FYM - 79

At the beginning of August in the second year of Taiqing, Lady Qiao—after enduring for nearly half a year—finally showed signs of her life fading like an oil lamp burning out. Since the fourth day of the month, she had fallen into a deep sleep from which she could not awaken. The doctors who came to examine her all agreed that the elderly matriarch had reached the end of her natural lifespan and urged the Qiao family to prepare for her passing.

The only one who refused to accept this was Song Shuyan. She continued to tirelessly watch over her grandmother day and night, tending to her by wiping her body, feeding her medicine, and even speaking softly to keep her spirits up. It wasn’t until she could no longer feed her even liquid meals that she realized some farewells were inevitable.

Grandmother still cherished her dearly. In her final moments of lucidity, her thoughts were solely for Shuyan. With trembling, withered hands, she reached out to touch her granddaughter’s face and whispered, “What is to be done…? I wanted to personally drape my precious one in her wedding gown…”

Song Shuyan wept uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the profound debt of gratitude she owed her grandmother for raising her since childhood. She knew that without her grandparents’ protection, she would have long been ground down in the oppressive confines of the Song household. Now, having spent so few years caring for her elders, she was being forced to part ways with them, leaving her heart shattered and desolate.

“You must take care of yourself…”

Even in her final moments, Grandmother continued to worry and advise her.

“Take good care of yourself, don’t endure suffering… But don’t remain estranged from your father for too long. Remember, a woman still needs the support of her family. You can’t place all your trust in that marquis…”

“If you wait for him, live your life well with him… If you don’t…”

“My oriole…”

Some words remained unspoken, perhaps because she lacked the strength, or perhaps because it pained her too much to say them. Grandmother knew her precious granddaughter had yet to truly receive what she deserved; she had only been captivated by beautiful dreams. If those dreams couldn’t come true, how could she possibly find closure?

But she could no longer stay by her side…

Perhaps there are some pains in this world… meant to be borne alone.

On the ninth day of the same month, Lady Qiao passed away in Qiantang.

The Qiao family had prepared in advance, with the coffin and mourning hall ready long before. During the period of mourning, the entire household wore mourning clothes, lit lamps, and kept vigil. When the time came, they sent the matriarch off to her final resting place. Song Shuyan seemed to have lost her soul, kneeling at the altar longer than even the matriarch’s direct grandchildren. Within days, she had grown gaunt, her knees more swollen than when she had been punished by her stepmother in the Song household.

“That girl should kneel,” her aunt-in-law muttered behind closed doors to her uncle, Qiao Feng. “If you ask me, she should mourn Grandmother for the rest of her life. Claiming so many benefits as an outsider—it’s absurd. People might think she doesn’t even have a father. Ridiculous…”

This was her resentment over the dowry Grandmother had left for her granddaughter, which meant less for their own branch of the family. Qiao Feng, aware of his wife’s grievances, consoled her: “Just bear with it for now. After all, she’s still going to marry into the Fang family. When that happens, she’ll surely repay our kindness to the Qiao family.”

“The Fang family?” Zhang-shi snorted coldly, clearly annoyed. “What good does her marrying into a prestigious family do if she won’t stand up for us? That tax issue was clear proof. Can’t you see what kind of person your niece really is?”

She paused, then added sarcastically, “Besides, I doubt she has such great fortune. That marquis hasn’t returned in nearly two years. Who knows…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, perhaps fearing bad luck.

—Little did she know, that casual “who knows” would become reality in September of the second year of Taiqing.

News arrived from the Central Plains: the Western Turks had mobilized one hundred thousand cavalry, trapping the imperial army in the southern foothills of Mount Monar. The Divine Strategy Army fought bravely, annihilating over fifty thousand enemies despite being outnumbered ten to one. However, they were eventually forced into Shangxiao Valley, where the entire army perished. It was said the enemy set the valley ablaze, turning it into a living hell. General Fang Xianting, Marquis of Yingchuan and commander of the western expedition, also died heroically alongside his troops.

The news shocked the nation, causing an uproar in court and among the people. Though military defeats were alarming, the death of Lord Fang struck fear and sorrow throughout the land. It was as if a pillar holding up the sky had collapsed, leaving everyone sensing the impending collapse of the state.

News traveled slower to Jiangnan, but by mid-September, almost everyone knew. Zhui-er and Nurse Cui lived in constant anxiety, terrified to tell Song Shuyan the devastating news while she was still reeling from the loss of Lady Qiao. They could only cry quietly behind closed doors, lamenting why their young mistress was destined for such suffering, unable to grasp even a single wishful dream.

Alas, not everyone in the Qiao household treated her kindly. Her uncle and aunt had long resented raising an outsider, tolerating her only out of respect for Grandmother and Marquis Fang. Now that these two pillars had crumbled, why should they hold back their words?

That day, her eldest cousin’s second son, Min-er, tripped in the hall and, in pain, began to wail loudly. His pregnant mother, unable to comfort him, asked Song Shuyan to help soothe him. But during those days, Shuyan had eaten little and worried much, her spirit frail. Even walking on flat ground made her dizzy—how could she restrain a mischievous four- or five-year-old boy? Politely declining, she asked Nurse Cui for help instead. To her surprise, her sister-in-law sneered, saying, “Sister sure has airs… Now that she can’t become a marchioness, who is she putting on such airs for?”

That barb was abrupt, laced with complex emotions—jealousy, anger, mockery, and satisfaction at seeing someone fall from grace. But Song Shuyan paid no heed to others’ opinions. Instead, she was confused by the phrase “now that she can’t become a marchioness.” Stunned, her heart tightened suddenly, perhaps sensing that misfortune had already descended.

“What, you haven’t heard?”

The other woman feigned surprise, clearly pleased to reveal the truth herself.

“Your fiancé has died in battle. The court has bestowed numerous posthumous honors. After all, the Fangs are a respectable family—they wouldn’t force you to marry a dead man…”

…”Dead.”

A word she hadn’t dared to think about in her heart was now casually spoken by another. Yet she sat there in a daze, as if she hadn’t understood. Her heart, already torn apart by loss, no longer bled quickly.

Seeing her lack of reaction, the other woman repeated herself. Still, Shuyan remained frozen, unable to speak. After a long moment, she mechanically turned to look at Zhui-er beside her. Tears streamed down Zhui-er’s red, trembling eyes, overwhelmed with grief.

“Miss…”

Finally, she had to force herself to utter those cruel words.

“Lord Fang… Lord Fang he…”

—What of him?

Suddenly, she couldn’t hear anymore. A sharp noise filled her ears, and her face turned ghostly pale, even alarming her previously smug sister-in-law. Rising heavily with her pregnant belly, the latter asked if Shuyan felt unwell. But Shuyan simply stood up and stumbled toward the door, ignoring Zhui-er’s cries and attempts to stop her. At that moment, she didn’t even know whom to seek.

…Him?

She hadn’t seen him in nearly two years.

…Grandmother?

She was already separated from her by life and death.

In her daze, she finally remembered Ding Yue. As a private retainer of the Fang family, his words wouldn’t be as unfounded as her sister-in-law’s or Zhui-er’s. Yet her self-deceptive hope shattered the moment she found him. This tall, sturdy man, known for his stoicism, teared up in front of her.

“Our lord has indeed sacrificed himself for the nation…”

His voice choked as he looked at her with a hint of pity.

“Miss… there’s no need to wait anymore.”

…No one in the world knew that she, too, had died in that moment.

Life often feels irrational. Once dull and unremarkable, it suddenly became enchanting the moment he bent down to lift her carriage shaft. Entranced, she followed deeper, once glimpsing blossoming trees and falling petals. Yet what lay before her in the end was a bottomless abyss and overgrown grass. The spring river, flowers, and moonlight turned out to be mere illusions, dissolving into ash with the slightest touch.

…Yet she hadn’t touched them much at all.

Only a little, for such a brief three days… fleeting like a daytime dream. She had barely brushed the hem of his robe before being forced awake.

They still had so much left unsaid… like when he first began to favor her, whether he had thought of taking her with him that day on the river, if he truly enjoyed the delicate rice wine of Jiangnan, or if he, too, had been flustered and moved that day on the island.

They also had so much left undone. She had never celebrated a birthday with him, nor had they watched the grandest tidal bore of Qiantang in August together. He hadn’t taken her to Chang’an to admire the newly planted plum blossoms he wrote about in his letters, nor had he ever truly called her “Oriole.”

…All unfinished matters.

…All unfulfilled intentions.

Suddenly, she didn’t know how to console herself. As a child, when her father neglected her and her stepmother mistreated her, she told herself it was fate—her shallow ties with her parents weren’t something to force. As long as her grandparents loved her, life was complete. Later, when her uncle and aunt resented her and occasionally made cutting remarks, she reasoned that she was living off their charity and deserved the cold looks. And later still, when her third sister bullied her mercilessly, cornering her with no way out, she reminded herself that she still had her second brother. One couldn’t be greedy; having a brother who truly cared for her was enough.

…But now?

What reason could she give herself to accept his departure?

…I actually thought that with you, I wouldn’t have to let go anymore.

I could laugh openly when happy, cry honestly when sad, firmly demand an end to bullying, and straightforwardly express my love for things I admired. So I thought you were fate’s compensation for the hardships I endured alone in the long years without you—or perhaps its reward for never harboring ill intentions despite everything.

…But it turns out that wasn’t the case.

It let me see you, showing me the best things in the world in a single day, even letting me taste the sweetness of being favored and protected… Then, after a long wait, it took you away, telling me everything was an illusion. Even the snow-laden winds of Qiong-ying couldn’t linger.

What about “Beyond the flat wilderness lies Spring Mountain”?

Fang Yi Zhi… Did you lie to me too?