As dawn broke behind the mountains, a veil of mist drifted through the bamboo grove behind Shu Xiang Temple. The wind whispered and roared in turns, weaving with the temple’s chanting to create an ethereal, almost otherworldly atmosphere.
Before a newly completed grave stood a man and a woman. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, was Feng Suige. He watched silently as Fu Yixiao remained transfixed by the cold ashes scattered before the tombstone. After a long pause, he spoke gently:
“The mist is heavy, your robe is soaked. Why not change before returning?”
But Yixiao did not stir. Her gaze clung to the tomb, her grief locked deep within. Feng Suige sighed, knowing persuasion was futile. The woman beside him was a paradox of ice and fire—her usual blaze now buried beneath layers of frost, grief suppressed so fiercely that no one could share it.
“My mother was once a maid in the Fu household,” Yixiao suddenly murmured. “Even after marrying my father, she never knew peace. The concubines mocked her, the First Madam treated her like a servant, and my father joined in their scolding.”
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “When I earned military merit, His Highness granted me a courtyard. I rushed home, eager to bring her to Lu City. But she refused—she said she had cared for my father too long, that he would not manage without her.”
Her voice faltered. “She believed she was irreplaceable in his life. But to him… she was never the only one.” Tears brimmed, breaking through years of restraint. Even now, she tilted her head back, fighting the instinct to cry.
Feng Suige listened in silence, his eyes heavy with understanding. The grove itself seemed to mourn—the mist thick with sorrow, the morning light filtering through bamboo leaves, gilding the grave in fragile gold. A breeze extinguished the last flickering candles. Feng Suige crouched to relight them, but footsteps rustled behind the tomb.
“Who’s there?” he barked. A cyan robe fluttered into view. In a flash, Feng Suige pinned the intruder against the stone wall.
“I am Xing Ye, Deputy General to General Ning,” the man said calmly. “I have waited here for the Princess a day and a night.”
Yixiao rushed forward, recognizing him. “Deputy General Xing…”
Falling to his knees, Xing Ye’s voice trembled with anguish. “Princess, General Ning and His Highness have been detained. Emperor Sheng prepares to execute them for treason…”
Shock rippled between Yixiao and Feng Suige. She steadied Xing Ye, whispering, “Do not despair. Hide with the others. I will plead before the Emperor.”
Later, Yixiao sat by her window, her gaze following a fallen leaf drifting to rest against the wall. Lost in thought, she barely noticed Feng Suige enter.
“Princess, I have urgent news—”
“Tell the Prince the Princess has gone out,” she interrupted coldly.
Feng Suige blinked, startled. “Then who am I speaking to now?”
Yixiao arched a brow, mimicking his tone. “Wasn’t it the Prince himself just now?”
He chuckled, feigning indifference. “Not important. Only a Mr. Fu requesting audience. Since the Princess isn’t here…”
Her heart jolted. “My father?”
Moments later, she was running breathlessly to the guesthouse entrance. There, beside a blue silk sedan chair, stood Fu Sijun, his hair now completely white.
“Father!” she cried.
But Fu Sijun dropped to his knees. “Your subject, Fu Sijun, pays respects to the Princess. Long live the Princess…”
The clamor of the street faded. Yixiao stared blankly, her heart torn between daughter and princess. Feng Suige steadied her elbow. “What troubles you?”
“I… don’t know,” she whispered.
Fu Sijun rose with help, but stepped back, his eyes lingering on her. “The weather in Jinxiu is harsh. Please guard your health, Princess. I will send men to tend Madam’s grave. Do not worry.”
With a final bow, he climbed into the sedan chair. Amidst the bearers’ shouts, the blue silk carriage vanished into the crowd, leaving Yixiao frozen in place, her heart heavier than ever.
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