FYM - 90

—What in this world is illusion, and what is reality?

In the past, Zhuangzi dreamt of being a butterfly, forgetting his own identity, unable to discern between heaven, earth, self, and other. Now, waking abruptly from this grand dream, she too felt disoriented, unsure of whether it was day or night.

Song Shuyan gazed at everything around her in a daze. The snow fell softly at night, covering the plum trees with white blossoms—a scene utterly different from the wedding images that had just lingered in her mind. The scorching heat of summer had transformed into the biting cold of December, telling her that all that had come before was nothing but a false memory. She was indeed skilled at recalling memories, and those cruel images never allowed her to forget the past. This snowy night mirrored the one she had seen ten years ago on Lishan Mountain, and the plum tree here was identical to the one on the island in Lake Shihan in Qiantang.

—The only difference was perhaps the man standing beneath the tree.

…He was looking at her.

Through the spring mountains painted on paper in the western capital, through the rolling tides of the great river, he looked at her. The gentle spring days of Jiangnan were buried deep in the past, irretrievable, like the fleeting departure of the goddess Luo ascending her cloud chariot. That single glance was but a brief moment in the Jade Consort Garden, yet it also seemed to stretch across their decade-long intertwined fates.

He appeared entirely different now… clad in black armor and crowned with gold, exuding boundless authority. His solemn gaze no longer held any warmth or tenderness from his youth. The aura surrounding him was increasingly severe and piercing, enough to instill fear with just one look. The only familiar detail was the small, beautiful mole at the corner of his right eye—a feature she had sketched countless times on blank sheets of paper over the years. It was a sentimental thought, as distant as unreachable spring mountains.

“Your humble servant…”

He spoke while she was still lost in thought. All those imagined days, months, and years turned out to be mere fantasies. The fleeting moment after they met vanished completely once she uttered the heavy words “Lord Fang” moments earlier.

“…pays respects to Her Majesty the Empress Dowager.”

Before she could fully process it, he was already kneeling properly before her, much like her second brother, much like so many other ministers in the court—stiff, formal, and seemingly unrelated to her in any other way. In that moment, she thought she heard a sound, a dull “thud,” heavier than the sound of his knees hitting the snow, as if someone’s heart had been torn apart and thrown into the mud.

She had long grown numb to pain. With so many palace attendants watching behind her, she was not even allowed the slightest tremble beyond shedding tears. Fortunately, her seemingly steady breaths were a façade she had honed over seven years, allowing her to say to him: “Lord Fang has rendered great service through his arduous campaigns. There is no need for such formalities…”

“…Rise.”

—How much those words sounded like the late emperor’s.

Over the past few years, Lord Fang had led troops repeatedly to quell unrest and stabilize the realm. Each time he returned, the late emperor would earnestly instruct him—”Wear your sword into the hall, enter the court without haste, and receive praise without stating your name.” Such honors, the pinnacle for a subject, came to Lord Fang as easily as plucking something from a bag.

Now, he finally rose and stood silently before her. Though only three or four steps separated them, it felt as though they were worlds apart—across rivers and mountains. For a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder: compared to their chance encounter on the official road in Shangzhou ten years ago, which moment now felt more distant and unfamiliar?

“The report from two days ago stated that you were still with the army in Xizhou and were expected to return to court in five days,” she said, her voice still hazy and detached amidst the falling snow. It was remarkable that she could speak of politics at this moment, perhaps to salvage some dignity between them. “Why have you entered the palace tonight? Has there been a change in the military situation?”

Though the late emperor had been ill for years and she had governed on his behalf, she had never been permitted to interfere in military affairs until now. This was her first time discussing warfare with an old acquaintance. He likely felt some discomfort; his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, a small change that still caused unease. The palace maids behind her instinctively bowed their heads lower.

“I heard that the Eastern Capital was in turmoil and the situation unstable. Protecting the throne and serving the emperor is my duty as a subject.”

His reply was measured, his tone as cold and hard as his expression. After rising, he did not look at her again. The tall man kept his head slightly lowered, adhering strictly to the most rigid and meticulous etiquette between ruler and subject.

“May I inquire about His Majesty’s well-being?”

His Majesty…

Once, she was merely a daughter confined to the inner chambers, able to only observe and hear of the Fang family’s integrity and loyalty. Now, as a person within the imperial palace, she understood even more deeply the steadfastness of Lord Fang. Truly, his heart and mind were devoted solely to the imperial house and the emperor, leaving no room for anything else.

“The late emperor passed away, and His Majesty remains overwhelmed with grief. After the shock, his illness has yet to heal,” she replied calmly, unaware if the suppressed sobs in her voice would be detected. Each word felt like dancing on the edge of a blade. “The imperial physicians say that with ample rest, he will recover. Lord Fang need not worry excessively.”

After a pause, she indulged herself by glancing at him once more. “If you wish to see him, wait until tomorrow… His Majesty has already retired for the night.”

He responded with a single sound, still refusing to raise his head. She, too, dared not linger her gaze on him for fear of others noticing something amiss. But what “something” was there to notice? Everything that had happened between them seemed like it belonged to a past life. To him now, she was likely just another stranger with a vaguely familiar face.

“In that case, I shall take my leave of the palace,” he continued, his tone tinged with urgency. “I will return to court with the army in five days and pay my respects to His Majesty then.”

…Five days later?

Her thoughts froze for a moment, and it took her a while to understand his meaning. Lord Fang must be concerned about the current situation in the Eastern Capital, fearing that the young emperor might be harmed by the Luoyang faction opposing the relocation of the capital. Thus, he had rushed back to the palace under cover of night to investigate. Now, seeing that all was well, he intended to leave immediately, as generals returning to court should formally announce their arrival in advance. Departing without permission was a breach of protocol.

The reasoning was clear, but the suddenness of his departure inevitably brought fear. Her luck had always been poor, and every time she faced such moments, the worst outcome awaited her. For instance, they had parted on a similar night before, and all she received afterward was news of his “death.”

A simple word—”farewell”—was on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly her throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak. The prolonged silence revealed her fear. When he finally raised his eyes to look at her, her face was pale as paper.

“…Farewell.”

She spoke belatedly, uncertain if it was too late to mend the broken fence.

At that moment, his brows seemed to furrow even more tightly, and his gaze toward her was exceptionally obscure and heavy. Then, in an instant, he averted his eyes, leaving everything ambiguous and untraceable. The palace lanterns in the hands of the maids swayed, casting his shadow on the snowy ground, making it appear equally unstable. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that even these blurred shadows seemed more tangible than his presence. Later, when he turned and left without hesitation, the elongated shadow lingered with her a little longer.

“If His Majesty requires rest, delays in court affairs are inevitable…”

Yet he did not leave. In the heavy snowfall of December, his voice sounded even deeper and more profound amidst the swirling mist.

“If Your Majesty has any difficulties… they can all wait until I return to court before sending someone to handle them.”

—What a complex statement.

The title “Your Majesty” sent a chill through her heart, clearly drawing a line between them. Yet the word “wait” carried undeniable significance. What was he worried about? Was he concerned that Wei Bi, Fan Yucheng, and the Luoyang faction would conspire to pressure her in his absence? Or worse, stage another public rebellion in the Mingtang Hall?

But didn’t he know?

The idea of “waiting for him”… was precisely what terrified her most in life.

Her sorrow deepened, though by now it no longer cut her to the core or drove her to despair. Silently enduring the torment of her tangled fears, she nodded and said to him: “In that case, I leave everything in your hands, Lord Fang.”

They seemed to be exchanging formalities—he said “Your Majesty,” and she replied with “Lord Fang.” Neither knew how things had become what they were now. Neither had committed any wrongdoing, and both had already given their all.

She drifted off again, her spirit nearing its limit, on the verge of collapse. Who had suffered the most after the late emperor’s passing? The young emperor, still a child, could fall ill and abandon everything. But she didn’t even have the luxury of falling sick. She had to guard against Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng’s rebellion, handle piles of military reports and state affairs, and fulfill her duties as a mother to care for her sick child… truly stretched to her limits.

Now he had returned, but it brought her little comfort. She knew he would never embrace her again. Seven years ago, when he narrowly survived and returned to court, kneeling on the imperial steps, he saw her wearing the empress’s ceremonial robe, sitting beside the late emperor. From that moment on… he would never embrace her again.

She mocked herself inwardly, marveling at how exquisitely ironic life could be. Raising her eyes, she saw the snowflakes falling onto his temples, just as she had seen ten years ago in Zhaoying County. Back then, she thought the distance between them was already vast enough. Little did she know that now… it had grown so far that she no longer had the courage to look at him.

Perhaps he noticed her gaze at that moment, for the stern creases on his brow deepened visibly before quickly smoothing out, turning colder than frost and snow. He performed another formal bow and took his leave, his figure soon vanishing among the blooming plum trees. They were never meant to be together. She was not a foolish person, so how could she still harbor hope after ten long years?

“Your Majesty…”

As she lingered, Chaohua approached to gently advise her. She knew she had dreamed long enough—it was time to wake up completely.

“Let’s go.”

With an expressionless face, she turned and slowly walked toward the depths of the palace, heading in the opposite direction from him.