Chapter 103 “My heart is not a stone, it cannot be turned…”

Chapter 103: "My heart is no stone—it cannot be turned."

Tuo Baxiao had dreamed every single day of killing those who humiliated his mother. Finally, at the age of eleven, he succeeded in killing one of them.

He plunged a worn but razor-sharp dagger unhesitatingly into the man’s heart.

When he pulled the knife out, blood spattered his face, but he wasn’t afraid—only exhilarated. He had finally taken revenge.

The dead man was a fairly high-ranking general under Tuo Bata. His family came to seize Tuo Baxiao, demanding he pay with his life. But as Tuo Bata’s son, they didn’t dare kill him outright. Instead, he was bound and brought before Tuo Bata.

After hearing what had happened and seeing the wolfish fury in the boy’s eyes even while tied up, Tuo Bata actually laughed and ordered him freed.

Tuo Bata circled him several times before saying with satisfaction, "To think I, Tuo Bata, have such a wild and fierce son! Good. From now on, you are the Seventh Prince."

Tuo Baxiao stared at him in disbelief. He’d expected to be killed, or at least beaten bloody—never that Tuo Bata would make him a prince.

He didn’t care about being the Seventh Prince, but he wanted to protect his mother. If he became a prince, perhaps no one would dare bully them anymore.

Tuo Baxiao did not refuse. And so, the Xianbei King’s court now had an eleven-year-old Seventh Prince.

Then Tuo Bata asked him, "What is your name?"

"Xiao."

"What kind of 'Xiao'?"

Tuo Baxiao pressed his lips together. "Xiao—in Han, it means ‘brave and triumphant in war.’"

Tuo Bata frowned, clearly displeased with the explanation, but he couldn’t be bothered to give him a new name. In the end, he said nothing and let it be.

And so, he became Tuo Baxiao.

Tuo Baxiao thought that he could finally change his and his mother’s fate.

He raced home to tell his mother that he had avenged her, killed the man who’d hurt her, and that he would kill the rest too.

His mother smiled and nodded, as she always did.

That day, Tuo Bata even sent them sheep—the first time in years they’d tasted meat so fresh and rich. He’d never been happier.

He had finally grown up. They’d never starve or freeze again.

He thought he could give his mother a better life. But the next day, she was dead—she’d hanged herself from a tree.

At first, he refused to believe it. He was sure she’d been murdered and frantically searched for the killer. But he found nothing—only a final letter she had left for him.

"My little Xiao, you promised me you’d live well."

...

"I did promise Mother. But didn’t she also promise to stay with me forever? Why did she break her word?" Tuo Baxiao covered his face with his hands, his voice a raw, broken growl.

"Have you always resented her for leaving you?" Jiang Congyan asked softly.

Tuo Baxiao froze.

He had always avoided this question subconsciously. His mother had done so much for him—no matter what, he shouldn’t blame her. But deep down, in his most honest emotions, he couldn’t deny that he did.

How could she leave him just as hope was in sight? Didn’t she know how devastated he would be?

Jiang Congyan felt him trembling. She held him tightly, their breaths nearly merging.

"Have you ever thought that your mother has already done enough for you?" Jiang Congyan removed his hand, not letting him pull away. Their gazes met in the air.

"You said your mother was always gentle with you, always strong in front of you. But no one can endure so much suffering without breaking down at all. She endured it all—for you. She clung on stubbornly just for you."

"For your mother, living hurt more than dying."

Her young child was the only reason she had to keep living. Only when Tuoba Xiao finally became capable of surviving on his own did she find release.

Though she had never met his mother, Jiang Congyan could already imagine how resilient and gentle she must have been. In adversity, all the worst and darkest parts of a person are magnified endlessly, especially when faced with a helpless child—the easiest outlet for rage. So many people, after suffering humiliation and injustice, take their anger out on women and children. But Wang Fu never did. She bore all that suffering alone. For that alone, Tuoba Xiao should not resent her. She gave him all her love and did everything she could.

Tuoba Xiao clung to her, burying his face in her neck. Hadn’t he told himself the same thing before? But sometimes, a thought would surface—had his mother abandoned him so decisively because of his half-barbarian heritage? If he had been the child of her and the man she loved, would she have done the same?

He’d never know the answer. Over the years, he had deliberately avoided recalling the upheaval of that time, locking away all his childhood memories in the darkest corners of his mind. He never spoke of it to anyone, never allowed anyone to bring it up.

"You're right. I shouldn’t resent my mother," Tuoba Xiao murmured.

"But she left me," he jerked his head up, his big hand seizing her arm and slamming it into the pillow as he loomed over her. "Yan Yan, my mother is gone. Now, I only have you. Promise me—no matter what happens in the future, you will never leave me."

His emotions surged abruptly, his dark eyes boring into hers, sharp as a blade, giving her no chance to look away.

He loomed over her like a boulder about to crumble. Jiang Congyan, enveloped in his shadow, looked up and saw the fierce light in his eyes—desperation and hope tangled in one last gamble.

"Yan Yan."

When she hesitated, Tuoba Xiao’s intensity deepened. His grip on her unconsciously tightened, his whole body tense as a drawn bowstring.

Jiang Congyan knew that a simple 'yes' would calm him. But she didn’t want to say that.

"I don’t know what the future holds. All I can tell you is that as long as things remain as they are now, I will stay by your side," she finally said.

That wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted. But then he thought—if things stayed as they were now, of course he would continue protecting her, making sure she’d never suffer like his mother did. That way, she would always remain with him.

"Fine. You will stay with me," he reluctantly accepted the promise, slowly lying back down.

But the next moment, he suddenly crushed his lips to hers, his arms sliding beneath hers as he pulled her into his embrace and held her tightly.

Jiang Congyan was caught off guard. He had been in such pain just moments ago, yet now he was so sudden.

Perhaps his emotions had peaked and needed release. It was rare to see this vulnerable side of him, so she let him hold her, his burning kisses trailing down her face.

She let him kiss her for a while, but when he showed no signs of stopping—instead moving lower, his hands tugging at her collar—she caught his wrist.

"Don’t… You’re still injured."

"Doesn’t matter," he mumbled, not looking up.

"Zhang Fu said you shouldn’t exert yourself these next few days."

Tuoba Xiao paused for a moment, but his need drowned out reason. He continued sucking at her skin, unwilling to let go.

Jiang Congyan was genuinely worried about his wounds and added, "I’d be ashamed before her."

"She wouldn’t mind. She’d just be glad I found someone—that we’re married now."

Jiang Congyan fell silent.

Though he said this, he finally relented.

Jiang Congyan felt a momentary relief.

The two returned to their previous embrace, close but not lustful.

For the first time in years, he had spoken of those past events, and suddenly, he burned to tell her everything.

Tuo Baxiao went on haltingly, recounting his memories with his mother. "...I once asked Mother why she couldn’t pretend to please Tuo Bata, so she could suffer less. She said she refused—she had a man in her heart, her first love."

"She said, 'My heart is not a stone; it cannot be turned.'"

Back then, he was too young to fully grasp the meaning, but he could feel the unbreakable will deep in his mother’s bones.

"'My heart is not a stone; it cannot be turned,'" Jiang Congyan whispered. So that was why he had deliberately asked her about this phrase before.

"Despite all the misfortunes she endured, Mother still taught me to be a gentleman. But I’ve failed her. On the grasslands, a gentleman doesn't last. Only by being fiercer and stronger than others can one live..."

Even when he was nominally the Seventh Prince, he had to rely on might and madness to secure his place.

Nestled against him, listening to his deep voice, Jiang Congyan began to understand why Tuo Baxiao had chosen her.

Perhaps influenced by Wang Fu, he admired the refinement of Han women, yet found ordinary Han women too delicate for his taste. His ideal wife must possess both beauty and resilience—perhaps even greater strength than Wang Fu to truly catch his eye.

As for her, maybe their two chance meetings had inadvertently revealed some of the qualities he sought. Coupled with the fact that neither princess was to his liking, and her own royal Jiang lineage, she happened to meet his criteria, leading him to choose her in the end.

Was this some trick of fate? Jiang Congyan couldn’t say. Just as she couldn’t discern how much of Tuo Baxiao’s affection was just his fantasy and how much was truly for her.

If one day he realized she was nothing like what he envisioned, would he still love her?

"Take me to pay respects to Mother. It’s been so long since our marriage, and we haven’t visited her. She might be upset with me."

"She wouldn’t. If anyone, she’d be upset with me," Tuo Baxiao said, playing with a strand of her hair.

"If you wish, we’ll go tomorrow," he added.

"Alright." Jiang Congyan nodded, glancing at the dying candle outside the tent. "It’s late, and you’re still injured. You should rest early."

Tuo Baxiao was indeed exhausted—both physically and mentally. Years of pent-up feelings poured out, leaving him unburdened. His mind at ease, he soon fell asleep.

The next morning, the two rose early.

After washing up, Jiang Congyan told A Fei to prepare the offerings for the visit, while Tuo Baxiao went to change his bandages.

The man tried to coax her into helping, but she claimed she had other matters to attend to. After giving her a few longing looks, he finally went alone.

Seizing the opportunity, Jiang Congyan went to the study, spread out paper, and picked up a brush.

The cold weather had turned her hands to stone. She warmed them over a hand stove until her fingers loosened up.

Then, she wetted her brush and began to write—

Epitaph for Wang Fu

*Wang Fu, a Han woman of the Central Plains, her origins unknown. At sixteen, she found herself among the Xianbei, graceful and dignified, thus wed to the king. The following year, she bore the Seventh Prince, Xiao. Now that her son has taken a wife, I have only just learned of her past—how she and her son lived through the king’s displeasure, enduring bitter hardship, their survival a struggle. My heart grieves for her. Yet I also learned she once studied ancient texts, histories, and philosophies, learning them thoroughly, and imparted this wisdom to her son, teaching him reason, discernment, and how to be a noble man...*

*I offer this tribute to you in reverence. May your spirit know all.*

Tuo Baxiao soon returned after changing his bandages and found her standing at the desk. "What are you writing?"

Jiang Congyan had just finished the last stroke. She set the brush down gently and turned to him. "I thought we should bring something meaningful for Mother’s memorial. Common offerings seemed too ordinary, so I wrote her a eulogy."

Tuo Baxiao’s brow twitched. He stepped beside her, his gaze falling on the snow-white paper covered in elegant yet strong strokes that conveyed the girl’s sincerest emotions.

Even if Wang Fu hadn’t been his mother, her character alone would have earned Jiang Congyan’s admiration. Thus, in writing this eulogy, she needed no excessive deliberation—the words flowed naturally from her mind.

Tuo Baxiao’s eyes shimmered with emotion, his heart overwhelmed.

*"I offer this tribute to you in reverence. May your spirit know all!"*