BMN : Chapter 39

A few days later, under his parents’ orders, Zhou Chengyan personally went to the Jin residence to formally propose breaking off the engagement.

Madam Zhou had informed her husband about Jin Yi’s outburst at the Zhou residence. Initially, Lord Zhou was furious, then he sighed in resignation, blaming Jin Yi for being too ruthless and regretting their leniency towards their youngest daughter. However, things had come to this point, and it was best to cut their losses quickly. If the Jin family were to announce the breakup first, the Zhou family would lose face. Thus, Lord Zhou instructed Zhou Chengyan to go to the Jin residence and propose the breakup, using the excuse that Zhou Huaiqing was seriously ill. They claimed that a monk had been consulted, who said she should not marry for the next two years. To avoid delaying Jin Yi, the Zhou family would take the initiative to break off the engagement.

It was true that Zhou Huaiqing was seriously ill, but the monk’s statement was a fabrication. Zhou Chengyan did not understand why his parents were doing this and even secretly asked his bedridden sister. To his surprise, Zhou Huaiqing also agreed to the breakup.

He tried to persuade them: “Things haven’t reached that point yet. My sister’s illness isn’t that severe, and besides, my brother-in-law isn’t the kind of selfish person who would mind waiting for a year or two.”

Lord Zhou, knowing the deep friendship between Zhou Chengyan and Fu Ming, could not explain the actions of himself and his wife and daughter. So, he simply pressured Zhou Chengyan with parental authority. Reluctantly, Zhou Chengyan had to visit the Jin residence.

When he met Jin Yi again, Zhou Chengyan sighed inwardly. In just over a month, his brother-in-law had noticeably lost weight. Though still upright and imposing, he now carried an air of desolation.

As soon as they met, Zhou Chengyan felt he understood Jin Yi’s state of mind and asked, “Brother-in-law, do you… do you know already?” As he spoke, his eyes reddened.

Jin Yi also asked, “You knew all along?”

Zhou Chengyan nodded, “Ming-ge left me a letter.” The other day, he had gone to the countryside again, intending to see if Ming had recovered, only to discover… He had grieved for a long time, and after a solemn memorial with a few friends who were aware, his feelings had only just started to calm.

He had grieved deeply for a long time. Only after solemnly paying his respects to Fu Ming, accompanied by a few friends who were privy to the truth, did his emotions gradually settle. But as it turned out, it had only been a temporary reprieve. Whenever his memories were stirred, the pain resurfaced as if it had never left.

Perhaps it was because Fu Ming had been close to Zhou Chengyan during his lifetime, or perhaps because Zhou Chengyan now seemed to understand a fraction of Jin Yi’s grief, that Jin Yi’s demeanor toward Zhou Chengyan was noticeably gentler than with the rest of the Zhou family.

After Zhou Chengyan offered Jin Yi a few words of comfort, he explained the purpose of his visit. Jin Yi agreed without hesitation.

Surprised, Zhou Chengyan asked, “Brother-in-law, won’t you reconsider?”

“You came here to annul the engagement. Why should I reconsider? Even if there was something to reconsider, I’ve already made up my mind. There’s no need to think further.”

Zhou Chengyan tried again to persuade him: “Brother-in-law, I know that although you and Ming-ge divorced, there was still a bond between you. Now that Ming-ge is… no longer here, I understand that you’re grieving. But the departed are gone. You shouldn’t let your pain drive you to impulsively give up on another chance at marriage!”

Jin Yi, however, shook his head and replied, “There’s no need to persuade me any further. My engagement with your sister is hereby annulled. If you want to know the real reason, ask Master and Madam Zhou.”

“The real reason? Master Zhou, Madam Zhou? Brother-in-law, what are you saying?”

“I’ve said all I need to say. What you’ve heard is the truth.”

“Brother-in-law… I may not fully understand why things have come to this, but are you sure you won’t reconsider? While you’ve always been true to your word, marriage is a major life event. If Ming-ge were still here, he wouldn’t want you to remain alone. In the letter he left me, he said…”

“What did he say?” This was the first time today that Jin Yi’s voice carried emotion. Zhou Chengyan recalled and replied:

“He said he hoped that, for the sake of the bond you shared with him and your connection to the Jin family, I would take care of both you and Yan’er. That was the gist of it.”

Jin Yi smiled through tears. “Thank you for your kind intentions, but there’s no need. I will take good care of Yan’er. You need not worry about me. I’ve already made up my mind—this life, I will not marry again.”

“Brother-in-law…” Zhou Chengyan was struck speechless. He knew Jin Yi was not the kind of man to say something like ‘I’ve seen the greatest love, and nothing else compares,’ but if he said he would not marry again, it meant he had resolved to live out his days in solitude.

After a long silence, Zhou Chengyan let out a bitter laugh. “He was like this, and so are you. Even though he left the Jin household, even though he was on his deathbed, his thoughts were still with you. And now you’ve resolved to dedicate the rest of your life to him… Truly, the heavens are blind. The heavens are blind…” As Zhou Chengyan spoke, tears began streaming down his face.

The annulment of the engagement between the Jin and Zhou families soon spread throughout the capital. The story went that Miss Zhou was gravely ill, and the Zhou family had voluntarily proposed breaking off the engagement, to which the Jin family agreed. Many praised the Zhou family for their righteousness, while criticizing the Jin family as cold-hearted and impatient for not waiting another two years.

Jin Yi, however, paid no mind to the gossip. Every day, after returning from his post, he would attend to his elders, spend time with Zhao Yan, and then retreat to Peach Blossom Courtyard for the rest of the evening.

He had moved his residence to Peach Blossom Courtyard, leaving everything inside untouched, preserving it exactly as it had been when Fu Ming left.

Some of the flowers and trees in the courtyard had been planted by Fu Ming himself, so Jin Yi refused to let others tend to them, insisting on doing it personally. When birds came to drink and forage, he would imagine they were the ones Fu Ming used to feed and would talk to them as if they were old friends, the only ones who could truly understand his heart.

Aside from Bai Lu and a few senior maids, the younger maids who had once served in his quarters were reassigned to other masters. Only the maids who had served Fu Ming remained at Peach Blossom Courtyard.

Whenever Jin Yi entered the courtyard and saw them, it felt as though he had stepped into the Peach Blossom Courtyard of the past. Yet the person he longed to see the most would never again stand under the trees, by the pond, in the corridor, or by the window waiting for him to approach.

At night, Jin Yi often dreamt of Fu Ming. He would see Fu Ming, sickly and hollow-eyed, looking at him and weakly saying, “Changji, I’m in so much pain. Hold me.” In the dream, he would hold Fu Ming close, feeling how thin he had become, his bones pressing painfully against his chest.

Other times, he dreamt of Fu Ming walking into the deep mountains without looking back. Jin Yi would run to catch him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never reach him, watching helplessly as Fu Ming disappeared into the mist.

Occasionally, he dreamt of seeking renowned doctors for Fu Ming. If it was a good dream, he would find a miraculous physician who promised a cure. Together, they would thank the doctor, smile at each other, and Jin Yi would wake, overwhelmed by joy, tears streaming down his face.

Night after night, the dreams came. But dreams were only dreams. Nightmares would not repeat themselves in reality, nor would beautiful dreams come true. Only memories remained, allowing him to reassure himself that he had truly once had someone like Fu Ming in his life.

Someone who would sit in the warm sunlight reading a book, look up at the sound of his approach, smile gently, and say, “You’re back,” walking toward him like a soft breeze caressing his face.

A person unlike any other in this world.

As summer turned to autumn, the warm winds became cool breezes. When the wind rustled through the trees, casting shifting shadows on the window, he woke suddenly from light sleep, thinking it was Fu Ming softly calling him, beckoning him over. He quickly threw off the covers and got up, pushing open the window to look outside, only to see the cold moonlight filling the courtyard. No one was there—no one would ever be there again.

He wanted to fall back asleep but couldn’t. After tossing and turning, he gave up and got out of bed, lighting a candle. In the dim glow, he began reading the poetry and books Fu Ming had once read. When he came across passages Fu Ming had annotated, he would linger on them, reading them repeatedly until he could commit them to memory.

He thought about how, before they had understood each other’s hearts, Fu Ming must have spent countless days in that courtyard, facing the spring flowers and autumn moon alone, enduring the indifference of others without a word of complaint.

Among Fu Ming’s copied poetry, he came across one particular poem that included a line Fu Ming had once recited to him:

“Swallows feed fish in trust, mud and moss obscure their reasons.”

At the time, Fu Ming had said, This is a lesson my father taught me long ago: destiny often pushes you where you cannot choose, but a person can still find their own way to settle their heart.

He had even asked, Does your broad chest have room to shelter me for life? Jin Yi had promised, with unwavering certainty, but in the end, it was all for nothing.

Next to the poem, Fu Ming had left a note:

“This flower has an owner; it will share its life.”

Jin Yi stared at the book, lost in thought, haunted by those words and that annotation. The pain cut him to the core, as though he were being torn apart a thousand times, yet he willingly endured it.

If he could repay this pain over the long years of his life, would it make him more at peace when, after a hundred years, he met Fu Ming again? At last, he understood what Fu Ming meant when he spoke of the Buddha’s compassion and wisdom to ease the suffering of the heart.

Jin Yi, once skeptical, now chose to believe in what the Buddha taught about reincarnation. He prayed earnestly—not for enlightenment or paradise, but for a future life. If the pain of this life could earn a new beginning, he would bear it willingly to secure a happy ending in the next.

On his days off, when there were no urgent matters, Jin Yi would visit the outskirts of the capital.

The roses in the corner had withered, and the paulownia leaves had fallen one by one. Jin Yi transplanted several chrysanthemums there—the very variety Fu Ming had mentioned planting the previous year.

In these recent days, though he deeply regretted losing the most important person in his life, Jin Yi found himself gradually coming to understand Fu Ming better.

As a son of a military family, Jin Yi had once believed that a man’s worth lay in serving a wise ruler, defending the nation, achieving unparalleled feats, and leaving an immortal legacy. That was what he thought gave his life value.

But Fu Ming, after marrying him, had been cut off from his scholarly aspirations and lost his future prospects. It was only now, retracing Fu Ming’s footsteps and reflecting on his experiences, that Jin Yi realized Fu Ming’s heart burned with a passion no less intense than his own.

Fu Ming had said he wanted to write about the ordinary lives of those who wouldn’t make it into the history books—about their toil, their simple joys, and their fleeting existence. He had remained true to that promise, recording his thoughts with bursts of insight and deep feeling. Fu Ming had been a person of profound sensitivity and steadfast kindness, bearing life’s injustices without resentment, repaying others with gratitude and generosity.

He cultivated flowers and raised fish, hobbies Jin Yi had once dismissed as idle pastimes. Only now, reading Fu Ming’s essays, did he realize the depth of emotion Fu Ming had poured into writing elegies for flowers and verses for fish.

In life, Jin Yi had never truly understood Fu Ming. Only in death, piecing together the fragments he left behind, could he finally see him clearly. That understanding made Jin Yi’s grief even sharper. Fu Ming had cherished the world so deeply, yet the world had treated him like a weed.

Jin Yi wanted to visit Fu Ming’s grave—not just to comfort Fu Ming, but to console himself as well. He wanted to tell him that he would carry this love forever, never forgetting.

Walking along a winding path dappled with yellow and green grasses, Jin Yi reached the foot of the mountain. But from a distance, he stopped abruptly.

In front of Fu Ming’s grave, Zhou Chengyan, Yan Le, and several others—five or six people—were seated on the grass, playing the qin, brewing tea, and singing songs. It was as if this was not a remote graveyard, but a refined gathering place where close friends could share joy and camaraderie.

In that moment, Jin Yi felt conflicted. He wanted to drive them all away, to be alone with Fu Ming, so that between heaven and earth, it would be just the two of them. Yet, at the same time, he felt happy for Fu Ming. At least, there were still others who remembered him, cherished him, and kept him alive in their hearts.

In the end, Jin Yi neither spoke nor approached. He stood silently for a long time before turning and leaving quietly.

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