FYM - 176

The Fang residence in Yingchuan had its own physician, who hurriedly arrived shortly after Song Shuyan fell ill. Everyone in the room was on edge, fearing that the young lady’s overwhelming grief might cause a miscarriage. Only Jiang Chao turned his face away at that moment, unwilling to inquire about the results of the examination behind the screen.

“How—how is Miss Song?”

Lou Feng was the most anxious. As soon as the doctor emerged from the inner chamber, he strode forward and blocked him, asking insistently. Even though the news of the lord’s death in Chang’an had yet to be confirmed, he likely already believed Jiang Chao’s words. In such circumstances, if Song Shuyan were to miscarry, then the last bloodline of the lord left in this world would…

The doctor hesitated, unable to speak clearly at first. Behind the screen, Song Shuyan heard the murmurs outside the room, but only one sentence kept echoing in her ears:

“Miss, you have never been pregnant…”

“At present… it is merely the regular menstruation of a woman.”

“Never.”

Such ordinary words, yet they seemed incomprehensible to her at that moment, like an ancient text written in a foreign language. Perhaps she truly was foolish; since hearing that word “death,” her mind had been clouded, rendering her unable to comprehend anything.

But vaguely… she understood what they were saying.

Fragments of memories flashed before her eyes—like that night in the Wangshan Pavilion when she first mentioned to him that she was pregnant. His reaction wasn’t enthusiastic; instead, he hesitated several times, as if wanting to say something but holding back. Or when he told her in Fengyang Palace that she must leave Jinling and, seeing her reluctance, used the “child” as leverage to make her comply. At that time, she was too panicked to notice the fleeting pain and regret in his eyes.

“Never…”

…Never.

She laughed, ignoring the sharp cramps in her lower abdomen as she forced herself to rise from the bed. At that moment, she didn’t realize how pale her face was, almost ghostly. As she stepped out from behind the screen, she heard the collective gasp of those around her, followed by their sorrowful, pitying gazes.

…Pity?

She didn’t need their pity.

—All she needed was the truth.

“What do you mean by ‘never’…?”

Cold sweat dripped continuously from her temples, the excruciating pain making it difficult for her to form complete sentences.

“The doctors in Jinling clearly said I was with child… These past months, I indeed haven’t had my monthly cycle…”

“…How could it be ‘never’?”

She stubbornly repeated her questions, unaware that such persistence only deepened others’ pity for her. Jiang Chao couldn’t bear to watch any longer and continued to avert his face, stiffly keeping his distance as he answered in a low voice: “At the time, Miss claimed to feel unwell and asked the Middle Captain to seek a doctor outside the palace. Fearing something might happen to you, he… informed the lord beforehand…”

“That doctor was arranged by the lord himself… By then, he already knew great changes were coming and feared you wouldn’t agree to leave Jinling…”

“So… so he instructed the doctor to lie…”

…He couldn’t continue.

Nor did she need him to. Many things became clear in those few fragmented sentences. The child… The child… He truly understood her so well. He knew that without the pretext of a child, she would never have agreed to leave Jinling and retreat to Yingchuan. She would have stayed in Taicheng, fighting for him, exhausting every ounce of her strength until there was nothing left.

“As for what Miss mentioned about your monthly cycle…”

At that moment, the doctor hesitantly chimed in.

“Perhaps the fluctuations in your emotions affected your qi and blood. Additionally, believing you were pregnant, your diet and lifestyle changed accordingly, which led to…”

—”Believing.”

Heh… Indeed, believing.

Upon reflection, the person who deceived her most wasn’t him—it was herself. Before seeking a doctor to examine her in the palace, she had constantly “believed” she was pregnant. Fatigue, loss of appetite, excessive worry… Every symptom was something she mimicked based on her “belief” of being pregnant. She even forced herself to eat sour and spicy foods she usually disliked, telling herself things like “sour for boys, spicy for girls,” imagining they would eventually have a son and a daughter together. Even yesterday, she had still lovingly caressed her belly and spoken to the “child,” never questioning why, after three months, she still showed no signs of pregnancy.

…So how could she blame him?

It was she herself… who was so adept at self-deception.

“Hahaha… Hahahaha…”

She laughed again, as if she had never encountered something so absurd in her life. She laughed until she doubled over, tears streaming endlessly from the corners of her eyes. Everyone was frightened, yet none could hold back their own tears for her. It turned out that the most devastating sorrow in the world didn’t require blood and gore—just a few tearful laughs were enough to pierce the heart like a knife.

“Miss Song—”

Jiang Chao finally couldn’t bear it any longer and turned his head. A seven-foot-tall man with reddened eyes wanted to steady the swaying woman but dared not reach out.

“This humble servant knows well that Miss has endured much hardship, and upon hearing such devastating news, it is natural for your heart to break. But the lord risked everything, defying the entire world to send you out of Jinling, bearing the brunt of slander to ensure your protection. Please, Miss, honor his painstaking efforts and take care of yourself…”

“Please, please…”

His words were so earnest that by the end, he even knelt and kowtowed to her. Everyone in the room followed suit, repeatedly urging her to “take care of yourself.” The plea echoed incessantly in her ears. She found it amusing, unsure what connection there was between her insignificant self and the word “precious,” or why, now that everything was lost, she should still preserve this useless body.

She really wanted to ask them, but her vision grew increasingly blurred.

Until…

She fell into complete darkness.

When she awoke, it was already night.

The waning moon marked the end of March, and the nights in Yingchuan were still cool. Pale gray moonlight filtered faintly through the window, reminiscent of the scene she saw when he brought her back from Taicheng to the residence, holding her in the room.

It was only then that she suddenly realized… she and that man truly had no fate together.

At first, he was the lofty heir of the Duke of Jin, while she was the supposed “legitimate daughter” of the Song family, temporarily residing in Qiantang and occasionally visiting Chang’an. He was the coveted groom her favored sister dreamed of marrying, and even stealing a glance at him through the screen in the Hall of Elegant Speech was scolded as wishful thinking. Later, after twists and turns, they finally glimpsed a ray of light amidst the entanglements, only to miss each other by a single step. He was the miraculously returned Marquis of Yingchuan, on whom the hopes of the people rested, while she was the empress retained by Emperor Renzong to balance the court and maintain a fallback plan. For ten years, they evaded and concealed, finally deciding to gamble with each other. She had hoped fervently for divine favor to grant her a child, but in the end, it was all just a mirage, an empty dream.

She had persisted for so long… insisting on accompanying him when they departed Chang’an, cutting his sleeve in a frenzy when he was to marry another woman, and shamelessly entering the cold, dark dungeon where he was held after returning wounded. All that effort—every bit of connection she had fought for—was but a speck of dust before fate, easily brushed away without a trace.

Yet… she still wanted a more definitive conclusion.

When the maids noticed she had awakened, they joyfully rushed to attend to her. She observed there were more people in the room than usual, and some of the jewelry and hairpins originally placed on the dressing table were missing. Upon reflection, she realized they feared she might attempt to take her own life, so they not only increased the number of watchers but also removed anything she could use to harm herself.

She shook her head with a smile, marveling at how meticulous and considerate Jiang Chao was, truly worthy of the lord’s trust. Yet, upon further thought, she found it amusing, thinking to herself that he still didn’t fully understand her. She would never act rashly or contemplate suicide at a time like this.

“Was he really killed by Fourth Young Master?”

She sent for Jiang Chao, and under the dim candlelight, sat by the window in her nightclothes, asking in a tone already very calm, unlike what they expected—no hysteria.

“Where was the body sent?”

“There must be… a place for him to rest.”

Jiang Chao likely didn’t believe her composure was genuine, his gaze reflecting both worry and caution. After a silence, he lowered his head, still avoiding her eyes, and said only: “Miss Song…”

His refusal to answer told her all she needed to know. Her faint sigh was as light as moonlight, whispering: “So he was sent back to Jinling.”

He faltered, startled by her sharp intuition. Indeed, how could a woman who governed behind the curtains amidst a den of wolves for nearly three years, revered by officials as a female sovereign even above the emperor, not be intelligent?

“I want to see him,” she stubbornly declared, speaking in a tone that seemed to invite her own doom. “Would Lord Jiang be willing to escort me there?”

This request was exactly what Jiang Chao feared most. He recalled how the lord’s foresight proved accurate once again—this woman and him, their relationship could never see the light of day, yet they were undoubtedly the most devoted lovers in the world.

“Miss Song, you must not—”

He refused firmly and sorrowfully, determined not to betray the lord’s final wish to protect her.

“Jinling is now the most perilous place; how can you walk into a trap knowingly!”

“The lord is gone, and his only remaining wish is for you to live safely and happily. Even for his sake, this last meeting… must not happen!”

…”Must not happen.”

After hearing this, a bitter smile lingered in her eyes, though upon closer inspection, it was filled with the dense sadness of winter snow and spring rain. No one would ever understand how she felt at that moment—not even if he stood before her now.

“Perhaps you’ve heard before—the news of his death has spread twice now.”

She spoke without grief, as if the tumultuous joys and sorrows of ten years ago were someone else’s story.

“At that time, I was just like now, waiting day after day in a place untouched by war for him to return… He promised that once he came back, we would marry. I counted the days, waiting endlessly, until my grandmother passed away, until everyone said… he was dead.”

“I believed them, which is why I eventually married into the palace… It was just one mistake, really. Somehow, everything afterward… went wrong.”

The pale green glow mingled with the flowing silver moonlight. Her words remained sparse, yet they pierced the hearts of those who listened.

“Perhaps this time is also false?”

She asked suddenly, a hint of naive hope tinged with bitterness flickering in her eyes.

“Perhaps this time is just like the last—one more wait, and I’ll see him again?”

“Jiang Chao… I must see it with my own eyes to finally let go.”

—Was such a request too much?

No.

She simply wanted to see him one more time, even if it was just a cold corpse, even if the cost of that meeting was her life… All the causes and effects she had encountered in her life remained unresolved, all her efforts meaningless. Now, humbly, she only wished to see with her own eyes whether he lived or died… Was that too much to ask?

—But Jiang Chao ultimately still refused her.

He stationed more people around her day and night, even posting guards outside her door. Sometimes, he personally checked on her, as if fearing she might escape at any moment.

But where did she have the strength for that? Since he refused her, she stopped asking. After regaining some strength in her room, she requested to step outside for fresh air. Zhaoying hadn’t seen her for two days, and she feared it might harm itself by refusing food and water.

That day, the person assigned to “guard” her door was Lou Feng.

“General Lou is surprisingly accommodating, allowing me to take a walk.”

She was more familiar with this general, having crossed paths with him often in the palace. Zhaoying recognized him but wasn’t close to him. When they went together to feed it in the stable, its expression remained listless, refusing to turn its head to look at him.

“Too… Miss Song flatters me… This humble servant dares not overstep.”

She smiled faintly, leading Zhaoying up the hill behind the residence. The chilly wind blew against her face, and her expression appeared relaxed.

“There’s no need to call yourself ‘this humble servant,’ nor to say ‘dare not.’ I am no longer the empress dowager. In truth, it shouldn’t trouble you to guard me like this every day.”

Lou Feng’s complexion was poor, perhaps still recovering from a drunken binge two days prior; his beard was disheveled, and he looked rather disheveled. But upon hearing her words, he reacted strongly, bowing deeply with clasped hands, his attitude as respectful as ever: “This humble servant owes deep gratitude to Lord Fang. I swore to serve him faithfully for life, repaying his kindness even in death. Miss Song will always be my master, and Lou Feng will sacrifice everything to protect you!”

Every word carried weight, and she knew he meant them sincerely. Sometimes, life’s ironies were fascinating. Ten years ago, the great defeat at Shangxiaogu was due to his father Lou Xiao’s disobedience. In the decade that followed,风云变幻瞬息即逝, yet here he remained, refusing to leave after the lord’s departure.

“If that’s the case… may I ask General for a favor?”

Her eyelashes trembled slightly, and she finally brought up the matter again.

“Take me back to Jinling…”

“Let me… see him one last time.”

Zhaoying let out a hoarse whinny, as if understanding her plea and advocating on her behalf. Lou Feng’s heart tightened painfully, but he knew he absolutely couldn’t agree to such a reckless request.

“This humble servant would die for Miss Song, but returning south would mean certain death—a moth flying into the flame. The lord’s trust weighs heavily upon me; I cannot betray him.”

“Betray him?”

Song Shuyan raised an eyebrow, her smile faint yet profound.

“You and Jiang Chao don’t understand… what his ‘trust’ truly meant.”

—What did it mean?

There were countless people in the world who thought they understood, yet only she truly saw through him.

In the chaos of shock and grief, her thoughts had been tangled. Now, after two days, they slowly became clear. That man understood her—knew she wasn’t as compliant as she appeared on the surface. If pushed to the brink, who knew what reckless actions she might take? Moreover, he knew she had never been pregnant. Therefore, it made no sense for her to endure suffering for the sake of a child she didn’t have. Thus, his elaborate efforts to send her away from Jinling seemed entirely futile. Why then did he make such a move, sacrificing everything unnecessarily?

But now she understood—the choice he wanted to give her.

Being trapped in Taicheng meant certain death. If he had revealed everything to her, it would have felt like forcing her to die with him. That man was always too cautious—unwilling to leave her with no choices, unwilling to let her be bound by love or duty. So he sent her away, arranging for so many others to stop her from following him. He wanted her to clearly understand—he had no choice, but she… could choose a different life without him.

With this revelation, Lou Feng suddenly grasped the lord’s meaning. Amidst the silence, emotions swirled within him, marveling at how these two, least accepted by society, were truly soulmates who understood each other in life and death.

“I know Miss Song’s feelings run deep, but must you prove your devotion by throwing away your life? The lord only wished for you to live well… He would never bear to see you humiliated by others.”

“Yingchuan is his home. You can stay here forever—or perhaps return to Qiantang, live among the common folk. The world is vast; there must be a place for you, someone who can bring you joy—”

“You should start a new life…”

“He surely hopes… you can move forward.”

Initially, he referred to himself as “this humble servant,” but eventually, he shifted to addressing her as “you and I.” His most sincere concern shone through then—unrelated to status or position, it was the kind of care that could save a life in the bitterest moments.

But…

“But I don’t know where to go…”

She suddenly confessed to him, her expression a mix of confusion and numbness. Though there was no visible sign of grief, tears abruptly spilled from her eyes.

“I have nowhere I want to go… and no one will take me back.”

“I don’t know who else to turn to…”

“I… have long since lost my home.”