FYM - 177

…In truth, he didn’t need to pity her.

Many people didn’t understand that sometimes “pity” wasn’t an act of giving but rather an exchange. That woman, who had nothing left, no longer had anyone to rely on—anyone could mockingly trample her as they passed by. His pity for her brought no benefit; on the contrary, it would only drag him into the same abyss of despair.

Yet, in the end… he still compromised.

Taking advantage of Jiang Chao’s absence and dismissing the guards, he shattered the last barrier protecting her. The journey south to Jinling wasn’t far—if they rode swiftly without rest, they could arrive within a day.

Her frail body couldn’t endure riding a horse, yet Zhaoying, the once fiercely proud and temperamental steed, willingly pulled her carriage. Who would have thought that this divine warhorse, unparalleled in stature since its birth and revered as the steed of the Duke of Jin’s heir, would stoop to such a task? In the past, anyone daring to tether it would have been brutally kicked and left battered.

But now, it made no complaints. Perhaps this spiritual creature knew their destination was to seek its long-absent master. The thundering hooves echoed on the deserted mountain paths, and even though the old steed was exhausted, panting heavily and drenched in sweat, it refused to slow its pace.

At the ferry crossing, there were no guards to inspect them, and at each checkpoint, no soldiers came to verify their identities. Only then did Lou Feng realize just how arrogant those deep within Taicheng truly were—they had never attempted to capture the “Empress Dowager” who had fled the palace, nor had they set up any barriers along the way. It was as if they were certain she would willingly walk into their trap, requiring no effort to achieve their goal.

—But ultimately, someone did stop them.

Just over ten li outside Jinling, a few more steps forward would reveal the ominous and foreboding city gates. A scholar dressed in white stood in the middle of the road, blocking their path. The sky was overcast, heavy clouds obscuring the sun. Song Shuyan gently lifted the carriage curtain and saw that the man was Xu Zongyao, dressed entirely in mourning white.

“…Your Majesty.”

He still addressed her by her former title, but unlike before, he didn’t bow or pay respects. Her feelings were complex—one part due to the outdated title, and another because of his attire, which seemed to be mourning someone.

“I am no longer the Empress Dowager,” she sighed softly from within the carriage. “Bingshu, don’t stop me.”

She harbored no small amount of guilt toward this top-ranking scholar from the Guangyou era. Initially, during the implementation of new policies, she had used him as a spearhead, alienating all the prominent families of Jiangnan. Later, when he was promoted to Secretary of the Central Secretariat, it solidified his position as one of her closest ministers. Now, having tarnished her own reputation and lost everything, she feared she would also hinder this official’s career prospects.

But he seemed indifferent to such external matters. Outside Jinling, amidst withered grass, his eyes remained as bright and resolute as they were during his policy debates in the Qian Ding Palace. He looked at her, persistently seeking an answer: “Is it true?”

“The rumors about Your Majesty and Lord Fang… are they true?”

She had once thought about how this most upright and loyal minister of hers would react upon learning of her relationship with him—how furious and disappointed he would feel. She didn’t want to face such a situation. After all, he was a minister she had personally selected and promoted, and during her regency, they had shared a rare mutual respect.

“It’s true.”

But she couldn’t lie to him, nor did she wish to dishonor what she and that man had shared.

“…It’s all true.”

For a moment, he fell silent, the light in his eyes dimming instantly. Her spirit was weary, and she couldn’t discern whether he showed disgust or disdain toward her. With so many twists of fate and layers of the past weighing on her, she simply lacked the strength to argue or explain further.

“General Lou,” she tiredly let down the carriage curtain, “…let’s go.”

Lou Feng responded softly from outside, and the carriage wheels creaked as they moved forward. But at this moment, Xu Zongyao shouted again, calling her “Empress.” This unfamiliar title had been repeated countless times in his mind, but it was her first time hearing it.

“Are you really going back to Taicheng?”

“Lord Fang has already been branded a traitor! His remains are merely bait to lure you back!”

“If you don’t return, your connection to him will remain unresolved! Rumors will always remain rumors, unable to leave a trace in history!”

“Do you really want to give others reason to slander you for eternity, to be cursed by future generations?”

…He was right.

There was much she didn’t know… Days ago, when Chang’an fell, the Fang family was immediately surrounded by Yinping Wang’s forces. Rumors claimed that Fourth Young Master Fang personally killed his own brother to surrender to the court. After stabilizing Chang’an, Yinping Wang personally carried Fang Xianting’s remains back south. For two thousand li, no coffin was prepared, leaving his remains exposed to the elements. Along the way, commoners gathered to watch and gossip, and upon hearing that the head of the Fang family was a rebel, they naturally despised and condemned him.

At this point, why bother seeing him again… What was the point?

The person inside the carriage closed her eyes momentarily, her emaciated hand beneath her sleeve growing stiff. Once praised for her radiant beauty, the young woman of the Song family of Jinling now resembled a wilted flower, devoid of any vibrant hues.

“‘History’…”

Separated by the carriage window, Xu Zongyao couldn’t see the Empress’s face, but he faintly heard her somewhat chilly laughter.

“One word, one event, one judgment, all written down with a single brushstroke… They think themselves so remarkable, believing a few words can fully encapsulate someone’s life.”

The meaning of this “they” was ambiguous—was she referring to historians or readers of history? Or perhaps she had no specific target in mind. There was nothing left in this world that she cared about or cherished.

Xu Zongyao’s face turned pale, but ultimately, he could only watch her carriage disappear into the distance. The cold wind carried her voice calling his name, “Bingshu,” and he heard her final words to him—

“If one day you are the one holding the pen, I hope you’ll write a few more words beyond the rumors.”

“Only I am dirty…”

“That person… has always been clean.”

The carriage passed through the city gates, everything proceeding so easily.

They boldly stepped into the meticulously laid trap designed specifically for them. The soldiers guarding the city recognized General Lou Feng, and upon seeing him, their faces displayed complex, subtle expressions—perhaps they had considered stopping them at some point, but for some reason, they ultimately gave up.

When they approached Qingxi, an unexpected person stopped them.

—Princess Yong’an… Wei Lan.

She looked as though she had suffered a severe illness, her cheeks deeply sunken, far from the vibrant beauty Song Shuyan remembered. Upon seeing her, Wei Lan almost angrily demanded, “Why have you come back?”

“You weren’t carrying his child?”

“Why have you come back—”

This outburst was nearly nonsensical, laced with regret and self-loathing known only to her. She didn’t know that the late emperor had long harbored suspicions against the Fang family and the Empress. She still believed that everything happening now was her fault for insisting on digging up their past.

She never intended to harm Lord Fang, nor did she truly mean to hurt Song Shuyan. She was simply unwilling to accept being defied, her pride wounded after failing to get what she wanted. Yet the outcome was that the person she loved was dead, and the culprit… was everyone.

“You must leave—”

She screamed at the “Empress Dowager,” whom she had once deeply resented, as if willing to sacrifice everything to save her life.

“He’s dead, and he’ll never return—”

“But you carry his bloodline—”

“Protect the child—protect his child for him—”

…”Child.”

The dagger, poisoned to the hilt, pierced deeply into her vitals, yet Song Shuyan was numb, feeling no pain. Wei Lan stared at her pale face, and only moments later did she belatedly notice her still-flat abdomen. Stunned, she stood rooted to the spot, her eyes filled with nothing but fear and despair.

“Why isn’t there…”

“His child… Why isn’t there…”

Muttering incoherently on the verge of collapse, perhaps losing the last thread that could soothe her guilt, Song Shuyan let the carriage curtain fall, saying not another word to the princess.

From here onward, Taicheng was close at hand.

She had spent her entire life trapped in a cage, dreaming of escaping this cannibalistic imperial city. Yet, after wandering aimlessly, she had returned to where she began. The majestic palace gates were wide open, as if they had long anticipated her arrival.

“General, please pause a moment. Could you fetch a jar of pear blossom wine from Jiangyunlou for me?” she abruptly asked at the palace gates, her tone unusually relaxed. “I once drank it with him by Qingxi, and I’m craving it today.”

Outside the carriage, Lou Feng was momentarily stunned. Upon reflection, he realized she was reminiscing about her past with him during this farewell. Despite the heartache, he naturally agreed, unaware that he had fallen into her ruse. She knew the people in the palace were only looking for her and wouldn’t trouble those around her. Thus, she found a way to send away the innocent, ensuring they wouldn’t suffer alongside her.

And the palace gates… had already opened for her.

The guards, as if instructed beforehand, allowed her passage without question. She sensed their contemptuous, probing gazes, likely thinking how shameless and calamitous a person she was to dare return to Zhou’s imperial city.

She didn’t care, feeling neither pain nor hatred. Such calmness surprised even herself, but vaguely, she knew something was weighing on her heart, waiting for the moment it would shatter completely.

“Your Majesty.”

A palace servant, who had waited patiently by the imperial road, approached leisurely. His voice was shrill, full of mockery and disdain, yet he still adhered to the old formalities and bowed to her.

“Please follow this servant to the Imperial Garden. His Majesty has been waiting for some time.”

She hadn’t truly heard his words, her soul wandering like a ghost. The gloomy sky hung low, as if about to collapse entirely. Beneath the dark clouds, the opulent golden halls stood oblivious, unaware that no one would shield them from the endless storms ahead.

With great difficulty and weariness, she finally arrived at that plum grove, both familiar and foreign.

It was already the first day of the season, and even the blossoms of Jiangnan were nearing their end. The flowers fell in abundance, a scene of ultimate splendor and ultimate desolation—but she paid them no mind. Passing endless flower graves, she didn’t look back even once. In the distant waterside pavilion, a figure seemed to resemble someone from her dreams. But she would never mistake him. Sure enough, as she drew closer, she saw Wei Xi’s face.