FYM - 88

In the fourth month of the third year of Taqing, Xiao Pass fell, and Yuanzhou was lost. The rebel army and the Turks advanced unimpeded, leaving almost no barriers west of the capital region. By mid-month, the court had relocated east to Luoyang. Rumors swirled among the populace—was this a decisive move or merely a delaying tactic before abandoning the Central Plains for the south? It wasn’t until the fifth month, when Empress Fang was deposed by imperial decree and the emperor announced his intention to take Song Shuyan of Jinling as his new empress, that it became clear: the emperor’s resolve to cross south was firm. Like Chang’an before it, Luoyang would inevitably fall into enemy hands.

The three-hundred-year-old Great Zhou dynasty teetered on the brink of collapse. The dream of a flourishing age shattered in the blink of an eye. Mourning voices filled the land, and the two capitals burned with ceaseless lights through the nights. No one had time to grieve for anyone, nor did they have the energy to question whether deposing Empress Fang was proper. Millions of lives now knew only chaos and the collapse of order, yet no one could foresee where the future might lead.

Amidst these nation-shaking events, the inner chambers of the Wan family in Yangzhou descended into chaos far earlier.

In the third month, Song Shuqian, the eldest daughter of the Song family, had fled to Yangzhou to seek refuge with her sister, hoping to escape the turmoil. But who could have foreseen that she would grow infatuated with her brother-in-law, harboring absurd notions of sharing him with her sister? Perhaps driven mad by the prospect of entering the palace, she lost all sense of propriety. After her first failed attempt to confess her feelings to her brother-in-law, she resorted to increasingly brazen advances.

Wan Sheng, her brother-in-law, initially remained steadfast, firmly rejecting her advances several times. However, his wife had just given birth, and their marital intimacy had been absent for some time. One evening, sitting alone in his study after drinking a few cups of wine, he encountered Song Shuqian half-dressed and offering herself. Gradually, his resolve wavered. Her fresh, youthful face reminded him of his wife in her younger days, and her delicate, alluring figure proved irresistible. In the end, half-reluctantly, he succumbed to temptation, though it was unclear whether this was intentional infidelity or simply drunken folly.

Such a scandal could not remain hidden. Desperate to avoid being forced into the palace, Song Shuqian refused to stay silent. The next morning, she dramatically threw herself at her sister’s feet, tears streaming down her face, and confessed everything. “I dare not expect your forgiveness,” she sobbed, “but I beg for a chance to make amends. I will serve as a concubine, as a maid, and dedicate myself to caring for the children. Please don’t cast me out—I’d rather die than be thrown into the imperial harem.”

Her tearful display might have fooled the uninformed into thinking she was the victim, but her sister, who had lovingly taken care of her, now felt utterly betrayed. Still recovering from childbirth, she trembled with rage, her face pale as she pointed at her sister, speechless. Turning to her once-tender husband, she slapped him hard across the face, heartbroken. “Wan Sheng… how could you…”

Song Shuying, the eldest daughter of the Song family, had once been celebrated in Chang’an. She could have married any prince or nobleman she desired. Yet, in pursuit of love, she had married beneath her station, only to find herself humiliated and heartbroken. Wan Sheng, realizing the gravity of his misdeed, knelt before his wife, begging for forgiveness. Gone was his former elegance; now, he blamed his actions on drunken confusion and accused Song Shuqian of deliberately seducing him. His gaze toward her burned with anger, as if he wished to strangle her on the spot.

Song Shuqian, terrified, felt both alienated by her brother-in-law and guilty for her choices. In desperation, she secretly sent word to her mother in Jinling. Days later, instead of comfort, she received a stinging slap from her enraged mother.

“You stupid, heartless wretch—”

Lady Wan, rushing back to her natal home, was nearly inconsolable.

“She’s your own sister! The mother of your nephews! How could you—how could you—”

Song Shuqian, raised in indulgence and accustomed to getting her way, now faced not only the threat of being forced into the palace but also the loss of dignity and respect within her sister’s household. Overwhelmed, she collapsed in anguish, screaming and crying like a common street brawler. “Mother only cares about my sister! Am I not your own flesh and blood?”

“In ancient times, Ehuang and Nüying both became wives of Emperor Shun. Why can’t I share my sister’s husband? Wan Sheng took advantage of me, and now he denies it. Is there such a thing as justice in this world?”

“Father is selling me off to gain favor, and even Mother has abandoned me. What’s the point of living? I might as well hang myself and be done with it!”

Lady Wan had spoiled her youngest daughter all her life, always blaming others for her mistakes. Now, reaping the consequences of her indulgence, she found herself consumed with regret—but it was too late.

“Qian’er, you’ve been so foolish—”

Lady Wan wept bitterly, her face soaked with tears, utterly disheveled.

“Your father loves you dearly. He would never let you suffer or die. He’s already decided to send your youngest sister to the palace as empress! He was about to send someone to bring you home!”

This…

Song Shuqian froze, her face pale as chalk. Her mind blanked, unable to continue berating her mother as she had moments before. Then, she heard her mother sobbing, “What are we to do now… Your virtue is tarnished. What respectable nobleman will ever want you?”

“And what about your sister? How can she…?”

Overcome with grief, Lady Wan covered her face and cried uncontrollably, unable to form another coherent sentence. The skies of Yangzhou darkened suddenly, signaling the arrival of the rainy season—a silent herald of impending storms.

By the end of the fifth month, the Song household in Jinling was in a frenzy.

Once, both of their daughters had remained unmarried, but now fate had intervened in unexpected ways. Their youngest, Song Shuyan, was set to marry the emperor in Luoyang, while their third daughter, Song Shuqian…

Though no one dared discuss it openly, rumors spread like wildfire behind closed doors. Everyone knew that the third young miss had climbed into her brother-in-law’s bed, and the “happy” tale of sisters sharing a husband had become the talk of every household. Were it not for the fact that Song Dan was about to become the emperor’s father-in-law, the family would have been ridiculed mercilessly.

The Song family was painfully aware of the gossip. Even Song Dan, upon learning of his third daughter’s disgraceful act just a month prior, had nearly disowned her in his fury. Only his wife and eldest son’s pleas had stopped him from taking drastic measures. But with the damage done, someone had to clean up the mess. Reluctantly, Song Dan swallowed his pride and negotiated with the Wan family in Yangzhou, arranging for Wan Sheng to take Song Shuqian as a secondary wife. However, Song Shuying, the eldest daughter, vowed never to associate with her natal family again, leaving the household in shambles.

As the instigator of this chaos, Song Shuqian suffered the most. Despite gaining the title of secondary wife, she earned no respect. Relatives who once flattered her now avoided her like the plague, and her brother-in-law, once her lover, now spent all his time consoling his wife, forgetting his new bride entirely.

Overwhelmed with regret and shame, Song Shuqian returned to her mother’s home in Yangzhou, seeking solace in the arms of the only person who still cared for her. But upon entering, she was greeted by imperial eunuchs and maids bustling about, preparing for the upcoming marriage of her youngest sister. The vibrant scene stood in stark contrast to her own hurried, pitiful wedding just half a month prior, when she was quietly ushered into the Wan household in a modest sedan chair.

Song Shuyan, that wretch…

Song Shuqian seethed with resentment. Though she knew she deserved her current suffering, blaming others came easier than self-reflection. Her youngest sister became an easy target, a scapegoat for her frustrations.

Compared to the dramatic twists of Song Shuqian’s marriage, Song Shuyan’s preparations were much quieter. Having never met the emperor and sharing no emotional connection with him, her wedding felt more like a distant pilgrimage. She simply waited at home for her journey north to the palace, where she would become the thread binding the imperial family to the Songs. Beyond that, nothing else mattered to her.

Zhui’er and Nurse Cui, longtime attendants of hers, knew her heart had long since turned to ash after the death of Lord Fang. They spared her the details of the wedding preparations, handling them discreetly on her behalf and coordinating with the palace officials.

In early June, she finally boarded the official ship bound for the north. Zhui’er stayed behind in Jinling to pack the remaining belongings. On the morning of the third day, after performing the farewell rituals and sending their young mistress off on the grand vessel, Zhui’er returned to the Song estate. Almost immediately, the gatekeeper informed her of a visitor claiming to be from Yingchuan and familiar with Miss Song. The name “Ding Yue” rang a bell, and Zhui’er’s heart raced inexplicably.

She rushed to the gates and found Ding Yue standing there, breathless and red-faced, clutching a slightly damaged letter in his trembling hand. “For… for your young mistress…” he stammered.

Speechless, Zhui’er accepted the letter, her hands shaking even more violently than his. “My young mistress… she, she has already…”

“What are you doing—”

A sharp voice interrupted their exchange. Zhui’er turned to see Lady Wan and Song Shuqian, surrounded by servants, arriving at precisely the wrong moment.

Who could deny it?

This was… fate.