FYM - 62

At this, she perked up a little. However, to immediately recover her composure would wound her pride, so she nonchalantly wiped her eyes while slowly extricating herself from his embrace. Then, with some embarrassment, she glanced at him and said, “I still want to read it…”

… Truly adorable.

His fingers lingered on her earlobe for a moment before he extended his right hand in front of her. She nudged him slightly and said, “For men, the left hand should be read.”

He obligingly switched hands.

She seemed pleased and sat up straighter. With one hand supporting the back of his hand and the other gently tracing his palm, she observed that his hands—those of a warrior accustomed to wielding swords—were far from the delicate softness of a lady’s. Thick calluses covered them, making them rough and rugged.

She examined carefully and noticed his slender fingertips, prominent knuckles, and faint palm lines. A broken life line ran through his palm like a sharp blade severing countless threads, suggesting a future as fleeting as a dream or illusion.

This was… a sign of losing both parents and enduring continuous calamities.

“How is it?”

Lost in thought, she suddenly heard him ask. His tone was as light and indifferent as snowflakes carried by the wind.

She pursed her lips; her palms had already grown cool. After scrutinizing for a while longer, she cautiously replied, “A fate line runs through the heavens, connecting the earth’s meridians. It’s an excellent reading…”

This was true—his palm indeed bore a deep authority line that ran straight from near his wrist, piercing through the horizontal creases to reach the base of his middle finger. It indicated a man destined to wield immense power and influence.

But…

“Is there nothing unfavorable?” he spoke again, his gaze knowing. “For instance, regarding your parents…”

This was something she couldn’t conceal—after all, his father had already…

“I don’t know much, just guessing…” She became flustered, her eyes darting away. “Besides, these mystical interpretations are often…”

He sensed her unease and chuckled softly. The hand resting on her lower back moved slightly, drawing her back into his embrace.

“It’s alright,” his voice was low and restrained. “… I know.”

… He knows.

Knows… what?

She lowered her eyes silently, deeply regretting the trivial game she had proposed earlier. His voice grew even deeper as he suddenly asked, “You must have met my father?”

… Yes, she had.

Once was after the incident at Lishan when the late Duke personally visited Song Manor to meet her father. Another time was at the memorial hall… when the emperor opened his coffin, exposing his remains to public view.

“Mm…”

She responded, recalling the mourning banners hanging everywhere in Chang’an at the time. Treating him with imperial rites was the greatest honor bestowed upon a minister.

“The late Duke was unparalleled in integrity… Meeting him was my fortune.”

“Unparalleled integrity?” He seemed to smile faintly, his gaze carrying profound meaning as he looked down at her. “Just one meeting… could you discern that?”

Her brows furrowed slightly, and for the first time, she detected traces of fatigue and sorrow in his eyes. Though he had appeared somber during their chance encounter on the river last year, it was nothing compared to now.

“Of course, I can tell…” Her brows knit tighter, and she felt the small, beautiful mole at the corner of his right eye resembled a tear. “The late Duke didn’t need to die for his cause… He had better options.”

—This was something she had long kept in her heart.

After all, the Fang family of Yingchuan wasn’t an ordinary household. Their lineage shared the nation’s longevity, revered by millions, and they commanded armies across the land. Even if shunned by the emperor, they wouldn’t find themselves cornered—so why did the late Duke choose self-sacrifice? Why did he exile his family to Yingchuan? If he wished, he could have raised arms under the pretext of purging corrupt officials. Given the Fang family’s prestige, they would have rallied countless supporters, stormed the palace, and cleansed the court of the Zhong faction—all far more effective than dying in protest.

Even a sheltered young woman like her could see this. How could a figure as weighty and experienced as the late Duke fail to perceive it? Perhaps it wasn’t that he lacked the means to raise an army… but that he couldn’t bear to plunge the nation into chaos, harming the people, nor could he bring himself to strike against the sovereign to whom he had devoted half his life.

Her grandmother was right… Water too clear holds no fish, and a person too discerning finds no followers. The Fang family’s illustrious reputation and unblemished integrity ultimately cornered them.

Though her words were subtle, Fang Xian Ting understood her thoughts. He sighed softly and said, “Such talk is highly subversive. Remember never to say it again.”

His tone remained gentle, but his expression turned grave. At that moment, she realized he wasn’t merely the man who had tenderly confided in her on the island—he was also the new head of the Fang family, destined to sacrifice himself for the throne as a noble subject. This realization brought both sadness and fear. Indeed… she was still somewhat afraid of him.

“Yes…” Her tone grew cautious, instinctively pulling back slightly from his embrace. “… Sorry.”

He paused, sensing her unease. This time, he didn’t immediately pull her back into his arms. After a brief silence, he said, “No need to apologize… I’ve had the same thoughts.”

Hearing this, she looked up. His gaze was deep, but his tone remained detached, as if reluctant to reveal too much emotion lest old wounds resurface.

“My father was a complicated man. Having long occupied a high position, many of his hardships remained unseen by outsiders.”

He seemed lost in memories.

“Battles and injuries were as common as eating and drinking. Because of his stern demeanor, he often clashed with both the late emperor and his own family…”

“… But he was indeed an upright and principled man. After my grandfather passed, he single-handedly shouldered the responsibilities of our family, never slacking for a day.”

“You can probably imagine the chaos that engulfed the Fang family after his death. My mother fell ill, and even I harbored resentment toward his resolve last year. Now, with war looming, I suddenly understand his intentions…”

“Who doesn’t fear death in life? Let alone someone with so many attachments behind him. Over the past year, I’ve pondered countless times what he was thinking that night we parted. How could he leave without regret or resentment…”

His tone grew increasingly detached, but the sadness she felt intensified.

“He told me that suffering indignities was inevitable, but our family should possess the grace to endure without bitterness. Every step forward I take benefits many others, so there’s no need to weigh gains and losses—just keep moving forward.”

“Shu Yan, he was right.”

“… I hope he was right.”

—He had never spoken so much to her before.

A man of few words, always measured and restrained, regardless of the situation. Yet here he was, speaking to her about his late father, allowing her to feel… that he was truly trying to let her in.

Her heartstrings tightened again, but this time not solely out of excitement. Perhaps because she had grown up hearing elders’ earnest teachings, his mention of the late Duke’s words stirred both admiration and confusion within her—

… Could a person truly sacrifice themselves for others?

Her grandmother had warned her repeatedly: safeguarding peace and stability in life was already immensely difficult. Bearing additional burdens would make longevity impossible. Take her father and uncle, for instance—despite their proud spirits, they inevitably bent under pressure when calamity struck. Self-preservation was human nature.

Yet the Fang family…

She barely remembered the late Duke’s voice or appearance, yet the peace she enjoyed now rested entirely on his sacrifice. The profound impact left her speechless. When she looked at Fang Xian Ting again, her emotions were a tangled web of joy and sorrow.

“He was right…”

She cautiously reached out to hug him again, feeling ashamed of her narrow-mindedness and selfishness.

“… I’m sorry.”

Her apology was earnest and sincere. He sighed, raising his hand to gently stroke her hair. His voice softened again as he consoled her, “Didn’t I say there’s no need to apologize…”

Yet she still felt sorrowful, unable to articulate the exact reason. Sensing her melancholy, he decided to change the subject. In a lighter tone, he asked, “Didn’t Zi Qiu mention accompanying you out tomorrow morning?”

The abrupt shift startled even her, though she knew he was deflecting to comfort her. Pouting slightly, she nodded and replied, “He thinks you bullied me and wants to make it up to me…”

He finally smiled, lightly pinching her chin. “He truly dotes on you.”

“Of course, my second brother loves me the most…”

Feeling his affection, she reciprocated with lighthearted banter. After a pause, she teased, “… More than Third Brother.”

At this, he raised an eyebrow, his expression subtly shifting. Hesitantly, he began, “You…”

He trailed off, leaving her puzzled. “What?”

He shook his head as if to drop the matter, but moments later, he reconsidered and continued, “Why do you address him with one more syllable than me?”

… Hmm?

Did he mean… “Second Brother” had one more syllable than “Third Brother”?

She was momentarily stunned, then laughed, her eyes curving. “I’ve always called him that way. And I started calling you ‘Third Brother’ following his lead… Besides, aren’t you a year older than my second brother? If I called you ‘Third Brother,’ wouldn’t it sound like you’re younger than him?”

How absurd—does “Third Brother” sound older than “Second Brother”? Not only does it lack seniority, but it also inexplicably loses a “Brother.”

“In that case, switch it,” he declared, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “Call me ‘Third Brother’ and him ‘Second.’”

Her eyes curved even more as she giggled into his chest, shaking her head vigorously. “That won’t do—I’ve been calling them that way for over a decade…”

Her laughter was utterly endearing, and watching her, he gradually relaxed, thinking she had shaken off the earlier heaviness and sorrow. As the spring twilight lingered enchantingly, Song Shu Yan felt his gaze soften more than the spring breeze. His voice was seductive, tinged with a hint of helplessness. “Then call me by my name… After all, I don’t intend to be your brother—I only wish to be your husband.”

The word sent her reeling, and the dizzying sensation of intoxication from yesterday on the island returned. Her body softened, and her heart melted. Quietly burying her face in the crook of his neck, her voice was barely audible, shy and trembling, yet she whispered like a dream—

“I understand…”

“… Yi Zhi.”