FYM - 86

Amidst the commotion in the main household, someone as perceptive as Song Shuyan could not possibly remain oblivious to the current state of affairs at home.

She felt as though she had been cleaved into two halves: one part was a lifeless shell, indifferent to everything around her, while the other desperately clung to life, furiously maintaining its ability to think. In the silence, all chaos became clear. She realized she understood the grand schemes her family was plotting, and how their timid maneuvering filled her with disgust.

…It was all so utterly tedious.

Tedious people, tedious matters, a tedious world… Though she lived amidst it all, she felt no connection to any of it. Perhaps it was because those who had mattered to her were gone, one by one, and she no longer wished to linger here.

—How difficult could leaving really be?

For the late Duke, it had only taken a cup of poisoned wine; for Lady Jiang, a single white silk cord. She was far smaller than them—surely her departure would be quieter, easier. A moment later, clarity dawned. Crossing the bridge would allow her to see those she longed to meet again. Giving up was the simplest thing, far better than being trapped within invisible walls, her freedom stolen from her.

In April, the orioles sang and the grass grew lush. Her father, who had confined her to her room for over a month, suddenly showed mercy and allowed her to leave the estate. His gaze upon her was complex as he said, “Jinling is your home too… You should go out more.”

At that moment, she knew something was amiss. Her weary body and hyper-alert mind clashed fiercely, leaving her only able to respond with cold detachment. Eventually, she stepped outside. The misty rain of Jiangnan lingered, as if it had never cleared since his departure north, like sorrow entwined endlessly.

She sailed along the Qingxi River, where the water merged with the mist, creating an ethereal emptiness. On either bank, countless pavilions appeared as mirages, insubstantial and fleeting. When had she last sat in the Jiangyun Pavilion? He and Lady Jiang had been by her side, and hundreds of miles away in Qiantang, her grandmother had awaited her return. Yet, in just two years, everything had changed so drastically it felt like another lifetime.

Further ahead lay the ancient site of Taicheng. The continuous city walls could not conceal the grandeur of the imperial palace from centuries past. Beyond the high walls, willows swayed green, truly as the poems described—”mist veiling heartless scenes.” Approaching closer, she saw several figures gradually emerge on the shore. Leading them was a tall, slender man who, upon spotting her, raised his hand in greeting, asking if she could ferry him across the river.

His face was faint through the haze, yet she noticed the faint bluish-purple tinge of his lips. Instantly, she recalled the roar of the Yangtze’s tide and the words he had spoken to her then. A surge of emotions overwhelmed her heart, and she replied, “The tree colors shift with the mountains, the river’s sound flows far into the sea—Your Highness must know I have but this one boat, and cannot ferry others.”

Her refusal was a double entendre, yet the man merely chuckled softly across the water, his gaze conveying admiration. He sighed, “No wonder Lord Song always praised his youngest daughter as clever. Today’s encounter confirms it.”

…He had called her bluff.

She was cornered, her weariness deepening, yet she had no choice but to order the boat to dock. Dismissing her attendants, she knelt alone and bowed deeply, saying, “This humble servant pays respects to Your Majesty.”

Emperor Wei Qin, dressed in dark robes, stood by the riverside, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at her for a long time. Spring in Jiangnan had passed, and finally, he gestured for her to rise. “Miss Song, please stand.”

She complied, rising to her feet. There was nothing left to say to this ruler of the realm. Her two brief encounters with him—at the hunting grounds of Lishan and the late Duke’s memorial hall—had already faded into obscurity. She vaguely sensed he was more reserved and introspective than years ago, his complexion paler and more gaunt.

“The splendor of the Six Dynasties’ old capital is but a fleeting dream. In mere centuries, it has become ruins. Chang’an, too, will inevitably follow suit, one day reduced to a desolate city…”

He spoke first, his tone calm, as if casually chatting with her.

“Which place do you prefer more, Miss Song? The Western Capital or Taicheng?”

Her heart was still as water. Before the ruler of the land, she felt neither fear nor surprise. Bereft of her past habit of careful calculation, she simply spoke from her heart: “I like neither.”

Meeting his eyes directly, her tone grew colder. “Wherever the imperial palace stands, I avoid it at all costs.”

Her bold words drew a sharp rebuke from the emperor’s attendant: “How dare you!” The sound echoed far across the misty river. But Wei Qin merely waved off his retinue and responded with a faint smile, “Is that so?” His expression was gentle, tinged with melancholy.

“I feel the same…” he murmured, notably avoiding the royal “I.” “…I like neither.”

The water rippled gently, the willows swayed in the breeze, their rustling soft. Song Shuyan’s heart was empty, as if nothing could stir her anymore.

“When I was in the Eastern Palace, I always yearned for the throne. Now that I’ve attained it, I realize the weight of this burden. Perhaps I was never fit to be emperor, or perhaps I simply didn’t come at the right time…”

He seemed unconcerned with her thoughts, lost in his own musings.

“The imperial palace is no good place… I’ve seen the darkest depths of human nature there, witnessed life-and-death struggles, and personally sent some on their way. It’s too high, too cold—it dehumanizes people…”

She listened, her eyes fixed on the crumbling walls of Taicheng. With time, much had peeled away, leaving behind nothing but a mound of earth.

“Have you met Yi?” he abruptly asked, breaking her reverie.

Hearing that name was like a stone cast into still waters, sending ripples outward. She realized she wasn’t as unfeeling as she thought. Anything concerning him would instantly shatter her composure.

“He was the son of the late Duke Fang He, later demoted by the former emperor to Marquis of Yingchuan. To me, he was both a trusted minister and a close friend…”

Wei Qin didn’t notice her fleeting reaction. His dull eyes gazed at the tranquil water, his voice damp and hazy like the mist.

“He died in battle in the northwest passes, leading ten thousand troops against a hundred thousand Turkic cavalry. In the end, he killed over fifty thousand enemies and protected hundreds of thousands of civilians. Now, his bones lie scattered on the battlefield, his body unrecoverable…”

“His father also died for me, spending over a decade opposing the former emperor’s will and resisting the Zhong family to safeguard my position as crown prince. In the end, he took his own life with a cup of poison to settle the matter…”

“And his sister, his mother, his brothers, his uncles… So many people, countless people.”

Wei Qin sighed, and Song Shuyan’s heart bled anew.

“That’s why I can’t leave…”

His tone shifted sharply, the imperial “I” finally emerging, signaling the depth of his pain and resolve.

“I must stay here… until the day I can no longer hold on.”

“I will drive the barbarians out of the Central Plains, protect the people, and bring peace. I must prove to the late emperor that I can be a worthy ruler—I cannot let down those who sacrificed their lives for this cause…”

As he spoke, his lips turned pale, as if his chest ailment had flared again. His attendants cried out, “Your Majesty!” rushing forward, but he waved them off, pressing a hand to his chest while looking down at her once more.

“I need the Song family…”

He was unflinchingly honest, his tone urgent and heavy.

“The southern relocation may be imminent, and Jinling is the final option. My trusted allies are gone, but this empire still needs saving…”

“Miss Song… Will you and the Song family lend me your strength?”

As the emperor’s final word fell, the river was enveloped in thicker fog, obscuring pavilions and towers, isolating them from the world.

In that moment, Song Shuyan heard the voices of many who had passed. Her grandmother’s teachings were especially clear, reminding her that most lives were but floating weeds or blades of grass. Finding safety and peace was already a monumental task. Without limitless wealth or power, one shouldn’t bear such immense burdens. Self-preservation was never wrong—it was the survival strategy of fragile beings like her.

And then… she thought of him.

He had held her gently under the spring trees of Yuhuang Mountain, speaking briefly of his father. He said everyone feared death, yet hardships were inevitable. Wasn’t it the mark of a true gentleman to endure without resentment? Taking one step forward benefited countless others, so there was no need to weigh gains and losses—just move forward resolutely.

…He hadn’t spoken empty words.

Like his father, he upheld integrity and duty, sacrificing himself for the nation and its people without hesitation. Every word and action contrasted sharply with her grandmother’s teachings, yet she could not call them mistaken.

Flickering images crowded her mind: the endless snow and mourning banners of Yingchuan, the empty coffin and rows of new and old garments in the memorial hall, the women and children collapsing by the roadside during her southern journey, the elderly wrapped in straw mats, the endless lines outside Jinling, and the ceaseless music along the Qingxi River…

…So much, so much.

Suddenly, she didn’t know how to answer. Perhaps her entire life had been small, weak, fearful, and self-serving. Yet fate had led her to meet the most selfless person she’d ever known on that snowy mountain road in Shangzhou. He had bent down, hands dirty, to lift a heavy cart axle for a stranger, planting a seed of karmic inevitability in her heart.

“I understand marriage is a matter of mutual hearts, and I once ruined a woman’s life because of it…”

Wei Qin spoke again, his voice tinged with regret and sorrow from memories unresolved.

“If you agree to enter the palace as empress, I will treat you with the respect due to a loyal subject. Once the empire is stabilized, your family will share in the glory.”

“Miss Song, I ask you once more…”

“…Will you help me cross this river?”

The mist lingered, the water remained calm. Tears shimmered in Song Shuyan’s eyes. The man who had once urged her to cross the river alone was now fading further away, while her small, solitary boat was sought by another traveler.

He had said that if she sailed alone, the path ahead would be vast and blue. But sharing the boat with another might mean chains locking the river, cutting off all paths. She had followed his advice and left alone, watching him shoulder the burdens of the world alone, sinking into the river’s depths, leaving nothing behind for himself.

—And what about her?

If given the choice again… would she still choose to admire the shimmering expanse of blue waves alone?

“This humble servant has only this one boat…”

She finally answered amidst the swirling mist, and in that moment, everything was settled.

“…But it likely won’t reach any better destination.”