TYSUF – Chapter 1 Prologue

The intricately carved lantern spun in the night wind—round and round, drifting away, only to circle back again.

The flickering light cast shadows that intertwined like an illusion.

It felt as if she had returned to the ancestral home of the Shen family.

She stared at the lantern for a moment, unable to distinguish whether this was a dream or reality, whether she was alive or dead.

On the day she married into the Fu family, there were no guests—just a mere formality.

She sat inside the bridal chamber, and the moment she lifted her veil, she saw a young girl imitating an adult’s posture, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway, watching her.

“So, you’re the wife my third brother found for my fourth brother?”

The girl was the Fu family’s sixth miss, the biological sister of her husband and the only person who came to see her that day.

Not knowing how to respond, she felt a chill at her temples and simply nodded.

“I heard you’re my third brother’s beloved? And that he had you marry my fourth brother’s memorial tablet just so you two could meet?” The little girl took a couple of steps closer, her curiosity quickly breaking through the pretense of maturity she had tried to mimic. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Are you really a widow?”

Her eyes flickered slightly, and an almost imperceptible trace of embarrassment spread from the depths of her gaze.

The little girl continued, “My third brother wouldn’t have actually killed your husband for you, would he?”

She remained silent, offering no explanation.

“Just don’t bring harm to my third brother.” That was the girl’s final remark.

When the girl left, it began to rain.

With nothing else to do, she lay beneath the bright red wedding quilt, forcing herself to sleep. Later, she was awakened by a maid closing the window. Half-opening her eyes, she vaguely saw the door slowly shut. She sat up in bed and stepped onto the floor.

In the 30th year of the Guangxu reign, the Shen family was framed by traitors. The entire household—371 lives—was executed, their heads rolling to the ground. Only she survived, saved by one of her father’s students. She lived under an assumed name, enduring humiliation and hardship. From the age of eleven until now, she had nearly forgotten that she was once addressed as Miss Shen. Even the name Shen Xi felt foreign to her.

She should have been a ghost of the underworld, yet here she was, lingering in the world of the living.

A gust of wind brushed past her. As she reached to close the window, she caught a faint scent of opium on her fingers.

The filthy stench of the opium dens instantly reminded her of the addicts—those weak, trembling souls with tear-streaked faces. A flood of emotions surged within her, pressing against her chest and throat, making it hard to breathe.

That day, in order to survive, she had followed the very third brother the little girl mentioned back to this place. The heavy wooden doors shut behind her, sealing her fate. Yet, she had no idea why she had been saved.

What could a man possibly gain from rescuing a woman he had never met before?

Lost in thought, she stepped out through the curtained doorway.

As she walked along the covered corridor, she heard the sound of the night watchman’s gong. 

Second watch.

Ahead, she caught the suppressed sound of coughing.

Two figures stood in the dim light, both wearing Western suits. One had a fake queue tied to his head, while the other had simply abandoned the pretense. The latter pulled out a white silk handkerchief, stifling a quiet cough as he murmured something to his companion.

The moment he noticed her, his footsteps halted. Though he continued coughing, he lifted his gaze slightly, observing her with a cold, detached look.

Under his scrutiny, Shen Xi felt a deep discomfort.

The rain, the watchman’s gong, and his muffled coughing all blended into one.

She could hear herself breathing heavily, even feeling an itch in her throat, as if the pressure from this man compelled her to mimic his cough just to fit in.

“Third Master,” she called softly.

Fu Tongwen gazed at her for a long moment before shifting his attention to the man beside him. “No one was guarding her courtyard?”

His voice was low, softer than it had been that night at the opium den and even quieter than at the wedding banquet today. There was a frail quality to it.

Shen Xi didn’t know why the word frail came to mind—perhaps it had to do with his health. In the past ten days at the other residence, she had often heard that Third Master Fu had been sickly since childhood, that he had undergone surgery by Western doctors while studying abroad, which had severely weakened him. Maybe that was why he had broken off three engagements and remained unmarried well into his thirties.

“There were guards,” the man with the fake queue replied. “But since there was a wedding today, no one expected the bride to come out on her wedding night. They got careless.”

A wedding night? The groom wasn’t even alive.

Shen Xi scoffed inwardly and averted her gaze slightly.

Fu Tongwen seemed to read her thoughts and warned her bluntly, “If you continue to be this reckless, you won’t be far from death.” His tone was cold.

Shen Xi was momentarily taken aback.

Fu Tongwen gave a subtle signal to the man with the fake queue, who immediately understood. He stepped forward and made a slight bow—a gesture that was neither fully Western nor traditionally Chinese—before motioning for her to return.

That night, she lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall into a deep sleep.

It was only near dawn that she finally slipped into a dream.

In her dream, she was back at the opium den. The crumbling brick carvings on either side of the entrance bore a couplet:

“Nothing in life compares to having opium in hand, Rarely does the moon shine so bright overhead.”

A group of loan sharks always loitered near the entrance, ready to trap any opium addict trying to leave. At the back door, corpse collectors regularly came to haul away those who had died inside.

That night, a smoker walked into the front hall, picked a wooden bed, tossed a few copper coins, and began his night of indulgence. No one knew that this opium addict had once been a minor government official—one who had even been promoted two ranks for betraying the Reform Party, securing himself a smooth political path.

No one knew. Except Shen Xi.

She recognized him the moment he started burning the opium paste.

This haggard, ghost-like addict with graying hair had once been her father’s student. He was also the very man who had betrayed the Shen family.

The instant she recognized the culprit responsible for her family’s downfall, her hands trembled. Yet, the man simply reached out a hand, asking her for an opium pipe.

Throughout the night, the air was thick with smoke. She feared he might recognize her, yet she couldn’t bear to let him go unpunished. So she fled.

Fate, however, had already begun to balance the scales.

She never intended to kill him, but he died from the very opium she had prepared for him. After just a few deep inhales, the emaciated man suddenly began foaming at the mouth. In his final moment—his soul departing his frail body—his eyes snapped open in fury.

He recognized her.

Gripping the hem of her trousers, he collapsed from the wooden bed onto the dusty floor, convulsed twice, and stopped breathing.

She had intended to send his body out the back door anonymously, but she hadn’t realized that everything had been watched by unseen eyes.

She failed to escape.

She had considered ending her own life, but before she could, someone reported the incident to the authorities.

And when the officials came, Fu Third Master came too.

The officials arrived on horseback. Fu Tongwen arrived in an automobile.

That night, Fu Tongwen used silver to settle the matter. She heard a low-ranking officer murmuring by the car window, “The Shen family case will never be overturned. Third Master, protecting her is asking for trouble. She may escape today, but not forever.”

At the time, she was seated in the back of the car, listening as Fu Tongwen responded with absolute certainty: “If I can protect her tonight, I can protect her for a lifetime.”

His tone was firm. His confidence—unyielding.

But even Shen Xi knew that the Fu family was in decline.

The car left the opium den, carrying her into the Fu family.

Ten days later, Fu Third Master arranged for her to marry his deceased fourth brother.

In just a few short days, rumors about her origins had already spread through the city’s alleys, each version more exaggerated than the last.

Some said she and Fourth Master Fu had been childhood sweethearts, that they had studied abroad together, but fate was cruel—he died young, and she remained faithful, choosing to marry into the once-great Fu family despite its diminished status.

Others claimed she was a married woman who had fallen in love with Fu Third Master and poisoned her own husband to secure a place in the Fu household.

The most ridiculous version suggested that she was an illegitimate daughter raised outside by Master Fu himself.

Yet, among all the wild speculations, not a single soul spoke of her true identity.

The truth had been buried—silent and unseen.

The day after her wedding, she finally met the entire Fu family as the “new bride.”

Aside from Master Fu, who had returned to his hometown to recuperate, the three unmarried young ladies of the family were present, as well as the eldest, second, third, and fifth masters. Several of Master Fu’s concubines were also there—two of whom, distinct in their features, were from Joseon.

Eldest Master Fu had followed their father into the officialdom in his early years and carried himself with great authority. When she arrived, he was in the middle of a heated argument with Second Master Fu over whether the country should pursue constitutional reform or revolution.

Third Master Fu arrived late. Upon entering, he deliberately chose the seat farthest from her.

“Third Brother, were you out drinking with courtesans last night, or did you organize some other entertainment?” Eldest Master Fu teased. “Tell me, can’t you give up at least one of your vices —opium, women, or gambling? You should take better care of your health.”

“Nothing in life compares to having a cup in hand, Rarely does the moon shine so bright overhead, Brother,”

Fu Tongwen replied nonchalantly, exuding his usual air of debauchery. His lips curled into a smirk—mocking, disdainful—spreading from his eyes to the arch of his brows.

Second Master Fu set down his teacup and changed the subject with a smile. “A few days ago, someone sent me a lottery ticket for a donation draw, just for fun. Guess how much the grand prize is?” He extended his hand, fingers slightly spread. “Fifty thousand silver dollars.”

The young ladies in the room gasped softly.

And just like that, the conversation in the hall shifted from constitutional reform to lottery winnings.

Shen Xi found it all terribly dull and lowered her gaze to her shoes. In doing so, she noticed that Fu Tongwen, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, was tapping his foot lightly against the floor.

She stared absentmindedly, watching the rhythmic motion. With each tap, she seemed to hear the echo of her own heartbeat, sensing his impatience in the cadence.

Suddenly, his foot stilled.

She discreetly glanced over. Someone had entered and was whispering into Fu Tongwen’s ear. He stood up to leave.

“Off to meet another beauty?” Eldest Master Fu taunted.

Fu Tongwen responded with a faint smile and, quite deliberately, glanced at Shen Xi.

She had yet to react, but the people in the hall had already drawn their own conclusions. The rumors circulating in the city now seemed even more credible.

So it was true—the Third Master had brought trouble into their family.

That afternoon, a light drizzle fell.

A maid led her to the covered walkway.

Fu Tongwen sat in a newly placed grand armchair, draping a Western-style coat over his shoulders. His shirt collar was open. A man in a white doctor’s coat—a Western physician—was examining him. The doctor’s hand was tucked inside Fu Tongwen’s shirt, listening intently to his chest with a stethoscope.

Shen Xi recalled how, back at the opium den, people would murmur that Western doctors always wore white, calling it ominous.

When Fu Tongwen noticed her, he raised a hand in signal. The doctor withdrew his stethoscope.

Fu Tongwen casually tossed a newspaper onto the small table beside him and sneered:

“A single opium pipe slays heroes without spilling blood;
A single flickering lamp burns down villages without leaving ashes.”

“Qingxiang, do you know what this refers to?”

The doctor smiled faintly and mimed the gesture of lighting an opium pipe. “This.”

Fu Tongwen nodded and turned to Shen Xi. “This is my fourth brother’s widow—from the Guangdong Shen family. Ever heard of them?”

It was the kind of statement that could cost a man his head, yet he said it so casually.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Shen,” the doctor greeted her, utterly unfazed, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Hello.”

Sensing that Fu Tongwen wanted to speak with her privately, the doctor packed his instruments into a small case and nodded once more before taking his leave.

Once he disappeared, only she and Fu Tongwen remained.

The wind carried the rain into the covered walkway.

Fu Tongwen noticed that his shirt collar was still unbuttoned. With practiced ease, he used two fingers of his right hand to fasten the metal buttons.

Shen Xi walked forward in silence and knelt before him without a word.

His movements paused slightly.

“I thank Third Master Fu for saving my life.”

Over the years, she had been saved by more than one person, but none had left their names, or she had never had the chance to see them again. This kneeling was her way of repaying his kindness—and the kindness of countless righteous souls.

“The Shen family once followed Minister Lin, dedicating themselves to the opium ban. That was an act of great righteousness. One who upholds righteousness should not meet the fate of having their entire clan exterminated.”

As he spoke, he lifted his left hand slightly and, together with his right, finished fastening the last metal button.

“There is no need to kneel to me.”

Fu Tongwen then moved his left hand away from his collar, opened his palm, and held it out before her.

The events at Humen, which had once shaken the court and the common people, were only ever spoken of by her father. She never expected that this Third Master Fu would mention it.

“I had you marry my late brother not to humiliate or trouble you, but to arrange for your departure.”

Seeing her stunned expression, Fu Tongwen directly took her wrist and helped her up.

“The political situation is unstable. Only with the identity of a Fu family member can you leave safely.”

“Where to?”

“England. I’ve been there before—I have friends who can look after you.”

After a moment’s thought, he added, “Or America. That doctor just now is a student from Yale, the first Chinese medical student trained abroad to return home.”

A place so far away—so far she had never even dared to dream of it.

“Or Japan, where the revolutionaries often go.”

A storm raged in Shen Xi’s heart, leaving her speechless for a long time.

In the end, it was Fu Tongwen who concluded, “It all depends on where arrangements can be made the fastest. How about that?”

“Why must I leave?” Shen Xi asked, voicing the doubt in her heart—along with her curiosity about him. “Why did you choose to study abroad?”

Fu Tongwen was silent for a moment before replying in a low voice:

“To master the skills of the West, so we may use them against the West.”

As he spoke, a different kind of light flickered in his dark eyes.

Fu Tongwen seemed to have reached the limit of his patience, or perhaps he was feeling unwell. He no longer spoke with her and began coughing—low and suppressed. The top of the grand master’s chair and the tips of his hair behind his head were dampened by the rain, but he seemed entirely unaware. He pulled a pocket watch from his coat, as if waiting for something.

Noticing that she was still standing there, his gaze briefly swept over her before shifting elsewhere.

The rain continued relentlessly for thirteen days.

On the day of her departure, the rain had yet to clear. She was hurriedly escorted out through the back door and placed into Fu Tongwen’s automobile. Inside the car, two maids covered the windows with cloth. She clumsily put on a Western-style dress and nearly lost a shoe just before stepping out. A pouch of silver dollars was shoved into her hands, along with a worn yet sturdy leather suitcase.

She was sent onto the ship in such haste that the hope of seeing her savior one last time became nothing more than a futile wish.

Fu Tongwen had purchased a first-class ticket for her—a small private cabin. It wasn’t spacious, but at least it offered some privacy. Still, despite the better accommodations, she struggled to adjust to the long voyage at sea.

Later, as she retched over the railing from seasickness, she overheard a group of young scholars nearby. It was from their conversation that she learned something significant had happened on the very day she boarded the ship—the revolutionaries had made a major move. No wonder she had been sent away in such a hurry.

Months later, when the ship finally reached port, she stepped off with her old leather suitcase, only to be met with a tight embrace.

“Congratulations! You are no longer an imperial criminal sentenced to extermination!”

The person showed no regard for her tense and guarded posture, gripping her shoulders tightly with a broad grin.

“The Qing Emperor has abdicated! There are no more imperial criminals! Come, let’s celebrate!”

Every Chinese passenger disembarking at the dock was spreading the same news—some in shock, some in sheer delight. The powerful winds sweeping across the dock carried with them the tide of a new era.

Only then did she finally understand the meaning behind Fu Tongwen’s words that night outside the opium den:

“If I can protect her for one night, I can protect her for a lifetime.”

It was not a boastful declaration of heroism from the old era—it was a prophecy, spoken with certainty.

1912.

While she had been drifting at sea, the blood debts against her had vanished. There was no longer a need for justice, nor anyone left to seek it. She had transformed from a fugitive on death row into an ordinary person.

“Oh, right—this is from Mr. Fu.”

A letter was placed in her hands.

“It actually arrived before you did. Hurry, open it.”

She clutched the letter tightly, eager to read it, yet hesitant in front of the person before her. She hesitated for three seconds. The person gave her an encouraging nod. Only then did she unfold the letter.

Take care in all things. If there is no necessity, we should not meet again.

—Fu Tongwen

January 1st