That day at the heart of Longmen River, when his subordinates fished the young marquis from the water, he hadn’t wanted to save him.
A body barely clinging to life, pierced by several arrows—he should have died on the spot. Who could have imagined that a longevity lock had blocked the arrow aimed at his vital heart? Fu Yangui recognized that lock and relaxed the sword in his hand.
It had once belonged to Second Young Master Yue. Long, long ago in the military camp, she had lent it to him to look at, saying it was her life-protecting talisman.
Fu Yangui removed the lock from Ye Qi’s body. The lock’s keyhole had been dented by an arrowhead, making it easy to discover something hidden in the hollow interior—upon opening it, he discovered it was a farewell letter he had written to her.
The letter said: If yin and yang part ways, may you not be confined to one person, one heart, one world.
At the end it said: I wish you a lifetime of peace.
Fu Yangui held that silk letter, lost in thought for a moment, then sealed his bleeding acupoints and ordered his subordinates to send him to the military physicians, while he himself led the army to chase after her.
He exhausted every means—even willing to hand over the entire realm—yet still could not move her.
She only ever cared about where He Yu was.
He deliberately went against her wishes, simply returning the longevity lock to her, letting her believe Ye Qi was dead.
What he hadn’t expected was that she would shed tears for him.
When had Second Young Master Yue ever shed tears for anyone? Even before Taixing City, when he openly betrayed her, induced the Synchronized Gu poison, watched her meridians break inch by inch, and personally pushed her toward the Yellow Springs—even then, her eyes had never moistened.
Fu Yangui was consumed by jealousy and hatred, but ultimately didn’t tell her the truth. He could only watch helplessly as she rode away in a cloud of dust.
Upon returning to camp, the military physicians all expressed their bewilderment. This Marquis He should have been a dead man, yet inexplicably still clung to that one breath of life—truly bizarre beyond measure.
Imperial Physician Chen said: “Perhaps Marquis He’s practiced divine techniques that protect his body, enabling this miracle. But with such meager vital energy throughout his body, it can sustain him for at most ten days to half a month.”
Fu Yangui stood with hands clasped behind his back for a long while, then ordered his trusted confidants to prepare boats and provisions to send Marquis He to Yanzi Gorge.
He instructed them that upon arrival, they should immediately return, leaving him to live or die on his own.
The chance of survival was minuscule. It wasn’t that he was being merciful—he simply didn’t believe… didn’t believe heaven would favor Ye Qi.
Several months later, he received a message by carrier pigeon saying the young marquis had come back to life in the ice cave and sat meditating day and night, his power growing steadily.
Despite his own illness, he rushed to Yanzi Gorge overnight. Unexpectedly, he encountered her again at an inn in Shu.
When her sword pointed at his brow, he conceived schemes again. But when she floated away, he finally achieved complete enlightenment.
Heaven, seeing he refused to repent, made him witness their reunion with his own eyes.
Wu Run had described this scene in poetry a hundred years ago—”Dawn falls upon the pond water, white as snow swirling in the ravine.”
At that moment, Fu Yangui stood remotely on the mountain, watching the two embrace tightly on the ice. Just as he had never seen her cry for him like that, she had never smiled at him that way either.
What a pair of immortal lovers, truly worthy of heaven and earth’s envy.
After returning to Jinling, his illness grew increasingly severe, yet he no longer sought methods to prolong his life. He single-mindedly grasped military power, stabilized the court, established a crown prince, and then… deposed the crown prince.
This life he was obsessed with love, fell for power. In his remaining days, all that remained to pursue was the throne.
Finally, he obtained the imperial edict and jade seal he had dreamed of. From now on, Eastern Xia’s realm would bear the Fu surname. He had not failed his father’s cherished wish.
The night before his enthronement, he dismissed everyone and drank alone in the golden hall. On his third pot, his long-confined brother arrived.
Fu Yanyang had accumulated a bellyful of resentment ready to erupt, but froze upon seeing him.
His complexion was too pale—more unbearable to look at than a corpse.
“I’ve warmed the wine for you. Come, sit.” He poured wine for his brother and smiled faintly at him.
Fu Yanyang couldn’t bear it. He sat across from him, completely uninterested in drinking, only asking: “Elder Brother, your illness…”
“I told you long ago—I’m terminally ill, beyond medicine’s reach.”
Fu Yanyang held back tears and was about to rise and leave when Fu Yangui asked: “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find my master. They’ve mastered Wu Run’s divine technique—they can save you.”
“The imperial physician says I won’t last seven days. There’s no time.” Fu Yangui smiled. “Five days from now… is their grand wedding. If you go now, you can attend this great joy of the martial world, but I’m afraid you’ll miss my funeral.”
Fu Yanyang turned back around, staring blankly at his elder brother. “Why? You’re… you’re so ill… and yet these past days you’ve done so much. Have you toiled your entire life just to sit on the dragon throne for a moment?”
Fu Yangui gently stroked the gold-cast dragon armrest. “Being emperor for seven days is enough.”
“Elder Brother!”
“Come here.”
Number Two Fu sat back down, accepted the wine cup he offered, poured it into his mouth—full of bitterness.
“I’ve drafted the succession edict. After I die, this position is yours,” Fu Yangui said plainly. “After your enthronement, support Shen Li as chancellor, Mo Daoyun as minister, and both Wang Xun and Mo Chuan can shoulder important duties.”
Fu Yanyang’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What are you saying? What succession? What enthronement?”
“If I had no intention of passing the throne to you, why would I have deliberately moved against so many new ministers these past two years? Elder Brother wanted to kill those people to make you protect them. Only thus could everything fall naturally into place.”
Fu Yanyang shook his head in resistance. “I don’t want to be any emperor. I don’t care about it. After you… after you die, I’ll fly far away and never come back.”
“As you wish.” Fu Yangui was indifferent. “When that happens, Eastern Xia will be in turmoil, and leaving aside the common people’s suffering—the several hundred members of the Fu clan, your colleagues from Qingcheng Academy, oh, and those friends who’ve risked their lives alongside you all these years—they’ll all die violently. You’ll have no power, no influence, no ability to protect yourself. Taking your beloved and fleeing to the ends of the earth, free and easy—that would be wonderful too.”
“Fu Yangui!” It was extreme anger, also extreme pain.
“Second Brother, this is our Fu family’s destiny.” Fu Yangui sighed lightly. “Accept it.”
How could Fu Yanyang be one to accept fate?
But Fu Yangui truly had no strength to continue arguing with him. He listened calmly, and eventually only said “You’re intelligent and perceptive—you’ll be a good emperor” before passing out drunk.
The next day, he didn’t appear at the enthronement ceremony. People searched the entire palace without finding him, and vast Jinling held no trace of him either.
Five days later, a troop of soldiers appeared outside the wedding ceremony of the world’s number one, Yue Changling. For ten li along the main street, they displayed priceless rare treasures. The formation looked more like they were delivering betrothal gifts rather than guest gifts.
The leading general entered the hall and respectfully bowed to the bride and groom: “Our nation’s Imperial Majesty wishes Young Master Ye and Miss Yue a harmonious union lasting a hundred years, fate sealed for this life.”
Fate sealed for this life, only this one life.
In all the world, only he could speak such congratulatory words.
The bride’s eyes moved slightly. She ultimately said nothing, only smiled in thanks: “Please convey mine and my husband’s gratitude to your nation’s emperor. However, the gifts are too precious—forgive us, we cannot accept them.”
The general smiled slightly, didn’t respond to this, only clasped his fists in salute once more, then withdrew, leading the mighty procession of soldiers out of the city.
Yet no one knew that general was him.
His lamp-exhausted body collapsed the moment he left the city. He removed his disguise mask and, not letting the army follow, went alone toward a green peak.
That green peak had long been desolate. On the mountain was a lush bamboo forest that martial world people used to call Maozhu Forest.
In the bamboo forest stood a small thatched cottage.
The house had been uninhabited for so long—rafters draped with cobwebs, dust flying underfoot. Only the furnishings remained as they had been in those years.
He passed through the house and walked to the back courtyard, where beneath the peach tree, petals carpeted the garden.
He couldn’t remember how many years ago it was—he had stood here too, saying to her: “If this Sangluo wine is buried for a period, it will become more aged and fragrant.”
Seeing her stunned, his heart pounded like a drum. Gathering his courage, he took her hand and said: “How about we bury the wine together? When the peach blossoms bloom, we’ll dig it up and taste it.”
Fu Yangui picked up a handy small hoe from beside the fence, crouched down, and earnestly began digging.
Too much time had passed—he didn’t remember the location. He dug several holes before finding that jar of Sangluo wine.
When the wine seal lifted, a rich fragrance overflowed, the aromatic scent enveloping his heart. He carried the wine jar back into the house, found two wine cups from the dilapidated cabinet, wiped them clean with his sleeve, then filled both and placed them on the table.
He raised his cup. As the wine entered his throat, he seemed to feel a sweetness permeating his five organs and six viscera. Looking up, he saw her.
She was, yet wasn’t.
Not Ji Zining, nor the immortally beautiful woman who had returned from death.
But the Second Young Master Yue who once had a red birthmark at the corner of her eye and whose smile was unmatched in all the world.
She raised her wine cup. “Fu Liujing, how can you have good wine and not call me?”
Fu Yangui stared dumbly at the nearly real illusion before his eyes, his fingertips beginning to tremble. Then he heard her say: “I’m leaving. You stay in Taixing and wait for me to return.”
These weren’t words that should belong to this scene, but they were a conversation he had dreamed countless times in this life.
He took a deep breath and called out: “Changling.”
“Mm?”
“How old are you this year?”
Her brow moved. “Seventeen.”
“How many people have you killed?”
“I haven’t counted.”
“Were all those you killed evil people?”
Changling crossed her arms over her chest. “They were all my enemies.”
His throat choked. He didn’t continue with the words from that year, but asked: “What about me?”
Yet she still spoke words identical to those years: “I promise you—I’ll return safely within two days and definitely won’t trigger the Synchronized Gu poison.”
He pressed down on her wrist, saying word by word: “Don’t go.”
Don’t go.
These three words were originally the three words Fu Liujing had nearly blurted out that night.
Fu Yangui seemed to hear his own voice wandering at heaven’s edge. “Don’t go, Yue Changling… don’t go.”
This time, she didn’t vanish as she had in the past. Instead, she asked with a smile: “What are you afraid of? It’s not like I’m leaving and never coming back.”
“But I’m afraid.” He gripped her tightly, even without any real sense of touch. “I’m afraid that later, you’ll hate me to the bone. I’m afraid that even exhausting my entire life, I won’t be able to win you back… I’m afraid that in this life, you won’t think of me again. I’m afraid that in the next life… we’ll never have the chance to meet again.”
If heaven and earth are vast, and I no longer exist, how will I ever see you?
Uncontrollable sorrow surged from his pupils. The regret and hatred accumulated over a lifetime spread out, bursting through the dam.
But illusions have no emotion. Across the heavy weight of time, Second Young Master Yue watched him, shoulders trembling, and smiled unconsciously. Then she turned and left, leaving no trace.
The wine cup fell to the ground with a crash. The small wooden house returned to deathly silence.
Fu Yangui gazed toward the wooden door for a long while. Finally, he turned back and, cup by cup, drank the entire jar of Sangluo wine to the last drop.
Half a month later, Fu Yanyang searched throughout Jiangnan and finally found his elder brother’s remains.
It was beneath a withered, flowerless peach tree behind the wooden house in Maozhu Forest.
The coffin was hastily assembled from a few wooden planks. The person… must have laid himself in the coffin, so there was no coffin lid, no yellow earth covering the body—only countless peach blossom petals for a shroud.
This was the memorial tomb he built for himself. The only burial object was a copy of “Lingue Fist.”
A set of boxing techniques he had long memorized but never used before anyone.
Even the tombstone was carved by his own hand in his final moments.
Only the tombstone bore not the name Fu Yangui.
Stroke by stroke, five large characters—Tomb of Fu Liujing.
Fu Liujing—only that brief time was worth looking back on. Yet it was also these three characters that brought him an unbearable life.
Behind the wooden marker, carved in small seal script: I bury my body here, taking with me one corner of my heart, to journey far to the shores of Santu River, through the azure heavens and yellow springs.
That was the epitaph he wrote for himself.
Author’s Notes:
Finally gave Chancellor Fu an ending.
The Fu pavilion stands apart from the crowd, where do the banquet dances and music return?
If only I’d known peace was unattainable, lifelong dreams emptily given to Liujing.
Fu Yangui—from the very beginning, his ending was destined.
Author’s Notes: Fu versus Fu, Ning versus Ling—doesn’t that have the style of Fujian dialect? (laughs)
I keep seeing people say Ye Qi resembles the former Fu Liujing, but actually I’ve been distinguishing between them all along. Though both appear lively, Ye Qi is more upright and refined (because even as a child he was that kind of reserved person), very principled in how he conducts himself. Liujing is more unrestrained and unconventional (for example, he never cared whether Ji Zining was from a demon sect or how many people she killed—he liked her and that was enough). From a wuxia perspective, I think there’s nothing wrong with Liujing being this way. My favorite character from Jin Yong’s works is Linghu Chong, who could also drink with people like Tian Boguang and Xiang Wentian.
And Changling is essentially someone with an unrestrained exterior but an upright heart. In terms of couple chemistry, she and Fu Liujing could easily spark chemistry with just a little contact (as at the beginning), while with Ye Qi there needed to be a slow flow of feelings and spiritual compatibility (which is why some people didn’t like the young marquis at first).
This extra chapter isn’t trying to whitewash Liujing, because at this period Liujing can’t really be called dark yet. Of course, he also can’t be said to have gone to the Yue Family for revenge, since he had planned to go from the start (just not so willingly). Even if he hadn’t met “Ji Zining,” he would have still moved against Yue Changling.
But whether he would have been so resolute about it—that’s hard to say.