How could Yan Xiaohan refuse such a wish almost equivalent to “growing old together”?
He took the wine cup from Fu Shen’s hand and set it aside, clasping hands with Fu Shen.
“Husband and wife bow.”
They each leaned forward, bowing solemnly. Being so close, they almost touched each other’s heads, yet their hands never separated.
The three bows of the ceremony were complete.
He opened his mouth, his voice already choked and hoarse. The merits of the Fu family across three generations were recorded in historical books, engraved on stone tablets, widely praised by thousands. He had once been proud and self-satisfied; when the emperor discarded him like a worn-out millstone, he had also harbored resentment, believing he had made great contributions that the world should be grateful to him.
But when he truly understood what “the will of the people” meant, he put away all his arrogance, feeling only bewilderment and shame, as small as a speck of dust in the vast universe.
With external threats unresolved and the world unsettled, what virtue or ability did Fu Shen have that would make so many people grateful and remember him for such a trivial military achievement?
Fu Shen knew clearly that the “responsibility” he bore came largely from being a member of the Fu family, unable to tarnish his ancestors’ reputation; another small part was due to his stubbornness and unwillingness to give up – carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders and gritting his teeth to bear it. As for “righteousness”, it actually occupied only a tiny part, out of sync with his surroundings, something he had to protect like a candle flame, lonely and long-lasting, lest it be extinguished by wind and rain.
Tonight, he suddenly discovered that he was not the only one stubbornly guarding this lamp.
Thousands of lights sending him off, voices of blessing, flowers falling like rain – he seemed to have finally found the courage and belief to continue on this long road.
A warm, powerful hand landed on Fu Shen’s shoulder, comforting and gripping. Behind him was like leaning against a solid wall, as Yan Xiaohan drew near and softly said, “It’s late. Let’s go.”
