, however, was the growing estrangement and doubt towards Third Brother in his heart… he was his younger brother, his blood relative. If even he harbored such thoughts due to various reasons, what about the three armies below Chang’an who heard Zhong He’s ranting? What about the common people north and south of the Yangtze River, swayed and incited by rumors?

… What would they think?

His palms were icy cold, and even the strongest wine in the army couldn’t warm his heart. A deep-seated fear plunged him into an ice-cold abyss. Never had he so desperately hoped that Third Brother could sit down and talk through everything with him, or at least look earnestly into his eyes and say, “It’s not like that.”

But—

“You guessed correctly.”

Third Brother spoke lightly, petals swirling down onto his shoulders, his tone as light as the falling blossoms.

“Indeed, it was the prince who saved me in Shangxiaogu. Zhong He didn’t know about this; otherwise, he wouldn’t have survived in Chang’an until now.”

“The prince was a man of unbending integrity, unwilling to be driven by the barbarians. Over the years, he has suffered much humiliation at the hands of Zhong He and long harbored intentions to surrender to our side—I promised him that if he would open the gates of Chang’an for our army this time, I would ensure his life would be spared in Jinling.”

His tone was flat, devoid of any rise or fall, as if unaware of how earth-shattering his words were. Fang Yunhui’s face had turned pale, and his gaze trembled as he looked at his third brother, asking, “…Third Brother, you’ve been in contact with the rebel king all along? Why… why have you never let us know?”

“During the Taiqing era, the war was intense, and the world hated the rebel king to the bone. If I revealed the truth, it would harm the morale of our troops and tarnish the Fang clan’s reputation—there would be a hundred harms and no benefits.”

Fang Xianting answered swiftly, his actions still methodical, even calmly pouring himself another cup of wine.

“What about today?”

Fang Yunhui’s voice began to tremble, realizing how bitterly cold Chang’an was in February.

“You said you had a premeditated plan with him. Why didn’t you save him today? Didn’t you foresee that Zhong He, in desperation, would kill his own nephew?”

“Why should I save him?”

Third Brother countered, his slightly furrowed brows seemingly reproaching his naivety and absurdity.

“He knows all my secrets. If I saved him, wouldn’t it be like setting fire to myself and digging my own grave? Even if Zhong He hadn’t acted today, I would have killed him. Wei Zheng’s guilt towards the state is an undeniable fact—he deserved to die.”

“Third Brother!”

Fang Yunhui couldn’t bear to listen anymore, finally slamming the table and rising in anger. His gaze towards his brother was both unfamiliar and deeply disappointed, his heart aching as if being gnawed by countless insects.

“How could you become like this!”

He almost shouted in despair.

“The rebel king indeed bore guilt, but the right to interrogate and decide punishment should belong to the court! Third Brother, having received Wei Zheng’s life-saving grace in the past, even if not repaying kindness with kindness, at least you should have let him die cleanly and knowingly!”

“Using others’ knives to kill is despicable, something our clan despises! Today on the city tower, Zhong He called you ‘nothing more than this’... Could it be that you have truly become such a despicable and cunning person?”

... He finally voiced these accusations.

Some secrets had weighed heavily on his mind for a long time. For instance, he had accidentally seen a letter from Xie Ci, the governor of two provinces, sent to Third Brother from Youzhou. It contained many treasonous remarks like “establishing a new heaven” and “riding the tide.” Yet Third Brother hadn’t been angry and had even entrusted the heavy responsibility of guarding the eastern capital to him. Could it be that they had colluded early on, planning to betray the court when the time came?

“Despicable and cunning...”

His elder brother still smiled, remaining calm and composed despite his impassioned outburst. When repeating the words “despicable and cunning,” his tone carried a hint of sarcasm, whether mocking him or himself.

“Zixing... do you know why Zhong He rebelled this time?”

“He conspired with Jinling much earlier. Wei Bi has received countless secret letters from Chang’an—so what, if they want to kill me, can’t I resist?”

At this point, his eyebrows suddenly sharpened, exuding immense pressure. At that moment, Fang Yunhui could only feel the ferocity in his brother’s words, easily missing the subtle sorrow hidden beneath.

“I have spent my entire life working for the state, but what have I gained in the end?”

“The emperor fears powerful ministers, and officials dread our clan’s dominance. This war was not a natural disaster but a man-made calamity! Zhong He and the Tujue were tools used by Jinling to kill me. Once I fought them to mutual destruction beneath the walls of Chang’an, the so-called ‘pacification army’ would arrive!”

“You say I’ve changed?”

“Yes... I have indeed changed.”

“If I don’t change, I will die at someone’s hands and be laughed at by the world. If I don’t change, I will sit idly by and watch our clan’s collapse and destruction!”

“Do you think how those rumors spread step by step to this day? Without someone deliberately guiding them, how could they spread overnight across the land! Our clan has loyally served the emperor and sacrificed for the nation for generations, willing to die without complaint! But they insist that only our surname must sacrifice everything for a doomed dynasty!”

Each question was piercingly painful. It turned out he had always been acutely aware of those sordid political machinations. Fang Yunhui felt as if he had suddenly fallen into an unfamiliar world, unable to recognize his ruthless third brother who had lost his composure, and unwilling to face the cruelly exposed truth.

“And I do have my own selfish desires...”

Third Brother’s voice gradually softened again, scattered plum blossoms resting on his fingertips. At that moment, his eyes seemed to hold both pure aspirations and dark ambitions.

“She originally belonged to me, just one step away from becoming my wife... The late emperor never possessed her while alive, so how dare he take her away after death?”

“And Chang’an...”

“The Zhou Dynasty has been without it for ten years. Who says the Central Plains must always belong to the Wei family?”

“It can also be mine! It can be the Fang family’s! It can belong to everyone who has truly bled and sacrificed for this land!”

“Why should I continue to bind myself, serving Jinling? Zixing, just one step away...”

“Can’t our clan... become the ruler of this land?”

... Ah, the night in Chang’an.

So tranquil yet so desolate, silently witnessing how many dynasties rose and fell, suns rose and set. Such a cold February repeats year after year, but where can we find those who once got drunk and sang songs together in such a February?

“... Does Third Brother truly think this way?”

After an impossibly long silence, Fang Yunhui finally found his voice, hoarse and weak, like a dying blade of grass under a thousand-jin stone.

“Do you think that by occupying Chang’an today, the people will hail you as their ruler?”

“Our clan has protected Zhou for three hundred years, three full centuries... Are we protecting just the Wei royal family sitting on the dragon throne?”

“Uncle once said... we protect the people... We live and die for the nation and its citizens...”

“You say those with ulterior motives fan the flames behind the scenes, making the people resent the Fang family and forcing our clan to perish with Zhou... But is this the whole story?”

“Hasn’t Third Brother ever made mistakes?”

“Yes, Miss Song was indeed about to become your wife, but you weren’t officially married. Fate toyed with you, and she became the late emperor’s empress! Your affair with her was disloyal and treacherous. Isn’t the world’s criticism what both you and she deserve?”

His voice grew louder, no longer timid and fearful as before. Some truths are self-evident and unquestionable, standing firm and upright, not something that can be twisted by anyone’s harsh words or clever arguments.

“You’re wrong! You forgot who you are!”

“Uncle once sacrificed his life to protect the peace, and now you abandon it so easily!”

“Occupying Chang’an won’t be easy?”

“Jinling will launch armies again and again! The people will rise up again and again!”

“... What will you do then?”

“Kill them all?”

“Kill the common people our ancestors died to protect?”

He was almost in tears, his gaze towards his brother filled with urgency and pain.

“Third Brother, wake up—”

“The Fang family doesn’t want to be emperor and can’t be emperor! No one will see a rebellious minister plotting personal gain as their ruler!”

“The country can’t endure anymore turmoil... Will Third Brother still stubbornly defy the world’s greatest taboo?”

“Even if we take ten thousand steps back, even if the court truly shows no mercy and wants to exterminate the Fang clan, will our family drag innocent lives into another great war? I refuse to believe there’s no other way to resolve this deadlock! Things depend on human effort—moving forward, we’ll still see opportunities—”

“Third Brother—”

... How bright his eyes were.

Despite experiencing wars and witnessing many hardships, a faint light still burned in his eyes, vastly different from the man who had already given up.

—I remember being like this when I was young.

The prosperous reign of Linghe, endless nights of celebration—it seemed anyone’s ambitions could be easily realized. I followed in my father’s footsteps, believing everything ahead would only get better. Then sudden upheaval struck, and my father passed away. Many things I believed would never change vanished in a single day. Even so, my faith never wavered—I thought that as long as I did my best, I would eventually see a brighter future.

But...

... It’s not like that.

I no longer have the strength to argue with others, nor do I care how future generations judge my merits and faults. After tonight, the dust will settle, and many rights and wrongs need not be debated further—I’m just a bit envious of the long-lost spark in my younger brother’s eyes. Even a glimmer of hope on a dead-end road can keep one moving forward. I’m willing to give up a lot for that spark.

—Like my reputation.

And perhaps... my life.

“Remember what you’ve said today...”

He finally spoke again, after so many sharp criticisms, after so much heart-wrenching disappointment. In that moment, Fang Yunhui felt Third Brother’s expression change. All the ferocity and loss of control were illusions; he was still the same... his calm and inclusive older brother.

“Even if many things change in the future... don’t forget.”

A sudden gust of cold wind stirred the brief tranquility of the night. Distant fires reappeared on the horizon, and the approaching sounds of battle crashed down like a nightmare, shattering the illusory dream.

“Lord—Lord—”

“Enemy troops—the enemy is here—”

“No—it’s Prince Yinping—”

“He... is attacking the city!”

Frantic orders echoed incessantly. At that moment, Fang Xianting’s eyes were fixed only on his younger brother. Fang Yunhui, drenched in cold sweat, pale-faced, finally couldn’t help but call out “Third Brother” in panic. The latter gently unsheathed his sword, the fleeting glint of the blade strangely tender and reluctant.

“A person of integrity commands without orders, while a person lacking integrity cannot command even with orders...”

He seemed to be muttering to himself or standing amidst memories, passing on the last precious thing.

“Don’t look back, and don’t seek outside... You have your own path to walk. Every step forward on this road will benefit many in this world...”

“So remember to keep walking forward...”

“Don’t dwell on gains and losses, don’t weigh pros and cons... just keep moving forward.”

The strong aroma of wine lingered in the pavilion. Even the cheapest, muddiest wine smelled as fragrant as it did ten years ago. Perhaps fate’s cycle is both crude and intricate. He once saw his late father’s teachings as the harshest and cruelest lessons, yet years later, he found himself saying the same words to the last remaining family member by his side in the same place.

... Zixing.

I’ve done my utmost in this lifetime, and my only selfish desire is the woman you call “the late emperor’s empress”... She has never had a comfortable life and is, in my eyes, the most innocent and pitiable person in the world. I once saw myself in her, yet I refused to let her share my fate.

You’re right... I was wrong. Everything now is the punishment I deserve. The only uncertainty is the “opportunity” you spoke of. Since Taqing, I’ve searched day and night for over a decade, yet not only have I failed to glimpse its trace, but it seems to drift further away each day... I suppose it’s because I’m too foolish and incompetent. If you and your brother find it in the future, I hope you’ll speak to me again during the family sacrifices.

Even someone as despicable and worthless as me can leave a small token for you and our family in this final moment—

Fang Yunhui stared blankly as Third Brother handed him the sword he had just unsheathed under the clear, luminous moonlight. By then, the sounds of slaughter outside Chang’an were deafening, yet his smile and gaze towards him remained as calm and warm as in their youth.

“Zixing...”

“—Kill me.”