Love Beyond the Grave

From the time Duan Xu could remember, his mother had been that slender figure in the Buddhist hall, spending her days with scriptures, the wooden fish, and incense ash. He had heard that before, although his mother believed in Buddhism, she was far from being this obsessed and devout. Somehow, from the time he was three years old, she had almost entirely immersed herself in Buddhist teachings. Later, when he learned about his mother’s former fiancé, he realized those years coincided with the period when his father had reopened old cases to clear the name of her former betrothed.

She lived in this world with a husband and children, yet she was another man’s widow. Was her devotion truly for the well-being of her family, or was it for her wronged lover?

When he discovered this, it suddenly made sense. He had always thought his mother was cold by nature, perhaps incapable of love. But now he knew—she could love. She had a heart full of passionate, profound love—just not for him. That youthful love seemed to have burned away all her strength, leaving her with no energy to spare for anyone else. Everything she did in this world followed propriety and rules, solely to prevent others from disturbing her remembrance of that person.

She said she felt guilty toward him. He believed she did, yet he also doubted the sincerity of that guilt. Her guilt manifested in avoiding him, distancing herself, praying for him before the Buddha, and leaving him behind.

This guilt was the kind that had no intention of changing—a guilt that would continue to let him down.

His father and mother—one treated him with too little courtesy, the other with too much; one dismissed love as trivial, the other made it the entirety of her life. He knew this wasn’t normal, yet he had no idea what normal love should look like. So much so that now, when he had fallen in love with someone, he couldn’t seek any comfort or guidance from them.

Chen Ying, who had been brooding beside him for a long time, finally said in a low voice, “If only Sister Xiaoxiao were here.”

“Why?” Duan Xu chuckled.

Chen Ying replied earnestly, “She would definitely comfort you properly, and you wouldn’t feel so sad.”

Duan Xu lowered his eyes. Still smiling, he said softly, “It’s alright. I’m not that sad.”

But he also wished she could be here.

Just like when he was a child, stubbornly hoping his mother would walk out of the Buddhist hall on her own.

Within two days, Duan Xu escorted his mother and Duan Jingyuan out of the city to Jin’an Temple. Jingyuan was skilled at wheedling and managed to squeeze into the same palanquin as their mother. Riding alongside the palanquin, Duan Xu saw the curtain lift, revealing Jingyuan’s playful smile as she leaned out. “Third Brother,” she said, “I think the girls Father picked for you aren’t very pretty—they don’t match my extraordinarily talented and handsome brother. How about I pray for your marriage at the temple today? What kind of girl do you like?”

Though Jingyuan teased that her third brother had grown crooked, in her heart, she believed he was the most handsome man in the Southern Capital—perhaps even the entire world—and he was both scholarly and martial. A young man on a white horse with a golden saddle, passing through the streets and drawing the stolen glances of countless girls.

Since his return from the border, he had grown even more composed. Among her unmarried friends, his reputation had now surpassed even the once highly sought-after Fang Xianye, making him the top candidate for an ideal future husband.Third Brother looked at her, his Swallowtail cyan hair ribbon fluttering in the wind. For some reason, she felt there was a trace of sorrow in his expression. But soon Duan Xu's smile returned as usual. He bent down and beckoned to her. Duan Jingyuan leaned in, hearing her brother say, "I like a girl who doesn't exist in this world."

"..."

Duan Jingyuan replied, "I see. Later I'll pray to Buddha and ask Chang'e the Moon Goddess to descend from heaven for you."

Duan Xu burst into laughter, saying, "Good, good! The merciful Buddha might actually hear you."

He escorted their mother and Duan Jingyuan to the front of Jin'an Temple, helping his mother alight from the sedan chair. Jing Yuan jumped down and repeatedly asked if he was really not coming in. As always, he confirmed he wouldn't enter, then watched as the servants and Jing Yuan supported their mother up the steps toward the Bright Yellow main hall.

Pious men and women passed by him in streams. Duan Xu stood with hands behind his back, gazing at the magnificent temple bathed in morning sunlight. From afar came the sound of temple bells, sunlight refracting dazzlingly off incense burners as wisps of fragrant smoke rose continuously.

It seemed all wishes brought here would transform into white smoke within these incense burners and halls, rising endlessly to distant heavens, reaching the compassionate deities who listened with lowered eyes and bestowed mercy.

He had never liked these temples since childhood. Perhaps because he believed if Buddha were truly merciful, his mother should have been returned to him. But people's wishes in this world inherently conflict—fulfilling one often means sacrificing another. Even deities must find this troublesome, so they granted his mother's wish while incidentally giving him a nature that disbelieves in gods.

The Buddha is merciful.

When Duan Jingyuan said these words to him, for a moment he wondered—could Buddha truly provide guidance?

Then he realized: in this prolonged struggle, he had nearly surrendered, almost prostrating himself before the deities he once rejected. All because this affection without beginning or end had remained suspended too long—unwilling to write "The End," yet unable to continue composing.

He didn't know who might understand. Perhaps the deities would.

Standing there lost in thought, drawing on his limited knowledge of Buddha, he murmured, "I've never heard of Buddha or monks having wives. Probably they wouldn't understand either."

With that, he laughed, turned around, mounted his horse, and rode away.

The day had been overcast since morning, threatening rain. By noon, the long-accumulated clouds finally burst, the fine rain threads seemingly connecting heaven and earth. Even with umbrellas, such heavy rain would drench anyone. Clutching a large bunch of gardenias, Duan Jingyuan hurried with her maid to take shelter under the eaves of a side hall.

As the maid brushed water droplets off her, she said, "It's truly summer now—raining so often these days. Young Miss, catching cold while flower-picking wouldn't be worth it."

Jing Yuan widened her eyes. "Hush! Can't you say something nicer?"

Just then, a figure in blue entered their view—a slender, scholarly young man with his servant also seeking shelter under the eaves.Duan Jingyuan sized up the man before her. Dressed in luxurious attire—a white jade hair crown with gold-edged ribbons, dark blue robes embroidered with deer patterns—he was clearly from an official's family. His features were deep-set and refined, bearing an uncanny resemblance to her third brother. Yet their temperaments were entirely different: one dynamic, the other serene. This man exuded an aura of quiet composure, like mist clinging to distant mountains.

Feeling a flicker of goodwill, she boldly initiated the conversation: "Might I ask which noble family this young master belongs to?"

The man turned to look at her. He seemed to recognize her and bowed slightly. "Greetings, Miss Duan. I hail from humble origins, no young master of any noble house. My surname is Fang, given name Ji, courtesy name Xianye."

Duan Jingyuan's eyelid twitched in surprise. "Fang Xianye?"

This was the very Fang Xianye who constantly opposed her father and third brother?

Female relatives had often pointed him out to her in whispers. But because this man had caused her third brother so much suffering, she'd deliberately avoided looking his way, which explained why she hadn't recognized him immediately.

The faint goodwill she'd felt moments ago evaporated instantly.

As if sensing her shift in mood, Fang Xianye straightened and studied her curiously. Duan Jingyuan offered a perfunctory response: "So it's Lord Fang. I've heard you're the Southern Capital's foremost scholar, responsible for half the literary masterpieces of our time. An honor to meet you."

Fang Xianye smiled modestly and shook his head. "You flatter me, Miss Duan. Even if one's writings astonish the world, they remain but words on paper—fleeting concerns of mortal lives."

Duan Jingyuan froze.

From the depths of distant memory surfaced a summer years ago when she'd visited her grandmother in Dài Province. She'd declared her third brother's essays the finest under heaven. Bathed in sunlight (his exact features now blurred by time), he'd taken the papers from her hands, his robes carrying the scent of cyan orchids, and said with a faint smile: Even if one's writings astonish the world, they remain but words on paper—fleeting concerns of mortal lives.

Irritation flared. "Why are you copying my third brother's words?" she blurted out.

The composed, scholarly man seemed momentarily taken aback by her unwarranted accusation before understanding dawned. He chuckled softly. "What excellent memory."

"What did you say?" Duan Jingyuan hadn't caught his words.

"Nothing. General Duan comes from illustrious lineage—how could I possibly compare?"

Fang Xianye's excessive humility made Duan Jingyuan feel she'd been too harsh. Hypocrite, she thought, turning away to watch the heavy rain beyond the eaves. Why won't it let up? Must I be trapped here with him?

The man beside her seemed to chuckle again before calling to his servant: "He Zhi, let's go."

The teenage servant—about fourteen or fifteen—protested in surprise: "My lord, even with umbrellas we'd be drenched in this downpour! Besides, we didn't bring any."

"And whose fault is that? Forgetting umbrellas on such a gloomy day." Fang Xianye chided mildly, already stepping toward the rain.

Duan Jingyuan wondered if he'd sensed her discomfort and was leaving because of it. Though his presence unsettled her, letting him walk through such a storm would be unconscionable.

She caught his sleeve. "Lord Fang, there's no need—"Fang Xianye paused mid-step, his gaze dropping to where she had grabbed his sleeve. Duan Jingyuan's eyes followed, realizing how forward this gesture was. Just as she was about to withdraw her hand, she noticed a long, slender scar running across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his sleeve.

Forgetting her earlier impropriety, she exclaimed in surprise, "How did you get such a deep scar?"

Fang Xianye was silent for a moment before replying lightly, "I encountered bandits on my way to the capital for the imperial exams. I nearly lost my life, but fortunately, Duke Pei rescued and took me in. This scar is from that time—it damaged the tendons, so this hand has little strength. Luckily, it's my left hand, so it doesn't hinder my writing."

"I see... The Southern Capital was quite unsafe in those years. My third brother also ran into bandits once..." Duan Jingyuan murmured, thinking to herself that his working for Duke Pei was likely out of gratitude—understandable, though the duke himself was still a despicable man.

Fang Xianye pointed at his sleeve. "Does Miss Duan intend to keep holding onto me like this?"

Jing Yuan snapped back to reality and hastily released his sleeve. Clearing her throat, she studied him hesitantly before asking, "I heard you have some grudge against my family... Is that true?"

Could it be a misunderstanding?

Fang Xianye seemed genuinely surprised, his eyes widening briefly before his expression smoothed over. He smiled faintly. "I was but a commoner before passing the exams—I'd never even met Lord Duan before. How could there be any grudge?"

Jing Yuan pondered this and found it reasonable. It was unlikely he had any connection to her family—otherwise, in the gossip-ridden Southern Capital, she would have heard something by now.

She then asked, "Do you have urgent business to attend to?"

"None."

"Then let's keep sheltering from the rain under this eaves."

"I—"

"If you leave now, it means you dislike me and don’t want to stay with me."

Fang Xianye fell silent for a long moment. Catching an approving glance from his servant He Zhi, he refrained from stepping back into the rain. The downpour grew heavier, and Jing Yuan tilted her head to watch the droplets cascade from the roof.

This Fang Xianye, she thought, wasn’t as unpleasant as she had imagined.