Snow was falling.
The original salt particles turned into goose feathers, swirling down.
Young Master Fufeng was lying quietly on the high platform, his eyes half open and his breath weak.
Bloody stains were scattered around, dirtying his snow-white fur collar and dyeing his originally pure long coat red.
What a mess, Young Master Fufeng always loved cleanliness. Even three years ago in the dark and sunless manor, he wore white mourning clothes waiting for death.
Luckily there was still snow. The only pure color, sprinkling down, covering him deeply in this silent moment.
The world was especially tranquil, only a faint gasping could be heard, nothing else.
Snow butterflies fluttering their wings danced as if bringing along mother’s call, “Fufeng...Fufeng...”
Ridiculous.
He arduously raised the corners of his mouth, recalling that taciturn woman who always sat in the ancestral hall beating the wooden fish.
As a daughter of the Zhou family, she’d rather abandon her own child to seek blessings for the Zhou family.
Sometimes Fu Feng really envied his uncle for having so much of his mother’s love.
While he only had himself.
“You have such a frail body. Why bother holding power? You shouldn’t have been born. You should just die,” his father’s irritable voice assaulted him, full of resentment and dissatisfaction.
He was sickly. He wouldn’t live long. His fate had been set as soon as he was born.
He was useless. No one saw hope in him. No one cherished him. No one wanted him to stay alive.
If not for that ray of light he encountered, how could he have lived this extra three years?
“Fufeng...”
This time, the voice faded in and out. The stillness was shattered as liveliness and vigor surged in like a tide.
Someone picked up his body. Hot tears fell down. It was his cousin howling, “Fufeng, wake up!”
Someone grabbed his hand, trying to give him some warmth, with rare awkwardness, “Brother Fufeng, don’t die on me please. Stay alive, okay?”
Then there were his chirping younger siblings. Tears brimming their eyes, they surrounded him left and right, calling out one after another, “Brother Fufeng, Brother Fufeng.”
His name was Fufeng. He didn’t want to be surnamed Wang.
That’s why Xu Mo called him Brother Fufeng instead of Brother Wang.
Later, he really did forget that surname.
He liked being called Fufeng. He especially liked it when Xu Mo called him that way, like right now, calling him once, then once more, and once more.
Accompanied by that familiar and comforting voice, he could finally sink deeply and peacefully into the darkness.
“Brother Fufeng!” Xu Mo shouted sharply. “Xiao Si, Xiao Si come here quick!”
Wen Zhiyun, who had stumbled over, hurriedly climbed up and steadied himself. He reached out his hand to check the pulse, pupils expanding in an instant.
He couldn’t believe it. He peeked at Fufeng’s pupils again, then pinched the ink-like blood stains. He could hardly get the words out.
“Xiao Si, what exactly happened to Brother Fufeng? What is wrong with him?” Xu Mo choked up, asking, “Did he overly tire himself? Exhausted from all the traveling? It’s all my fault. I made him suffer like this. It’s all me.”
Wen Zhiyun slowly shook his head. The deer-like eyes were filled with struggle. It was only after a while that he replied, “Poison.”
Everyone on the high platform fell silent.
Young Master Fu Feng was actually poisoned.
“Impossible. Who would poison Brother Fufeng?” Jiang Sheng said in tears, shaking his head.
The prestigious head of the Wang Family had hardened wrists and indifferent temperament. He was the top local despot in Anshui Prefecture. Who would dare harm him? Who could harm him?
Unless...
“It was Third Uncle.” Wang Mingyu finally spoke, eyes full of hatred. “Third Uncle and Wang Haoran conspired to seize power early. They worked with Wang Yuyao to poison Fufeng. Third Uncle had been suppressing Fufeng from Anshui Prefecture. He would stop at nothing to suppress him.”
Traveling thousands of miles without showing weakness. Discussing steadily atop the high platform until everything was done. With the last strand of tense nerves finally relaxing, it was naturally time to pass away.
He knew he wouldn’t live for long. He wanted to contribute what little he could before his life burned out.
Not just for his friend Xu Mo, but also for all scholars under heaven, for fairness in the imperial examinations, for the peace and prosperity of his home country.
“He said the established power of prestigious families makes upward mobility difficult. It’s not good for the Dayu Dynasty. It’s like the frozen river in winter—the longer it freezes, the thicker the ice grows, and the harder it is for the fish under the ice to break through.”
“Over time, the fish would lose motivation to push upwards, while the arrogant and foolhardy ice would risk calamity for the nation. Rise and fall, wax and wane.”
“Though he knew unions must divide and divisions unite again in the realm under heaven, Fufeng still hoped this land could remain stable for longer, as long as possible.”
“He didn’t love the Wang Family, but he loved this land that birthed and raised him, loved this nation, loved the peaceful order.”
“He said after death, do not send him back to Anshui Prefecture. Just let him stay here, buried under the highest hillside, watching the glory of his homeland and the rising success of his friend.”
Wang Mingyu gazed at his unconscious cousin. Though his voice quivered, every word was steady.
He repeated word for word the last wishes Fu Feng had confided on those quiet nights.
“He said he felt so lucky to have met Brother Xu. To watch Brother Xu go from a village all the way to Fengjing, to watch Brother Xu rising step by step toward greatness, it was almost like he himself was hale and healthy......”
That was why he spared no effort helping. That was why he burned so ardently in life’s final moments.
He must have thought about what his life could have been if not for his sickly body.
Yet no matter what, the life Xu Mo now possessed was something he could never have attained in this life. Only blessings remained to give.
Wang Mingyu’s emotions finally reached a breaking point as he turned his head away, sobbing.
Xu Mo stood frozen. Tears streaked down his cheeks in big drops.
Jiang Sheng held Young Master Wang’s hand as if trying his utmost to convey warmth.
Only Wen Zhiyun could feel the pulse fading away under his fingertips. He heaved a long sigh. “Brother Fufeng has passed.”
He passed away, without seeing the snows of his eighteenth winter in this life.
He remained as serene as if gratified to have a confidant friend by his side at the end.
There was little joy for him in this world. His mother’s coldness and his father’s mercilessness were all agony. His frail body made him able to only cower inside the manor. Sunlight never touched him. His sole delight was reading letters.
He possessed the remarkable talent and acute intellect admired in this world, yet the only thing he lacked was health.
He was too outstanding. Heaven wanted to reclaim him early.
The snowflakes grew heavier and heavier outside, as if celebrating the arrival of the new year, yet also concealing all disgrace.
The goose feathers knitted into a feather bed blanket, covering the nobly blanched young master.
Xu Mo bent down, his head full of white hair. He finally reached out and picked up the only soulmate he’d ever know in this life. “Let’s bring Fufeng home.”
The Wang manor was not his home.
So give him their home in its place.
At some unknown point, acquaintances had rushed over, some fearful, some anxious, some mocking, some derisive.
Xu Mo seemed oblivious as he marched ahead with the thin shoulders bursting with power, carrying the young master now skin and bones, heading for the carriages.
Wen Zhiyun slowed his steps as Jiang Sheng followed closely behind. Wang Mingyu escorted along tearfully.
The teachers who had hurried here together from Anshui Prefecture were also pained and distraught as they got up to chase after him with tearing eyes.
In the thirteenth year of Heqing, as the old and new years alternating, heavy snow fell upon the city, piling up over three feet deep.
The accumulated snow surpassed a wrist’s depth. It could easily cover a person whole.
In that year, Young Master Fu Feng passed away at the age of seventeen.
