TYSUF – Chapter 25 Don’t Hesitate When You Came (4)

Fu Tongwen spoke a few words as he absentmindedly caressed her hand, the pads of his fingers gliding gently over the dark blue veins on the back of it. There was a flirtatious glint in his eyes. Shen Xi composed herself and realized he was still as full of vitality as ever.

He had said it would just be for a moment… all lies.

He, too, sensed that his self-control wasn’t as strong as he’d imagined. Chuckling softly, he said, “You’d better get down.”

As if she had insisted on sitting in his lap…

Shen Xi knew he liked to take advantage with his words, and she did her best to remind herself not to fuss over things with a patient. Without a word, she slid off his knees. “I’ll go fix the bed.”

“I’m not really in the mood to sleep,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to an empty high-backed armchair to the side. “Come, sit here.”

Between the two high-backed chairs stood a rectangular tea table inlaid with marble.

Seeing her seated, Fu Tongwen stepped away—partly to distract himself from his desire for her, and partly to pour her some tea.

Earlier, with servants around, he couldn’t do or say much. But now that they were alone, he wanted to serve her a cup of hot tea.

On the desk outside sat a teapot, left earlier by a young servant.

Fu Tongwen carried the pot, shuffling back in soft leather slippers, a robe draped over his shoulders. In the lamplight, a strand of hair slipped down across his forehead. With a smile on his lips, he looked like someone who had stepped out of an old painting…

But that wasn’t quite right. Shen Xi’s thoughts wandered. Figures stepping out of paintings in the dead of night were usually beautiful women. What came in the deep night through windows were supposed to be fox spirits or female ghosts—none of them had anything to do with a strapping man…

In his left hand, he carried two identical teacups, placed them on the table, and slowly poured the tea.

After setting down the teapot, he returned to his seat.

The high-backed chairs were carved with intricate cloud-and-dragon patterns. The center of each backrest was inlaid with marble, covered in white fox fur. The two of them nestled in their own little worlds—or perhaps, those two chairs and one small tea table formed their shared corner of the world.

She rested her elbow on the edge of the tea table and looked at him, recalling a line:

A nobleman in repose, clad in brocade and fox fur.

“Ever since you got back from Shanghai, you’ve been fond of staring at me,” he teased.

“…I was just thinking about something.” She lowered her head, guilty, and sipped her tea.

He had used the word “back.”

Yes—she had come back. She was no longer adrift, without anchor.

He didn’t poke fun at her. “What were you thinking about? Tell me.”

“When you got trapped this time… did you really not expect it?”

She didn’t fully understand the inner workings of the Fu family, but Fu Tongwen was a part of that world, a person of that household. He shouldn’t have been caught off guard like this. Even the slightest vigilance should’ve kept him from ending up in such a passive position.

“In New York, I did receive a telegram from my father. I’d considered the possibility,” he paused, then said, “but I didn’t expect him to go this far.”

She was shocked. “Then why didn’t you avoid it? At least lie low for a while?”

“If I fled while on my way back to Beijing, my father would’ve used every means at his disposal to dismantle my business. With the Beiyang Army behind him, I wouldn’t stand a chance in this political climate. Everything I’ve built over the years would’ve gone up in smoke.”

Fu Tongwen held his teacup and took a small sip. “If I came back, at least he’d think he could still control me—or at the very least, take the business from me. So I decided to gamble. I gambled that even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cub.”

He added, “Besides, I was determined to claim the Fu family fortune. So I had to come back.”

Shen Xi couldn’t understand. “Is money more important than your life?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “More important than life.”

This was the result of the first half of his life—his painstakingly built fortune. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Losing it would be like a wolf losing its fangs, an eagle its wings. Besides, there was an even greater family inheritance to be had.

If that money ended up in his eldest brother’s hands, it would be spent on guns to kill revolutionaries—

In his hands, the money would be used to buy cannons—to counterbalance the warlords.

He concluded, “To save the nation, you need money. With money, you can support an army and buy guns. The Beiyang Army has its own land, and with land comes a foundation—exploiting the people gives them money. If the revolution is to continue, money is absolutely essential.”

Over the years, aside from a few comrades who had fought alongside him, Fu Tongwen had never laid his heart bare to anyone.

The failure of the reform movement and Tongchuan’s death had gradually sobered him. In the past, he had been something of a radical, believing that assassination, uprisings, and calls for independence were all necessary means. Sacrificing one’s life for the dawn of a new era had seemed like the right path.

But now, he understood far better that money and an army were the true keys to change. He was already past his thirties—almost thirty-four. He no longer had the chance to start over and lead troops into battle, but he could fund an army grounded in one region.

To the Beiyang Army, those revolutionary forces were just ragtag militias. But to Fu Tongwen, they were vital weapons for saving the country and its people.

Over the past ten years, he had poured countless assets into the cause. Though Third Master had money, its destination was a mystery to most.

He, Fu Tongwen, had long prepared himself for the possibility of ending up penniless for the sake of the nation—walking away with nothing but clear conscience and empty sleeves.

“This is the first time you’ve ever spoken about these things,” Shen Xi said softly.

Fu Tongwen held his teacup and smiled without responding.

Sharing a bed is a matter of affection. Facing life and death together—that’s where hearts truly meet.

Under the dim yellow lamplight, the two of them leaned back against the fox fur, elbows resting on the edge of the tea table.

She’d drunk so much tea it had gone to her head. It was an entirely new experience.

One pot of tea, one lamp, two shadows side by side. For a brief moment, she sensed how much their relationship had changed—how close their hearts had become.

“You once said… if something happened to you, there would be a way for me to find out,” she glanced toward the outside, as if seeing the seven or eight rifles beyond the wall. “What was the method?”

“If I died, my father would naturally release everyone in this courtyard. Qingxiang would escape, too.”

“But… he doesn’t know where I’m living, does he?”

“No,” Fu Tongwen refilled her tea. “But every newspaper has already bought space for obituaries. You’d see the notice sooner or later. Even if you didn’t read the papers, after enough gossip on the streets, it would eventually reach you.”

That was his method.

A foolproof way to get the message to her—without exposing her hiding place.

Shen Xi fell silent, her mind a blank. Thankfully, there was no “if.” She had come. He was still here.

“Tell me about what’s been going on outside—help me take my mind off things,” he said lightly, steering the conversation away.

“You’re not going to sleep?” She glanced at the clock on the table. “It’s really late.”

“I’ve been sick too long. My bones feel like they’ve turned to mush from lying in bed—it’s like prison,” he said with a laugh. “Ever since I got back, I’ve had no contact with the outside. Now that you’re here, stay and talk with me.”

Fu Tongwen was desperate for useful information, but isolated as he was, he had no way of getting it.

Shen Xi recalled everything she’d experienced in Shanghai and told him in detail:

Back in August, the country had begun unifying its silver currency. The “Yuan Big Head” coin had become the sole legal tender. At the time, she still had other forms of currency, but Mr. Zhu persuaded her to go to the Bank of China and the Bank of Communications to exchange it all for silver, nickel, and copper coins.

In early September, she noticed a new issue of Youth magazine, which was very popular. She failed to buy two consecutive issues, but Duan Menghe gave her a copy. He told her the founder was Chen Duxiu, and all the contributors were well-known figures. Upon hearing that name, Shen Xi thought of the man who jumped into the sea, whom Fu Tongwen had mentioned on the cruise ship, and so she shared the story with him.

“Youth?” Fu Tongwen repeated the name, but made no further comment.

He was the type of person who never gave direct opinions—unlike the foreign-educated students Shen Xi had met, who often spoke with great passion about their beliefs and ideals. At the time, both she and Fu Tongwen had thought Youth was a publication that would be quickly banned. Little did they expect that in a few years, writers like Lu Xun, Li Dazhao, and Hu Shi would all be contributing to it—growing it into a leading journal of the new era.

As she neared the end of her story, Shen Xi paused. Fu Tongwen was watching her closely.

Should she say it?

Even if she didn’t, he would find out sooner or later.

“They say… he’s about to ascend the throne,” she said softly. “Everyone outside is talking about it. I even saw your father trying on official robes.”

On her way here—at train stations, on ferries—people had been discussing it.

Especially in the first-class carriage from Shanghai to Nanjing, where most passengers seemed to belong to the upper class and didn’t bother to conceal their talk.

This, at least, was within Fu Tongwen’s expectations.

He was like a man shackled in iron chains—powerless, adding only to his frustration.

Fu Tongwen downed his cup of tea and took her hand. “It’s not good to leave the lamp on. Qingxiang will nag again tomorrow.”

What he meant was: it was time to sleep.

Shen Xi followed him and sat on the soft bed, her mind drifting to their earlier intimacy. Just before she switched off the bedside lamp, she hesitated and stole a glance at his lower half in his pajama trousers—worried he might still be “at a standstill.” With just that one furtive glance, she turned off the light.

Had she been an ordinary girl, perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered. But she was someone who could draw the human anatomy in meticulous detail. Back in dissection class, she was the only female student who had dared to cut open and examine the male reproductive organs in detail—inside and out, she knew them like the back of her hand.

So… that thing really could expand and retract at will in practice?

Or was it just a patient’s body that wouldn’t respond properly?

Under the covers, Fu Tongwen reached for her hand, fingers lacing with hers, both of their hands resting on her lower belly. He said nothing.

This was the first time they were truly sharing a bed. At this point… there was hardly a difference between them and husband and wife.

They’d talked until late into the night. Just as Shen Xi finally dozed off for a moment, before dawn, the sound of movement stirred in the room.

Within the bed curtains, it was murky and warm with the mingled scent of each other’s breath.

Her temples throbbed painfully. Her head ached. After days of travel, her nerves had been taut. Now, before sunrise, someone was already lurking near the wall… She truly wasn’t used to it. Groggy and weary, she made a mental note to talk to him later—surely, they didn’t need servants attending them so closely.

Faintly, she smelled the aroma of herbal medicine. Without opening her eyes, Fu Tongwen turned her body gently. “It’s a servant,” he said.

They’d talked too much the night before—her throat was parched. She asked softly, “Is that the smell of medicine?”

“It’s time for your medicine, Third Master,” the young servant quickly answered.

Fu Tongwen responded but didn’t lift the bed curtains—instead, he lifted her nightclothes.

Still half-asleep, Shen Xi twisted her body and pushed his hand away. “There’s someone out there…”

Only a layer of cloth between them and the outside world.

The room was pitch-dark, no light at all. The two of them silently teased and wrestled under the silk quilt, evading and provoking each other for a good half hour. It started off playful, but before long, Fu Tongwen had stripped off all her sleepwear. She panicked and curled up in the blanket. With someone standing just outside the bed curtains, she dared not make a sound. All she could do was bite her lip and kick at his leg, curling up like a dumpling at the foot of the bed.

Fu Tongwen remained by the headboard, letting her kick him as he leaned against their shared pillows, laughing shamelessly.

The servant outside heard the laughter, glanced at the bowl of medicine in his hands—afraid it would cool too much—but dared not interrupt. He could tell the spring night was still in full bloom inside the curtains—

Both of them were holding back, breathing heavily, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Gradually, it quieted. Her back was drenched in sweat, still warm from his touch. Curled up at the foot of the bed, she saw him staring at her feet—and slowly pulled them back halfway under the blanket.

Eventually, he moved closer.

This time, she didn’t dodge again. He cornered her at the foot of the bed. The fabric of his pajama trousers brushed against the top of her foot—and in an instant, it brought her back to that day in Guangzhou. The feel of that fabric against her skin made her curl her toes.

“Let me take a look,” he whispered, reaching to lift her blanket.

They had struggled fiercely earlier—his collar buttons had come undone, and the red marks on his collarbone were from her fingernails.

Her heart pounded in her chest. What truly restrained her was the presence of the figure outside the bed curtains. The servant was well-trained—he hadn’t moved a muscle or made a sound.

Fu Tongwen said softly, “Third Brother is sick like this… every glance is one less I’ll get.”

Then he chuckled. “If something happens to me, and I never even got to see your body… Yangyang, can you really bear that?”

…

Suddenly, the bed curtains were flung open. Shen Xi swept her sweat-dampened hair up into a twist, hastily fastened the last button of her nightgown, slipped into her slippers, face flushed red. Her knees were weak—she patted them twice before grabbing her dress from the armchair.

Without even glancing at the servant, she dashed out to the room across the way to get dressed.

Fu Tongwen got off the bed right after, but moved slowly. He rested a hand on the edge of the bed, smiling deeply as he looked toward the door curtain.

The servant had never seen him smile like that—he was momentarily stunned.

“The medicine?” Fu Tongwen asked.

“It’s gone cold—I’ll reheat it,” the servant said in a fluster, quickly picking up the bowl. “I’ll go call someone to help Master freshen up. And to attend to… Fourth Young Madam.” The words felt awkward in his mouth—so much so that even he, a servant, found them improper.

Fu Tongwen nodded and gave instructions: “From now on, wait in the front hall. If I don’t call for you, don’t come in.”

The servant answered respectfully, “Yes, Third Master.”

“And one more thing: no matter what people outside this courtyard say, in here, there is no Fourth Young Madam. Only Miss Shen.”