FYM - 70

The days spent studying painting with Master Zhang passed quickly, and the first letter from Fang Xianting finally arrived in her hands toward the end of spring.

It wasn’t a reply—dated February 25, it had been written before her letter from Qiantang could have even reached Chang’an. Perhaps he, too, was thinking of her, penning his words shortly after she did hers. The letter was brief, even shorter than the single page she had carefully edited and rewritten. He mentioned that he had already written to her father, assuring her there was no need to worry about their marriage being thwarted. If she needed anything, Ding Yue would handle it. If his replies were delayed in the future, it would be due to the campaign—she shouldn’t fret over it.

The tone was straightforward and uneventful, save for one intriguing part at the end:

“The old residence in the Western Capital has long been uninhabited, overrun with wild trees and spring grass covering the paths. I’ve planted new plum blossoms; by the time you return north, they will stand tall and graceful.”

She smiled knowingly after reading it. Naturally, she understood the “new plum blossoms” referred to herself—delicate shadows over clear water, standing radiant amidst fallen blooms. Plums and snow were meant to coexist eternally, and the finest blossoms should bloom in his courtyard. At one point, her mind drifted back to the night he came to bid her farewell—the tall man speaking softly, promising that after their marriage, whether in Chang’an or Yingchuan, she could decorate their home as she pleased. She resolved to see for herself if the “new plum blossoms” he spoke of were as vibrant as those on Shihang Island in Qiantang’s Shihao Lake. She also planned to ask him if he had planted them himself.

The sweetness overflowed, impossible to conceal. Especially now, “new plum blossoms” became a playful jest in her courtyard. Zhui’er’s leg injury had nearly healed, and she was once again full of energy, bounding around like a lively young deer. Upon learning what Marquis Fang had written in his letter, her mischievous tongue never stopped wagging, always teasing her young mistress into blushing.

“I think Lord Fang must’ve made a mistake in his letter,” she quipped, her words flowing effortlessly. “What’s this about new plums and old plums? Spring is nearly over—what kind of plum tree can still be planted? It should say ‘new bride!’ And that ‘graceful’—it’s wrong too! A bride at sixteen should be elegant and poised. Clearly, half the word is missing!”

Her nonsense drew laughter from everyone who heard it, even during morning visits to the main quarters. The closer she got to the inner courtyard, the bolder she became, chattering endlessly to the maids about how deeply devoted Marquis Fang was to their young mistress. Even from afar, he didn’t forget to express his feelings through flowers—wasn’t it just like Miss Song studying horse painting with Master Zhang?

Madam Wan and her daughter were already furious about this marriage. Hearing Zhui’er’s playful boasting only added fuel to their rage. Especially Song Shuqian, whose anger surged to the top of her head. Ignoring repeated attempts by Shumo, the eldest maid, to restrain her, she lifted her skirts and stormed toward her fourth sister the moment her mother entered the hall. Her pretty face flushed red, then white, then green, then purple—a palette more vivid than the ink Song Shuyan meticulously mixed while painting.

“Outrageous!”

Her sharp rebuke shattered all pretense of noble decorum.

“Just because you used some underhanded tricks to ensnare Brother Yi, does that give you the right to boast so loudly and behave so shamelessly? Do the Fangs even know what an insufferable little opportunist you are? Song Shuyan, your vulgarity makes me sick!”

This tirade was absurd, as if she’d completely forgotten the unseemly schemes she herself had employed earlier in the year to push her sister into a match with the Wang family of Xuancheng. Now that her plans had failed, she resorted to throwing tantrums, which only invited contempt. Song Shuyan, however, couldn’t be bothered to argue. She simply averted her gaze and waited quietly for her stepmother to begin her lecture. But Song Shuqian, infuriated by her sister’s indifference, interpreted her calmness as arrogance and superiority.

“You despicable wretch—”

She was beside herself with rage.

“You’re not yet Lady Fang! Who do you think you’re putting on airs for?”

“I’ll tear that smug look off your face today—let’s see what you’ll use to seduce Brother Yi then!”

With that, she lunged forward, her long, sharp nails flashing like claws. Gone was any semblance of her usual grace and fragility. Zhui’er, ever loyal, stepped forward to shield her mistress, ready to push Song Shuqian away. But outnumbered in the main quarters, the maids and servants soon swarmed in, all siding with their third young mistress. The clever ones had already rushed to summon Madam Wan and the eldest son. There was no way the fourth young mistress would escape unscathed.

Zhui’er was seized by two older women, and without warning, a sharp slap rang out, loud enough to pierce the heart, further fueling Song Shuqian’s frenzy. As she raised her hand for a second strike, Song Shuyan swiftly moved to shield Zhui’er. Her usually serene face hardened, sharper than when she had confronted her stepmother at Jiangyun Tower. In a low, firm voice, she said, “Third Sister, how dare you act so recklessly and tyrannically? Do you have no regard for the household rules? If Zhui’er has overstepped, it is my responsibility to discipline her. What gives you the right to interfere?”

“Your responsibility?”

Song Shuqian sneered amidst the chaos, her expression increasingly unhinged.

“Fine… Your maid isn’t worth dirtying my hands. But as long as you remain in this house, you owe me respect as your elder sister! Today, I’m teaching you a lesson. Let’s see who dares to swoop in and save you now!”

With that, she lunged at her. Song Shuyan dodged, her patience wearing thin. Though surrounded by maids and servants, none dared touch her—the legitimate young mistress and future marchioness. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed Song Shuqian by the hair and slammed her to the ground.

Song Shuqian hadn’t expected her usually meek younger sister to retaliate so fiercely. Stunned and humiliated, she screamed and scrambled to her feet, her face flushing an even deeper red, as though she wished she had a knife to stab Song Shuyan with. Amid the scuffle, the eldest son, Song Mingzhuo, arrived. As the legitimate heir, he naturally assumed the role of impartial mediator, though his bias toward his blood sister became increasingly apparent. Eventually, he ended up helping her pin Song Shuyan down, allowing Song Shuqian to land two hard slaps across her sister’s face.

Triumphant, Song Shuqian basked in her victory, strutting with pride. But as she prepared to strike again, she noticed a faint, cold smile flicker across her younger sister’s face. Then, unexpectedly, Song Shuyan stopped resisting altogether, as if waiting for her to continue. Startled, Song Shuqian froze. At that moment, the surrounding servants began to panic and bow, and she turned to see her father storming into the room, his usually refined face twisted with rage.

“What is going on here?” he roared.

“Release your sister at once!”

To be honest, aside from a childhood squabble over a hanging lantern, Song Shuyan had rarely clashed with Madam Wan and her daughter. As she grew older, she became more aware of her father’s partiality and learned to tread carefully, knowing that any misstep would result in double the consequences. With her stepmother, there was no recourse—no one would come to her aid.

But now, the situation seemed to have shifted. Their father gathered everyone in the Binwei Hall. Both her eldest and second brothers were present. She sat calmly in a chair, having borne the brunt of the attack, while her third sister knelt alone in the center of the room, sobbing pitifully. Truly, the tables had turned.

Madam Wan arrived late but immediately saw her daughter’s plight, rushing to her side with concern. Sitting next to her husband, whose face was as dark as thunderclouds, she feigned ignorance and asked, “What is going on? What offense has Qian’er committed to deserve such punishment?”

Seeing her mother, Song Shuqian crawled forward on her knees, wailing loudly, “Mother—please defend me!”

Shumo, the loyal servant of the main house, glanced at her master’s expression and hastily recounted the incident, carefully omitting key details and shifting blame onto Song Shuyan and Zhui’er. According to her, it was Zhui’er who had acted disrespectfully, and Song Shuyan who had disregarded the rules and disrespected her elders. In short, Song Shuqian was portrayed as entirely innocent, kneeling unjustly.

Though Song Mingzhen hadn’t been present, he knew well that his stepmother’s servant was twisting the truth. He clenched his fists in anger. Song Shuyan, however, remained impassive, watching as Madam Wan glared daggers at her before turning to address her husband with calculated dignity. Slowly, she spoke, “If that’s the case, then the fault lies with Fourth Daughter. While Qian’er shouldn’t have resorted to violence, it’s unreasonable for her to kneel here alone…”

Her meaning was clear: either let her daughter rise and move past the matter, or force Song Shuyan to kneel alongside her and receive equal punishment. Either way, she and her daughter would not lose. And later, they would find ways to retaliate more viciously in secret.

Song Shuyan let out a soft laugh, tinged with disdain. All eyes turned to her. Her eldest brother’s face darkened as he stared at her, demanding, “Why are you laughing, Fourth Sister? Do you not realize your mistakes?”

Mistakes?

She raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with unwavering calm. Her tone was steady as she replied, “Elder Brother excels not only at playing favorites but also at twisting words to shift blame. It seems Jinling is too small for you—you should go to the Western Capital and make better use of your talents on the political stage.”

Her biting sarcasm exposed his manipulations in front of their father, leaving no room for him to muddy the waters or shift blame onto her. As expected, Song Mingzhuo’s face darkened with anger. Before he could rise to reprimand her, their stepmother slammed her palm on the table, her cold face betraying her fury.

“Fourth Daughter, I know you’re elated from climbing so high, but don’t let it go to your head and bully your siblings. The Song family is still your natal home. How dare you disregard filial piety and speak so arrogantly—do you not respect your father and me?”

This was Madam Wan’s specialty.

Having managed the inner household for years, she understood its intricate dynamics thoroughly. Knowing that a detailed examination of the facts would only harm her daughter, she sought to provoke Song Shuyan into challenging her father’s authority.

A father must always be the ultimate arbiter for his children. He was their sky, and no matter how high she married, she could not undermine his dignity. After all, he wanted a daughter who would benefit the family. If his youngest daughter married into the Fang family but neglected her siblings, what was the point of raising her?