Fang Yuan's voice broke the silence, low at first, but carrying the weight of unspoken years.
"Don't even think about dying," he said, each word like the strike of a hammer.
"Don't you dare follow Father's path to the grave."
His eyes, usually calm and cold, now burned with restrained fury.
"You have two sons," he said, his tone rising. "Why can't you think of us?"
"Why are you always trapped in your own sorrow, drowning in your own grief?"
His voice cracked as he shouted, the composure slipping away, revealing the raw ache beneath.
"If you really want to die with Father, then kill us first! Because we've never imagined a life without you!"
"Only then can we all die together—and find peace!" The last words tore from his throat as the dam finally broke. Fang Yuan's shoulders trembled, his eyes glistening as tears welled and spilled down his cheeks.
"Yuan'er!" Jiaying gasped, rushing forward, her composure shattering. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry!" Her voice quivered, filled with years of regret.
"Mother was selfish… blinded by pain. I blamed you—yet I never once tried to see through your eyes."
She sobbed against his shoulder. "Please, don't cry."
Fang Yuan's arms slowly rose, trembling, before closing around her in return. His tears fell freely now, his voice hoarse as he spoke into her embrace.
"Let's go, Mother. Step back from the front lines. Stop risking your life for the clan."
His voice softened, fragile yet resolute. "I don't want to lose you too."
Jiaying looked at him through blurred vision—then turned toward Fang Zheng, who stood nearby, eyes red and fists clenched. She reached out, pulling both of her sons into her arms.
"You won't lose me," she whispered, a faint smile breaking through her tears. "I promise."
The three of them stood there in the quiet hall, bound together by years of pain, regret, and blood.
The servants nearby watched in silence—some wiping their eyes, others smiling faintly through their tears.
Outside, the wind swept through Qing Mao Mountain, rustling the trees—
Jiaying looked at Fang Yuan, her eyes gentler now, the storm within them finally beginning to fade.
"Yuan'er," she said softly, "I'll speak to the clan about stepping down from the frontlines."
She paused, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. "As for clan missions… I'll see what I can do."
Before Fang Yuan could respond, she raised a hand to stop him.
"You don't need to come. Stay home and rest." With that, she turned and walked toward the door, her steps light for the first time in years.
The heaviness that had weighed on her heart for so long seemed to melt away.
The knot that bound her chest—resentment, guilt, grief—had finally been untied. For the first time, she felt she could breathe.
As she made her way toward the clan pavilion, the air felt different—brighter, freer.
The path she used to walk with dread now seemed almost peaceful. She no longer felt crushed beneath the invisible weight of the past.
Her eldest son had returned to her—not the obedient child she once neglected, but someone she loved dearly.
A faint smile lingered on her lips.
'He will achieve great things,' she thought.
'For that future... I must live.'
'I have to stay alive to see it.'
Her gaze softened as she remembered Fang Zheng.
'And Zheng'er... that innocent boy still needs his mother's care.'
'I can't leave them—never.'
...
Back at the house, the warm stillness lingered. Fang Zheng threw his arms around Fang Yuan, pressing his face against his brother's chest.
Fang Yuan stood unmoving—his younger brother barely reaching his shoulder now.
"Brother," Fang Zheng said with a hopeful smile, "didn't I tell you?"
"Mother would come around one day. She finally sees you for who you are."
Fang Yuan lowered his gaze, his expression calm and unreadable. He gave a small nod, silent and restrained.
But behind those half-lidded eyes—the warmth was gone.
The tears, the trembling, the words spoken in sorrow—had already turned to dust in his mind.
His heart was cold, utterly still.
That earlier display of emotion—every word, every tear—had been deliberate.
He had seen the weakness in Jiaying's heart, the soft spot buried beneath years of resentment and guilt.
All it took was one precise push, one calculated performance, to make her break.
It was never affection that guided his actions. It was necessity.
In the silence of his mind, his thoughts turned heavy and sharp.
'Fate…'
Ever since he had altered the course of events—saving his mother from her destined death nine years ago—he had known this moment would come.
'The Fate Gu still exists in this world,' his eyes narrowed slightly, reflecting the cold gleam of reason.
'Her death is inevitable.'
'It is not a matter of if—but when.'
'If she dies before the Awakening Ceremony, the inheritance will fall into Dong Tu's hands.'
'Then, my plans would be thrown into chaos and... that cannot be allowed.'
His gaze darkened further.
'She must remain alive... for now.'
Fang Zheng looked up at him, oblivious to the cold machinery turning behind those calm eyes.
"Brother?"
Fang Yuan's expression softened slightly—just enough to appear human. "Go rest," he said quietly.
Fang Zheng nodded and left, a faint smile still lingering, thinking his brother was finally at peace.
When the door closed behind him, the mask fell away completely.
Fang Yuan turned, walking toward his room with slow, steady steps. He sat cross-legged, the lamplight flickering across his face, illuminating nothing but indifference.
He closed his eyes. His breathing steadied.
The act was over.
The emotional storm he had conjured vanished, leaving only the still surface of indifference beneath.
The mother's tears, the younger brother's faith—mere tools in his design.
Only one truth remained, echoing coldly in his mind:
To defy fate, sentiment must die first.