Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Leaving the hospital dejected, Shang Xueyan hailed a taxi to Fengyuan, seeing it was still early.

Shang Xianwang had already registered his identity, so Shang Xueyan didn't need an escort. He passed through the turnstile and ascended to the thirty-first floor.

He knocked listlessly twice on the office door. Without waiting for a response, Shang Xueyan twisted the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. "Eldest Brother."

Shang Xianwang looked up from his cluttered documents, noticing Shang Xueyan’s low spirits. He gestured him closer and asked, "Did you go to the hospital?"

Shang Xueyan hummed in affirmation, then grumbled indignantly, "Mom and Dad got together without our approval, so why do we need theirs to be together? It's completely unfair."

Shang Xianwang ran his fingers through Shang Xueyan’s soft hair. "It's alright. Their opposition isn't absolute."

He paused, then added, "They've only just found out. Let's give them some time to come to terms with it."

Shang Xueyan had always been an optimistic and open-minded person. He had always believed his progressive parents would accept his relationship with his elder brother—after all, his parents were different.

A thousand years ago in Shangjing, men commonly had multiple wives and concubines, especially among the nobility. Yet, his father had no concubines, remaining devoted and loyal to his mother.

But on his way to the company, Shang Xueyan recalled something: while truly monogamous relationships were rare in Shangjing a millennium ago, a few could still be found upon closer inspection.

However, two men being together, particularly two brothers, was unprecedented.

Would his parents truly never agree?

Yet, hearing Shang Xianwang’s gentle suggestion to give them a little more time, though it was the expected approach, soothed Shang Xueyan’s inner anxiety. His mindset gradually calmed and became healthy again.

His mind once more filled with the hope of his parents' eventual consent.

After Shang Xianwang finished work, Shang Xueyan went home with him.

The next day, Shang Xianwang dropped Shang Xueyan at the film set before driving to the hospital.

At the hospital, Shang Mingde and Su Qingrong still wore stern expressions. As Shang Xianwang prepared to leave, Su Qingrong stood up and said, "Aheng, let's go outside and talk."

Shang Xianwang was taken aback, his heart pounding with an abnormal intensity. Swallowing his complex and fearful emotions, he followed Su Qingrong out of the ward, appearing outwardly calm.

Su Qingrong led him to the hospital's secluded southeast corner. The sky was overcast and gray, threatening a downpour at any moment, and no patients were out for a stroll.

Su Qingrong sat on the porcelain-tiled edge of a flowerbed.

Shang Xianwang sat opposite her, awaiting his fate.

Would his parents agree? Shang Xianwang had never been entirely confident—not even fifty percent sure. Even in today’s supposedly open-minded society, many parents struggled to accept their sons being in same-sex relationships.

For Su Qingrong and Shang Mingde, it wasn’t just about their son being gay—it was about both their sons transgressing moral norms and recklessly being together.

Su Qingrong began to speak: "Aheng, you still don’t know the real cause of A Yan’s death, do you?"

His breathing suddenly grew rapid, a chill running down his spine. Shang Xianwang stared at Su Qingrong, a sense of dread welling up inside him.

The nineteenth year of Yanxing, late winter.

The New Year celebrations had not yet concluded, and Shangjing was still enveloped in an auspicious and festive atmosphere.

Shang Xueyan frowned, eyeing the clothes the servant held out, and said with displeasure, "It looks like the sun's coming out today. These clothes are too thick."

Ruifeng replied, "Young master, it won't be hot. The snow is melting today, making it even colder than when it snows."

Shang Xueyan still demurred. "I'm going boating on the lake with Zhu Peng."

Another servant opened the sandalwood wardrobe, adorned with gold carvings and jade pendants, and presented a different outfit. Gently, he said, "Young master, how about this one?"

Shang Xueyan felt the fabric’s thickness. Before he could voice that this outfit seemed no different in thickness from the one Ruifeng held, Ruike smiled and interjected, "This outfit was sent by the eldest young master a few days ago. He said it's the latest style in Laizhou. You haven't worn it yet, have you?"

Shang Xueyan immediately abandoned his picky attitude. "Then this one it is."

He didn’t need help changing. Shang Xueyan dismissed the attendants and dressed himself. It was a gold-embroidered, cloud-patterned narrow-sleeved brocade robe with soft rabbit fur lining the cuffs and collar. Once dressed and his hair crowned, he was about to head out.

Ruifeng entered cheerfully and announced, "Young master, Linping has returned."

Linping was his eldest brother’s attendant. His brother was currently the prefect of Laizhou, and Linping was also there. His sudden return likely meant his brother had sent something or a letter.

Shang Xueyan was in no hurry to leave now. He lifted his robe and hurried to Songhe Hall.

Upon hearing Linfeng’s report, Su Qingrong and Shang Mingde turned pale, disbelieving. "What did you say?"

Linfeng knelt on the ground, his expression grim, and said with difficulty, "Ten days ago, on his way back to Laizhou after reporting official business to Prefect Ning, the eldest young master was ambushed by Goryeo bandits at night. He was hit by a stray arrow and is now critically ill."

Hearing this news at the door, Shang Xueyan felt as if he had been plunged into an ice cellar, his breath seemingly halted.

"Young master, I truly cannot go on. I… I really cannot." After saying this, Imperial Physician Song tightened the reins, his weak legs giving way. He collapsed onto the ground, disregarding the wild grass and scattered stones underfoot.

Shang Xueyan, on horseback, his hands red and swollen from days of travel in the cold wind, dismounted without a word. He hoisted the exhausted physician onto his horse, then spurred the horse northeastward without a second thought.

At the hour of Hai, the chestnut horse was tied in the stable. Linfeng asked the post station clerk for some hay. The horses, having galloped day and night, snorted and eagerly chewed the hay in the trough.

Returning to the post station, Linfeng saw the young master standing in the courtyard. Under the pale white lantern light of the corridor, his usually fair face looked ghastly pale.

Linfeng approached and whispered, "Second young master, you should rest for a while too. You haven’t slept for several nights."

"You go rest. We’ll continue in two hours." Shang Xueyan parted his chapped lips, his voice hoarse and strained like never before.

The distance from Laizhou to Shangjing was eight hundred li. Linfeng had taken nine days to travel from Laizhou to Shangjing. Shang Xueyan, racing day and night with the physician, reached Laizhou in just seven and a half days.

The physician was a robust middle-aged man, skilled in treating external injuries. In his youth, he had traveled extensively, building a strong physique, but even he nearly succumbed to the relentless journey.

As they entered Laizhou, Physician Song struggled to sit up and said, "Young master, slow down… we’re… we’re already here."

Shang Xueyan ignored him. He cracked the whip, tightened his legs around the horse, and galloped expressionlessly toward the government office.

Physician Song, seated in front on the sweat-blood steed, thought to himself that this horse, bestowed by the emperor and worth a fortune, had indeed not faltered after seven days of non-stop running. He recalled years ago when Shang Xueyan had injured his arm, and Shang Xianwang had summoned him for treatment.

Back then, if he applied medicine too firmly, Shang Xianwang would frown and remind him that his younger brother was delicate and to please be gentler.

How was this delicate? Even the mighty imperial guards before the emperor would likely struggle to endure such relentless travel in the harsh winter.

His gaze fell on Shang Xueyan’s hands gripping the reins. Seven days ago, when they left Shangjing, those hands were fair and smooth, as if nurtured with mutton fat and jade. Now, after just a few days, they were red, swollen, and chapped.

Physician Song sighed, his entire body aching. Lifting his head, he suddenly noticed the white funeral banners hanging from the government office not far away.

Stunned, Physician Song turned to look at the young master from Shangjing, adorned with gold and purple.

Shang Xueyan stared at the white banners in front of the government office. His heart felt as if it had plunged into a bottomless black hole, sinking endlessly, leaving him hollow. In the vast world, he no longer knew where he was.

It couldn’t be his eldest brother. It definitely couldn’t be. How could it be? Last summer, when he returned to the capital, his brother had promised to send him oranges from Song County this year.

There were dozens, even hundreds of people in the government office. His brother was still so young.

Shang Xueyan dismounted. As the young master in the capital renowned for his skill in cuju, even his movements on horseback—swinging a ball mid-gallop—were so fluid and striking that one couldn’t look away. Dismounting was as natural to him as eating or drinking.

But this time, he staggered as he landed, almost as if he had fallen from the saddle.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and struggled into the grim, oppressive magistrate’s office. Lin Mu, dressed in hemp mourning clothes, came out. At the sight of Shang Xueyan, his knees hit the cold stone pavement with a sharp crack. His eyes red and swollen, he managed to say, “Second… Second Young Master… the Eldest Young Master… he passed away yesterday… yesterday around mid-afternoon.”

What happened next was a blur to Shang Xueyan. He seemed to have ordered the coffin opened. Inside, he saw his elder brother’s familiar face, now ashen, eyes shut tightly. No matter how Shang Xueyan pleaded, those eyes wouldn’t open. The body was unnaturally stiff.

This couldn’t be his brother.

Absolutely not.

Just on the Lantern Festival (Yuánxiāo Jié), he had received a letter from his brother, saying how lively the Spring Festival was in Laizhou, yet how his heart still yearned for the New Year’s Eve in the capital. He promised to return for next year’s celebration.

How could this dark-faced, rigid, strangely contorted figure possibly be his brother?

Three days later, Shang Xueyan, clad in hemp mourning robes, escorted the coffin back to their hometown.

Su Qingrong’s eyes began to redden, her vision blurring slightly. She turned away, wiped her eyes, and spoke with clear precision: “On the ninth day of the second month, he was carrying your coffin through Qushui Town when Huang Quan and other Goryeo men ambushed them. They wanted to seize your body, to desecrate it as revenge for you wiping out Huang Xian’s band of Goryeo bandits.”

Shang Xueyan had trained in martial arts. Though no match for a true soldier, he was no nobleman inexperienced in combat. But he had never killed anyone, never seen so much blood.

The most he’d done was scuffled with other young nobles during a quarrel. He never knew that plunging a blade into flesh could make blood spray out instantly.

Shang Xueyan thought of his brother’s year in Laizhou cracking down on bandits. Had his brother led troops himself? Had he killed with his own hands, just like this?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone moving toward his brother’s coffin. Gripping a long, bloodstained blade, Shang Xueyan charged. The Goryeo bandit sensed him coming and dodged the attack.

The bandit fell from the carriage. Suddenly, Shang Xueyan heard someone shout “Look out!” He glanced at the black lacquered coffin beside him but felt no pain.

The pampered young master collapsed into the muddy snow. He felt no agony, only a crushing exhaustion and pain from the past half-month. He wanted nothing more than to sleep deeply.

To wake and find it all a nightmare, with his brother still safely by his side.

Su Qingrong’s eyes slightly reddened as she said, “In the nineteenth year of Yanxing, on the ninth day of the second month, light snow falling, A Yan died protecting your body. It was his twentieth birthday.”

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Author’s note: Goodnight, hugs.