When unable to sleep, he would find solace in a osmanthus flowers candy, a bittersweet reminder of their past. Yu Qiaoting said: “I see the new emperor is establishing a small court in Jiangnan, and doing quite well. I’m afraid that while we’re fighting hard in the north, the south won’t be in a hurry at all.” Fu Shen became even more worried after hearing this. He had reorganized the Ganzhou army and remnant troops from northwest regions into the Northern Yan cavalry in Weiwei, holding military power almost comparable to the Great Zhou court in Jiangnan. However, Fu Shen would never rebel with his troops. The Northern Yan military had been loyal to the country for years and naturally viewed reclaiming the Central Plains as a matter of course.
Yet their perspective did not mean that local military governors and the Jiangnan court shared the same view.
The capital, protected by three lines of defense, had still been driven to desperate straits by foreign invaders. Layer upon layer of long-term concerns and immediate worries pressed heavily on his heart. Fu Shen’s capacity was limited, and he felt momentarily suffocated. He sighed deeply, looked up at the sky, and happened to see a formation of wild geese flying across the vast expanse.
Fu Shen narrowed his eyes, estimated the distance, handed the empty bowl to Yu Qiaoting, stood up, took the longbow from his back, nocked an arrow, drew the bow, and aimed—
The arrow whooshed through the air. Moments later, a mournful cry came from mid-sky as the last goose in the formation fell straight down, landing not far from them.
Before Fu Shen could retrieve it, a nearby farmer had already brought the goose to him. The wounded goose was still alive, its wing pierced by the arrow, struggling in Fu Shen’s hand. Yu Qiaoting leaned over and praised, “Not bad, quite plump.”
“
“Not for you to eat,” Fu Shen said, holding the bow in one hand and the goose in the other, turning to walk back. “Have Du Leng come to my place and bring some medicine.”
“Huh?” Yu Qiaoting was bewildered. “What for?”
Fu Shen didn’t turn back: “Have Du Leng treat its wounds. It was heading south, so this works perfectly.”
Yu Qiaoting: “What?”
“Haven’t you heard of using geese to deliver messages? Unfortunately, I lack the elegance of legendary figures, so I had to use force.” After speaking, Fu Shen felt bad about injuring the goose, so he raised it and sincerely said, “Brother Goose, sorry about that.”
The goose: “…”
Yu Qiaoting, left standing with two bowls: “…”
At the winter solstice, in Jinling.
When Yan Xiaohan left the palace at dusk, it was the winter solstice. After the meeting in the Yanying Hall, the Emperor followed Beijing’s customs and specially granted lamb soup dumplings. Several old officials from the north wept openly while holding their bowls. The Long Zhi Emperor was also moved to tears, and master and subjects cried together.
Yan Xiaohan felt as if scalded by hot soup, walking on the damp and cold street, feeling a piercing coldness. Not wanting to return home, he wandered aimlessly, walking in a daze for a long time.
Passing a market, his shoulder was suddenly bumped.
A person ran past him, shouting excitedly: “Let me see! Let me see!”
A group of people were gathered around a stall, watching something. Yan Xiaohan’s keen ears caught a man’s rough voice: “…I caught this goose outside the city and found a silk fabric tied to its leg. Isn’t this the ancient saying of ‘message by goose’!”
Yan Xiaohan was suddenly curious and walked forward to look closely. Being tall, he could see the dead goose on the chopping board even from outside the crowd. The man was showing everyone a piece of silk: “A northern goose flying south might be a message deliberately sent by northerners!”
Someone shouted: “What’s written on it? Show us!”
The man said: “No! No! This is a rare item…”
“How much for the goose?” Yan Xiaohan suddenly spoke up calmly. “I’ll buy it, silk fabric included.”
The crowd made way. The man, seeing Yan Xiaohan’s noble attire, realized he’d met a wealthy customer and quoted: “One silver coin!”
Yan Xiaohan casually pulled out a silver piece worth one and a half coins, tossing it to the man, who immediately beamed and presented the silk fabric. Yan Xiaohan took it but didn’t open it, simply tucking it into his sleeve. The onlookers, disappointed he didn’t show it off, dispersed. Yan Xiaohan turned to leave, with his attendants collecting the goose.
Walking to a deserted place, Yan Xiaohan repeatedly gripped and released the silk fabric, telling himself not to have wild hopes. The homophone of “northern goose” and “Northern Yan” was just a coincidence, and the trope of message-bearing geese was overused. He’d be mad to be impulsively moved by something so meaningless.
But he desperately needed something from his past to anchor his emotions.
After long moments of composure, his heartbeat gradually calmed. Yan Xiaohan hesitated, finally extracting the white silk with a “might as well” attitude and carefully unfolding it along its creases.
The goose had flown for who knows how long. The white silk on its leg was dirty, the characters dampened and blurred with dried ink stains.
Despite the blurriness, he could clearly recognize the somewhat irregular handwriting because there were only four characters on the silk—
“Is my wife well?”
Chapter 63: Cold Palace | Separated for Seven Days, Missing Him
It turns out there truly exist a sentence, a few words, that can break one’s heart.
Yan Xiaohan thought in panic: “Was this written for me?”
He was like a person nearly frozen in an icy wilderness who suddenly sees a glimmer of light at the moment of despair—whether an illusion or phosphorescence, it seemed like grasping the last lifeline.
The handwriting had already blurred the original shape, with absolutely no distinguishing features, but Yan Xiaohan still stared fixedly at those four characters, his gaze burning, as if he wanted to burn a hole through the white silk. Gradually, his boiling emotions settled, and Yan Xiaohan let out a long breath, his tense shoulders slowly relaxing. Only then did he realize that in the cold weather, he was drenched in sweat.
He carefully folded the white silk and put it away, as if drawing a bit of warmth and strength from it, and slowly walked towards his residence.
In the blink of an eye, the new year had arrived. Due to the previous year’s war and turmoil, with the country in peril, all palace ceremonies this year were simplified. Emperor Changzhi offered sacrifices to heaven and prayed, issued an edict to exempt grain taxes in Jiangnan, and granted a general amnesty. On the sixth day, Concubine Xue was pregnant – the first child in the new dynasty’s new year, which was an extremely auspicious sign. Emperor Changzhi was overjoyed, promoting her to Virtuous Concubine and generously rewarding her father, brothers, and family.
Yan Xiaohan felt uncomfortable upon hearing this news and privately sought out a palace eunuch serving the empress to inquire. He now nominally led the forbidden army, but due to the emperor having no one else to rely on, the internal palace had no senior eunuch in charge, and external affairs still had to follow Yan Xiaohan’s orders. He was like the emperor’s rear courtyard manager, managing both household staff and servants.
When the capital fell, Princess Consort Fu Ling, carrying an infant, escaped to Jiangnan under the protection of the wang fu’s servants and the Ying Guo Gong fu’s guards. When Emperor Changzhi first ascended the throne, Fu Ling was established as the empress. The couple originally had a good relationship, but to win over Jiangnan’s scholarly families, the emperor took several noble women as concubines, and the rear palace quickly became a battlefield.
