Chapter Fifty-Seven
Once, she thought no one but him could bring her happiness again. Once, she believed she had loved to her limit and would never love again. Once, she felt shattered beyond repair, as if she were merely alive in appearance but long dead inside. Yet, in the end, she discovered that given enough time—months and years of relentless erosion—the buried fragments of the past would resurface, though they now seemed foreign, like remnants of a past life, unreal in hindsight.
So, when her withered existence was suddenly graced by a fleeting glimpse of something familiar yet surreal, she couldn’t help but feel fear creeping in...
The sun climbed higher, and her legs had gone numb from crouching. Yixiao lazily shook the dirt off her hairpin—she needed to move around to get her blood flowing again. Staying outside a little longer wouldn’t hurt. No matter how grand the mansion was, it felt suffocating, and sitting idly indoors was pure torment.
"Fu Yixiao!" Feng Suige’s furious roar struck like thunder, startling her. She turned toward the source and met eyes blazing with rage.
"Shouting like that—are you trying to die?!" Before she could finish cursing, Feng Suige had already stormed over like a tempest, yanking her up from the ground.
Her vision darkened, her steps unsteady, and her wrist ached, yet Feng Suige dragged her forward relentlessly, ignoring her stumbling. Only after a long stretch did Yixiao regain her senses enough to realize he had hauled her out of the flowerbed.
Feng Suige gripped her arm so tightly it felt like he might crush her bones. Steadying herself, Yixiao yelled, "Feng Suige, let go of me! What’s wrong with you?!" He suddenly stopped and turned to glare at her. "You’d better think of a good explanation before we get inside," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Otherwise..." He left the threat hanging and resumed dragging her despite her kicks and punches.
A few maids hurried forward. "Greetings, Imperial Son, greetings to—" "Get out!" Feng Suige snarled. "All of you—get far away! No one is allowed near!" He kicked the door open and flung Yixiao inside.
Staggering, she caught herself against the bedframe and turned to glare at him. Feng Suige shut the door behind him, standing with his back to her for a moment before suddenly chuckling softly. "Well? Did I scare you?"
"You’re a senseless lunatic!" Yixiao fumed. "Going mad yourself and dragging others into it!"
"Yixiao," Feng Suige unlatched the door and walked to the table, sinking into a chair as he rubbed his temples wearily. "I’m exhausted. Sing for me."
Still seething, she planted her hands on her hips and scoffed. "You’ve come to the wrong place. This is the Prince’s mansion, not some pleasure quarter. Want a song? Too bad—I don’t sing!"
"You’re lying. I’ve heard you sing before," he countered, lowering his hands, his gaze intense. "Last time, on the street."
Yixiao shot him a sidelong glance. "You’ve heard it once—that’s enough."
"Sing," Feng Suige said softly. "Just this once. After this, if you don’t want to sing again, I won’t force you.""Madman," Yixiao muttered, sitting down at the table as well. "You said it, just this once."
"Mm," Feng Suige nodded. "Just once."
Yixiao pulled out her hairpin and lightly tapped the empty teacup on the table, producing a crisp, tinkling sound. "Drinking alone, singing alone..."
"No good," Feng Suige shook his head, interrupting her. "There are two of us here, and we're not drinking either. How is this 'drinking alone'?"
"Do you still want to listen or not?" Yixiao snapped. "Are you singing, or am I?"
Feng Suige grinned. "Of course, you're the one singing—something like last time."
Yixiao glared at him, thought for a moment, then tapped the teacup again and began to sing:
"After parting, two hearts pine apart,
Only speaking of three or four months,
Who knew it would stretch to five or six years?
The seven-stringed lute lies untouched,
The eight-line letter goes unsent,
The nine-linked rings break in the middle,
From the ten-mile pavilion, I gaze till my eyes ache.
A hundred thoughts, a thousand longings,
Ten thousand helpless sighs—I resent you, my love..."
Yixiao paused, glancing at Feng Suige, whose eyes were closed as if entranced. She had no choice but to continue:
"Ten thousand words, a thousand phrases—never enough,
A hundred idle days, ten times leaning on the rail.
On the ninth day of the ninth month, I climb high to watch lone geese,
In the eighth month's mid-autumn, the moon is full, but we are not.
At the seventh month's ghost festival, I burn incense and question the heavens,
In the sixth month's sweltering heat, while others fan themselves, my heart chills.
The fifth month's pomegranates blaze like fire,
Yet cold rain drenches the petals in waves.
The fourth month's loquats are still unripe,
I long to face the mirror, but my heart is in turmoil.
Hastily, the third month's peach blossoms drift with the water,
Drifting, drifting—the second month's kite string snaps.
Ah! My love, my love,
If only in the next life, you were the woman, and I the man..."
Feng Suige suddenly burst into laughter. "What a fine 'you as the woman, and I as the man'!"
Yixiao tossed her hairpin aside in frustration. "I'm done singing," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea and sipping it slowly.
Feng Suige watched her with a faint smile. "A true master hides their skill—who would have thought the fiery-tempered Fu Yixiao could sing such a delicate, graceful tune?"
Yixiao shot him an annoyed glance and lowered her head without a word.
Feng Suige lazily spoke again, "Don't put on such an act in front of me. It only disgusts me."
His tone, laced with revulsion, struck her heart like a blade. Fu Yixiao looked up in shock, only to see his face filled with icy cruelty—the tenderness from before might as well have been her own delusion.
"Disgusts you?" she repeated unconsciously.
Feng Suige sneered. "Yes, disgusts me—'Snowy Shadow of Pingling, A Beauty's Smile.' Are you going to pretend you don’t remember?"
Fu Yixiao sat quietly for a long moment before suddenly smiling. "You actually went to Pingling? What did you hear?"
Please, say something more to me. Do something to me—the crueler, the better. Scatter the faint stirrings in my heart, don’t let me cling to hope or illusions about you.
"Do I really have to spell it out?" Feng Suige could no longer hold back, his heart twisting in agony, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Do you even know what you’ve done!? Or do I have to name them for you to remember?!""Them?" Yixiao's deliberately forced smile faded further. Hearing her repeat the word, Feng Suige slammed the table in fury, rising to pace the room like a caged beast before suddenly stopping to point at her. "Are you playing dumb? You know exactly what I'm talking about!!"
"I have absolutely no idea," Yixiao replied coolly, meeting his gaze defiantly. "What is the Phoenix Prince so concerned about? If you have something to say, say it. Who exactly are 'they'?"
Feng Suige was nearly mad with rage, his teeth clenched as he spat out the words, "Your so-called... intimate... companions!"
With a sharp crack, the teacup shattered in Yixiao's hand. Tea and blood spilled onto the embroidered tablecloth, soaking a large patch. Feng Suige lurched forward but forced himself to stop, ignoring the widening pain in her eyes and the pang of guilt rising in his own chest. "What, resorting to a sympathy ploy now?"
Yixiao said nothing. Her indifferent expression, to Feng Suige's enraged mind, could only mean one thing—admission. Blinded by fury, he failed to see the fragile hope withering in her gaze.
In truth, Yixiao wanted to scoff at him disdainfully—but before she could, the sunlight dimmed as clouds gathered. A flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening thunderclap. The half-smile froze on Fu Yixiao's lips. Her bleeding hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly struck her chest with force. Something deep within her broke free, flooding her heart until it threatened to burst. Was it his presence that made the pain unbearable?
It was like reliving a nightmare.
When she had awoken from that dream long ago, her body had been covered in wounds—inside and out. The physical scars had healed, but the festering gashes in her soul had bled endlessly. In those years, whenever she opened her eyes in the dark of night, they remained dry and hollow. The only comfort was that the pain meant she was still alive.
She had thought those wounds had closed. But alas, thoughts... were just thoughts.
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