FYM - 83

On the first day of the first lunar month in the third year of Taqing, Lady Jiang, the matriarch of the Fang family, hanged herself in the ancestral residence in Yingchuan.

By the time the maids noticed something amiss, her body had already grown cold. She left no note, no final words—everything eerily echoed the scene three years ago when the late Duke took his own life. The timing was the same: the depths of winter, heavy snow falling, and a solitary figure departing silently into the void.

The joy of the New Year crumbled in an instant. When Song Shuyan received the news, it felt like a blow to the head. Yet, upon reflection, she realized she wasn’t as shocked as she might have expected. Perhaps deep down, she had always known that the Fang family could not withstand such repeated devastation. Lady Jiang’s choice, in the end, seemed inevitable.

Stumbling toward the room, she found Fang Ranjun had already arrived. The empress, stripped of all her titles in this moment, was merely a daughter grieving for her mother. Her numb eyes shed no tears, no trace of the sharp anguish she had shown at her father’s memorial hall remained. The relentless succession of tragedies had finally drained the strength of this once-proud family. Though they might continue to stand tall against the storms, they were now little more than hollow puppets, devoid of feeling.

“Mother shared a deep bond with Father in life,” Fang Ranjun said tonelessly, her hands still gripping her mother tightly. “In death, they should not be parted… Let them be buried together.”

The servants around her knelt in agreement, quickly rising to prepare for yet another sudden funeral. Once again, the old residence was draped in mourning white, evoking both profound sorrow and an unsettling sense of absurdity. Song Shuyan felt herself slipping into a daze. Since August of the second year of Taqing, a cascade of calamities had battered her relentlessly—her grandmother, him , and now Lady Jiang. It seemed everyone she loved or who loved her was being torn away from her. No matter how hard she tried, she was left with nothing.

…Nothing remained.

“Miss…”

Zhui’er and Nurse Cui didn’t know how to comfort her anymore. They simply stayed by her side day and night, even keeping vigil beside her bed while she slept, fearing she might follow Lady Jiang’s path. But Song Shuyan no longer had the energy to take such drastic steps. When grief reached its peak, only exhaustion remained, along with a lingering confusion. What had they done wrong to deserve such treatment? They were all good-hearted people, unreserved in their intentions… Why then were they driven one by one to such despair?

She couldn’t understand, and fate gave her no time to ponder. In early February, another unexpected visitor arrived in Yingchuan—none other than her eldest brother, Song Mingzhuo.

“Fourth Sister…”

He looked down at her, perhaps still harboring resentment over their argument back in the first year of Taqing. His gaze was cold, tinged with a hint of cruelty.

“The elders of our family have repeatedly written to you, urging you to return south to Jinling. Yet you’ve ignored every letter, acting as though you haven’t seen them. What is your reason?”

Song Shuyan had no interest in engaging with him. At that moment, she simply replied indifferently, “Since last year, I’ve been overwhelmed with affairs. Brother must know I have no intention of returning home. Please leave as soon as possible.”

Song Mingzhuo didn’t grow angry at her words but instead laughed cruelly, his expression growing even more mocking. “Your grief over Grandmother’s passing is understandable, and Father has been considerate, refraining from pressing you since August. But you’ve gone too far, stubbornly staying with the Fangs despite the lack of any formal ties. This behavior harms the reputation of the Song family, and the clan cannot ignore it.”

His words were harsh and domineering, as if he knew full well that all those who once protected her were now gone. He showed no mercy to this half-sister of his. Though she had long understood the fickleness of human nature, she now saw the raw brutality beneath the veneer of civility. His viciousness was laid bare, without even the pretense of a mask.

“I’ve already said I won’t return. Why force me?” she said, her heart devoid of anger or hatred, only an endless sorrow amidst the sea of white mourning. “Besides, Lady Fang’s body is still warm. How can we disturb the peace of the departed?”

“Ridiculous!”

Song Mingzhuo sneered again, his tone growing colder and more disdainful. “You were never formally betrothed to the Fangs, so there’s no reason for you to linger here. While it’s proper to pay respects after Lady Fang’s passing, there’s no justification for delaying your return indefinitely. Today, you will come home with me. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

With that, he gestured for the servants accompanying him to forcibly bind her and take her away. Zhui’er and Nurse Cui turned pale with fear, rushing to block them. Zhui’er even dropped to her knees, pleading loudly, “Young Master, please have mercy! Our miss is gravely ill and cannot endure such treatment!”

But their loyalty only irritated Song Mingzhuo further. He frowned coldly, ignoring Zhui’er’s pleas. When she persisted, he kicked her violently to the ground, shouting, “How dare you defy me! Is this the kind of behavior your mistress teaches you?”

His tendency to lash out at servants mirrored his mother’s temperament, amplified by two years of pent-up frustration since the first year of Taqing. Song Shuyan, weak from illness, lunged forward to protect Zhui’er, but the servants paid no heed, dragging her away mercilessly. Amid the chaos, a firm voice rang out: “Stop!” Turning, they saw Ding Yue rushing into the room.

Two years ago in Jinling, he had stood up for Miss Song just as resolutely, forcing the Song patriarch to retreat step by step. Now, he spoke with equal conviction to Song Mingzhuo: “Young Master Song is a guest here, but Miss Song is an honored guest of the Fangs. If she does not wish to leave Yingchuan, we cannot allow you to force her.”

…But what good would that do?

Ding Yue was merely a private retainer of the Fangs, his dignity tied entirely to Lord Fang Xian Ting. With Fang Xian Ting dead and the Fang family in turmoil, why should the heir of the Song family fear a mere household servant?

“Absurd!” Song Mingzhuo shot back, his tone aggressive. “Our family has no ties to the Fangs, so there’s no reason for my sister to stay here mourning Lord Fang! Today, I’m taking her back to the south, and let’s see who dares to stop me!”

Ding Yue fell silent, knowing well that Miss Song no longer had any real connection to the Fangs. Even though the empress was still in the house, she was too grief-stricken over Lady Jiang’s death to argue with the Songs.

After all, Miss Song was still a daughter of the Song family. Whether willing or not, her father and brother were still her guardians.

Ding Yue’s gaze filled with helplessness and guilt as he looked at Song Shuyan. The fragile woman’s response was one of clarity and gratitude. Before being dragged away by her brother, she turned to nod at him, her faint smile tinged with sorrow but also weary resignation.

“Thank you for protecting me thus far,” she said softly.

“As for the road ahead, I will walk it alone.”

________________________________________

By late spring in March, the warmth of Jiangnan offered little solace amid the fires of war. Song Shuyan was escorted southward by her elder brother, witnessing countless refugees along the way. Most were fleeing from the northwest, seeking refuge in the south. Outside Jinling, crowds of elderly, women, and children waited desperately to enter the city, bribing the guards with silver coins to speed up their passage.

The Song family carriage entered the city without delay. Along the banks of the Qingxi River, music and revelry continued unabated. It seemed the governor of Jinling had forgotten the lessons taught by Lord Fang Xian Ting two years prior. The prohibition on prostitution, enacted for appearances’ sake, had quietly faded into obscurity. Amidst the decadence, Song Shuyan’s mind flashed back to the endless snowfall in Yingchuan, the overwhelming pall of mourning starkly contrasting with the laughter and joy she now saw in Jinling.

Her heart was frostbitten, numb and indifferent. As her brother dragged her roughly from the carriage, she stumbled and fell. This time, there were no strong, steady arms to catch her. She hit the ground hard, looking up to see the towering, imposing facade of the Song estate—a cold, impenetrable prison destined to confine her for life.

“Get up,” her brother ordered, showing no inclination to help her. He had already dismissed Zhui’er with a wave, his cold gaze filled with satisfaction as if some deep grudge had been settled. “Go inside.”

The servants waiting outside watched eagerly. Many had fawned over her during her engagement to Fang Xian Ting but now quickly changed their demeanor, aligning themselves with the eldest son. She offered a faint smile, feeling neither bitterness nor shame. Entering the main hall, she found the room filled with “relatives” whose emotions ran high—especially her uncle’s family, eager for the spectacle.

The happiest were undoubtedly her stepmother and third sister. They had once lamented losing such a prestigious match for her, venting their frustration through scolding and abuse. Now, seeing her returned home like a motherless orphan, their vindictive delight must have been immense. Mockery was inevitable. “Look at her—she once thought herself worthy of a grand marriage, but her shallow fortune couldn’t sustain it. In the end, all her efforts were in vain.”

—And her father?

He sat solemnly in the main seat, exuding authority. Two years ago, the disobedient daughter who dared challenge him under Lord Fang’s influence now stood before him alone. Perhaps he felt a sense of triumph, but his slightly furrowed brow and probing gaze suggested he was more calculating than her stepmother and sister, careful not to reveal his thoughts.

Exhausted beyond measure, Song Shuyan lacked the strength to navigate these blood-tied strangers. Without even the energy to bow in greeting, she stood calmly and asked, “Father sent my elder brother all the way north to bring me back. May I ask what important matter requires his personal instruction?”