FYM - 94

“Mother, why did you intervene just now to stop them?”

After the court session ended and the officials dispersed, Song Shuyan had returned to Jishan Palace physically and mentally exhausted. However, Wei Xi was unusually spirited, his previous illness-induced lethargy swept away, replaced by a sense of resentment and indignation.

“The Yinping Prince and his son are treacherous and guilty of heinous crimes! Even a thousand cuts wouldn’t quench my hatred! Lord Fang was just one step away from killing them—after that, no one in court would dare show disrespect to Mother!”

He had been following her all the way, even into the inner chambers, tugging persistently at her sleeve. Beside them, Wang Mu, who had kept his head bowed throughout, now personally brought fragrant tea to help calm the young emperor, gently advising: “Your Majesty, please take a sip of tea…”

Wei Xi paid him no heed, focusing solely on Song Shuyan, as if no one else existed in her presence. She, however, merely sighed softly, her gaze half attentive, half distant.

“To govern a great nation is like cooking a small fish. Your father and Master Chen should have both taught you this,” she replied evenly, her tone unruffled and composed. “Why did your father appoint those five men to stand together? First, to appease different factions within the court; second, to ensure your safety.”

“To protect me…?” Wei Xi seemed only partially comprehending.

“Since ancient times, human hearts are fickle, emotions shifting with circumstances. Nothing remains unchanged forever,” she explained patiently, her demeanor calm and unshaken. “Though Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng oppose us now over the southern migration, they may still become useful allies to you in the future. Similarly, though Lord Fang appears perfect now, if we allow his unchecked dominance without balance, trouble may arise later.”

Wei Xi’s eyes widened slightly, disbelief evident on his face. He asked: “Mother, do you mean… Lord Fang might rebel?”

—How could that be?

He would never do such a thing, nor would she ever think so… But if there were truly no past affection between them, she should harbor suspicion toward him. Blind trust would only reveal her hidden selfishness toward him.

“It’s always wise to be cautious,” she replied, lowering her eyes indifferently, her words as impenetrable as ever. “…He holds far too much power.”

Wei Xi nodded, understanding somewhat. After a moment of reflection, his tone grew lighter. “But I believe Lord Fang won’t… If he intended to rebel, he wouldn’t have ordered General Song to return with troops to rescue us. Nor would he provoke conflict with the Yinping Prince and Chancellor Fan now. Father trusted him, and I… am willing to trust him as well.”

Song Shuyan smiled faintly, patting the young emperor’s frail shoulder. After seven years of enduring the imperial palace, she had mastered the art of deception, her eyes serene and composed, revealing nothing of her true thoughts beneath layers of pretense.

—Why did she stop him from killing Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng?

Stabilizing the court was important, but what concerned her more was his safety and reputation. The Luoyang faction controlled more than half the court. Killing their leader would only be a temporary fix, possibly provoking an even fiercer backlash. She couldn’t let him become a target of criticism or give others ammunition to attack him. Some responsibilities were meant for the imperial family to bear, and perhaps she cherished the Fang clan’s reputation even more than he did.

He must not falter.

At least, not while she could see and act.

“…Did Yi Zhi truly intend to move against the Yinping Prince today?”

Inside and outside the palace walls, the storm raged equally. At the same time, within the Marquis of Yingchuan’s residence, discussions were also underway. Fang Lian, elder brother of the former Duke Fang He and retired Minister of War, had stepped down to enjoy his twilight years. Yet, hearing his grandchildren recount today’s events in the Mingtang Hall, his brows furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his eyes.

“He was truly enraged,” Fang Yun Chong, his eldest son and now a third-rank general of the Sixteen Guards, sighed in response. Nearing forty, he appeared more composed than before. Though his tone conveyed more reflection than worry, he continued: “Wei Bi went too far, daring to plot an assassination of the Empress Dowager—Yi Zhi and Her Highness, after all…”

The failed marriage pact between the Fang and Song families ten years ago remained unknown to the world but was an open secret within the Fang clan. Their lord had once deeply cherished the Song girl, even sending the former Duchess to Qiantang to arrange the betrothal. Had it not been for the three-year mourning period, they might have married before his campaign, avoiding many regrets later.

“In my opinion, this is all that old scoundrel Wei Bi’s fault!” Fang Yun Hui, the fourth son, aged twenty-eight, spoke with youthful fervor. “Treason is a crime punishable by extermination of nine generations! Third Brother showed restraint—if it were me, I’d have slit that wretch’s throat on the spot!”

His words held some truth. With the Fang lord’s current authority, executing a guilty man would be justified. However, …

Fang Lian’s brows furrowed further, feeling a strange unfamiliarity toward his nephew. Having watched him grow up, he knew Yi Zhi had always been measured and restrained, even when wielding immense power. Now, his temperament had drastically changed, becoming unusually cold and severe—more so than his father during his reign.

He struggled to articulate the change, yet understood it began seven years ago after the defeat at Shangxiaogu—no one wished to recall those days. Wars raged externally, lives devastated; internally, the clan teetered precariously. Yi Zhi had barely turned the tide upon returning to the army, only to learn upon nearing the Eastern Capital that his mother had hanged herself, his sister was disgraced, and the Song girl, nearly his wife, had become the empress.

“Yi Zhi has his reasons for acting, but sometimes caution is necessary…”

Fang Lian sighed deeply, his gaze complex as he looked at his two sons. Halting mid-sentence, perhaps unsure of the best course, he concluded with a resigned “So be it,” lamenting: “Perhaps I truly am old… The path ahead for the Fang clan must be walked by the younger generation.”

By nightfall, lanterns illuminated Luoyang, especially around the Marquis of Yingchuan’s residence, where carriages crowded noisily. Nobles from various households came bearing lavish gifts to pay respects to Lord Fang, celebrating his victorious return and warming the stove of the chief regent.

Unfortunately, this year coincided with the late emperor’s funeral, making grand feasts inappropriate. Thus, the welcoming banquet for Lord Fang was merged with the New Year’s Eve feast in two days, depriving officials of opportunities to curry favor. Now, braving the December cold, they arrived with gold and treasures, waiting long hours. Yet Lord Fang neither accepted gifts nor appeared, having relatives convey thanks before politely seeing them off. They left as cleanly as they came, not even glimpsing his sleeve.

Fang Da Gongzi personally managed the crowd for hours, finally seeing off the last persistent visitor just before curfew. Returning to the inner courtyard, he found the candles still burning brightly in the lord’s chambers. Upon inquiry, he learned that Yi Zhi hadn’t eaten dinner since returning from the palace. He instructed the kitchen to prepare warm sesame porridge, intending to bring it himself.

Entering the room, he found Cousin Fang Xing present, who had taken over as Minister of War a few years ago, now a pillar of the clan. Fang Xianting was discussing matters with him. Seeing his elder brother enter, he gestured for him to sit, continuing their discussion on the current grain and military funding crisis. Listening, Fang Yun Chong felt a deep sense of helplessness.

Since February of the first year of Taiqing, this catastrophic war had lasted ten full years. Successive invasions by the Turks, Jiankun, Tibetans, and southwestern tribes escalated a succession dispute into a chaotic eight-sided conflict. The seemingly prosperous Ruizong era proved to be a hollow facade, exposing an empty treasury upon the late emperor’s ascension. A decade of relentless warfare drained even the strongest national resources, forcing desperate measures. The entire nation was exhausted and burdened beyond endurance.

Now, though Jiankun was defeated, the Eastern Turks would surely return. Northern General Xie’s forces were crumbling, his desperate pleas for funds echoing in memorials sent to the Eastern Capital. Yet the court wasn’t a magician—how could it conjure silver out of thin air? The Ministry of War was overwhelmed. Within two years, Fang Xing’s hair had turned mostly white.

What to do now? With the late emperor gone and the young ruler vulnerable, major decisions still rested on Fang Xianting’s shoulders. Alas, this military leader faced battles abroad and financial crises at home, exhausting his spirit. Beyond that, he had to appease regional commanders, bearing immense burdens.

Fang Yun Chong sighed inwardly. By the time Fang Xing left, the sesame porridge in the clay bowl had grown completely cold. Fang Xianting, engrossed in writing letters to two regional commanders, hadn’t touched it. Sitting alone under the lamp, his figure remained solemn and steady, yet faintly exuded loneliness and desolation.

“Yi Zhi…”

He called out, hesitating before speaking. Carefully choosing his words, he mentioned the numerous guests visiting the mansion today, sighing: “I’ve already sent them all away, but some should still be met later—especially ministers from the Luoyang faction. They…”

Today, the public humiliation of the Yinping Prince and his son left their allies trembling with fear. Their rush to gift Lord Fang was clearly an act of submission. To prevent future enmity, it was advisable…

Fang Xianting, however, didn’t pause his writing, his demeanor cold and indifferent. He curtly responded: “No need.” Then added: “If they come again, bother Brother to send them away on my behalf.”

This…

Fang Yun Chong sighed again, his brows unconsciously furrowing tighter. Before he could offer advice, Fang Xianting raised his eyes, clear and penetrating as in his youth, yet deeper and more somber.

“The Luoyang faction’s goals oppose the greater trend. If their intentions remain unchanged, conflict is inevitable.”

His voice was low and subdued, tinged with subtle weariness.

“If our clan doesn’t confront them… the burden will fall on His Majesty.”

Fang Yun Chong was momentarily stunned, finally understanding his younger brother’s true intent. Today’s conflict in court wasn’t born of fleeting anger but a stand-in for the imperial family against the Luoyang faction. Political struggles were always perilous, with bloodshed common. How could a young emperor withstand the powerful Luoyang faction dominating half the court? Forced abdication or assassination could easily follow… Better for the Fang clan to bear their wrath—they held military power, granting them more leeway than a child.

But…

“Then they’ll all direct their anger at you…”

Fang Yun Chong felt a pang of sorrow, as if witnessing the tragedy of seven years ago unfold again.

“Our clan serves as subjects, not rulers… By stepping forward for the imperial family, you risk… “

Damage to reputation was minor compared to becoming a target, potentially inviting fatal consequences.

Fang Xianting didn’t respond. Some things didn’t need saying—their deeper meanings were self-evident in silence.

“Days of marching have been arduous. Brother must also be weary,” he finally said, steering the conversation elsewhere. His lowered gaze remained calm and restrained, save for the tear-like mole beneath his right eye, as beautiful as ever. “…Rest early.”

It was a clear dismissal. Fang Yun Chong understood but realized his fatigue paled in comparison. Like a speck of rice in a vast granary, it was insignificant.

With no choice, he turned to leave. As he opened the door, clarity settled over all matters—save one lingering question in his heart:

Do you sacrifice so selflessly and fearlessly purely to protect the young ruler entrusted by the late emperor?

Or… do you still yearn for that youthful dream behind the curtain, which once captivated you?