TYSUF – Chapter 27 Alas, the Swallow Returns (2)

The woman offered her birthday greetings to Master Fu, then laughed at herself: “My father made me memorize them, afraid that if I spoke too much, I’d embarrass him.” She handed her coat to the maid who had accompanied her. Her long dress was styled similarly to Shen Xi’s.

They had both studied abroad, and their aesthetics were worlds apart from the local young ladies and concubines.

Because of this, she gave Shen Xi an extra glance.

Everyone in the Fu household was familiar with her. Though she had arrived late, she showed no sign of awkwardness, nor did she treat herself as a guest. In fact, she acted with the ease of someone who belonged to the household. The Old Madam called her to sit beside her, but she declined.

“I’ll just sit here by the railing with Sixth Sister.” She leaned against the railing and sat directly behind Fu Tongwen.

Only after sitting did she seem to notice Shen Xi: “And this is?”

Sixth Miss whispered, “Miss Shen… someone from Third Brother’s… side.”

Gu Youwei fell silent for a moment before smiling: “Hello. My surname is Gu, Gu Youwei.”

Shen Xi nodded politely: “Hello. My surname is Shen, Shen Xi.”

“Shen Xi?” Gu Youwei repeated the name twice, not too heavily, not too lightly. After a moment, she smiled and said: “A pleasure to meet you.”

Her words carried layers of meaning.

Shen Xi didn’t understand.

Gu Youwei placed a hand on the back of Fu Tongwen’s chair: “Seeing me again, you don’t even have a word to say?”

Fu Tongwen kept his eyes on the stage and asked, “How long are you staying this time?”

“For a long, long time,” Gu Youwei replied softly. “Is that okay?”

Fu Tongwen deflected: “Say a few words and already you’re back to your old ways.”

“You want me to be serious?” Switching to English to avoid others overhearing, she said, “Then let’s agree—if I speak the truth, you can’t lie to me anymore.” She rested her chin on the back of her own hand, her voice lowering further: “You’re such a fake person. Have you ever truly opened your heart to anyone? You were like this as a teenager, in your twenties, and still the same in your thirties.”

Fu Tongwen seemed used to this and smiled calmly: “Yes, I’m fake with everyone. Better to listen to the opera than to me.”

His words were like a dragonfly skimming water—light and evasive, leaving no room for entanglement.

“But I like you this way. This is who you truly are.” She switched back to Chinese, intentionally speaking for everyone present to hear.

Fu Tongwen shook his head with a smile and said nothing more.

Dialogue only becomes interesting when there’s give and take. With only her speaking and no response, Gu Youwei soon lost interest and quieted down.

Sixth Miss, seeing Gu Youwei at a disadvantage, leaned over and whispered in her ear with a grin: “Sister Youwei, don’t you know? No one ever wins against Third Brother. You’ve got people backing you—just ignore him.”

Gu Youwei smoothed her short hair and said softly, with a hint of self-mockery: “I never wanted to argue with him.”

Her words were steeped in disappointment.

Their earlier conversation had been a mix of Chinese and English, Gu Youwei clearly trying to shield it from the elders.

But for Shen Xi, English posed no barrier. Among everyone present, she was the only one who had understood it all.

This woman must be the once-significant fiancée from Fu Tongwen’s earlier life—the one who had once mattered during the long years of the past.

All the fragments she had previously heard from Gu Yiren and Tan Qingxiang now clicked into place—stories full of deep emotion. There was also that bundle of letters hidden away in the little house in Shanghai, steeped in longing and affection.

Shen Xi hadn’t opened those letters, but from their thickness, she could guess that each one contained at least ten sheets of paper.

She herself had written to Fu Tongwen while in New York—viewing him then as a benefactor. Her words had been formal, her tone restrained, her mind focused elsewhere.

But they were different.

They had grown up together, once deeply affectionate, once engaged. Naturally, their letters would begin with “Eat well” and end with “I miss you every day.”

…

The maid came to pour water for the guests. Fu Tongwen, Shen Xi, and Gu Youwei all had their teacups placed on the same tea table.

Amid the rising steam from the tea, Shen Xi and Fu Tongwen reached for their cups—at the exact same moment.

What a coincidence.

They locked eyes. Without a word, Fu Tongwen gently brushed Shen Xi’s hand aside and switched their teacups. He drank from hers—and deliberately turned the cup to sip from the very spot her lips had touched…

Amid the clanging gongs and drums on stage—

Fu Tongwen gave her a sidelong glance, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Shen Xi’s heart jumped and twisted in her chest. She quickly turned away. Fu Tongwen had only meant to tease her into a smile, but seeing her reaction, he could only smile wryly at himself and take small, quiet sips of the hot tea.

Ever since Gu Youwei appeared, he had already pieced everything together.

The easing of the father-son relationship—she was a part of that. Back then, it was the elders of both families who pushed for the engagement with Gu Youwei. He hadn’t objected because he had intended to use the Gu family’s government connections to further his cause for national salvation.

When it came to women’s feelings, whether genuine or false, he could always see through them. All the more so with his former fiancée.

Because the engagement had never been about love, Fu Tongwen had always felt guilty toward Gu Youwei, whom he had known since childhood. He couldn’t return her feelings, but if she hadn’t tried to force him to abandon his country and family, at the very least, he could’ve given her a clean, honorable marriage.

On the night before she left for France, he had been listening to music at the Flower Smoke Parlor. He was late getting back and had someone tidy up the west wing for him.

Before he had even laid down, Gu Youwei barged in. Crying, she threw herself at him, caring nothing for her own reputation—desperate to give herself to him right then and there.

Fu Tongwen had exhausted all his strength trying to calm her down. He called for Tan Qingxiang, hoping to send her away.

She gradually composed herself. Her eyes were red and swollen as she asked Tan for a cigarette.

Sitting on the bed in the west wing, the young woman held the cigarette between two fingers. In front of Tan Qingxiang, she said to Fu Tongwen: She said it was one thing for him to fool around in brothels—after all, in the capital, from literary elites to wealthy heirs, even the sons of the Gu and Fu families all had lovers in such places. She had loved him more than he had loved her, so what right did she have to demand anything? But she hadn’t expected he’d go so far as to secretly keep a young girl under his care. How vile. How shameful.

Fu Tongwen hadn’t expected her to find out. Later, he learned that his elder brother, wanting to sabotage the engagement and remove the Gu family as his support, had “accidentally” let it slip and told her about the Flower Smoke Parlor.

Gu Youwei hadn’t expected that even as a fiancée, even after personally going to the parlor and offering herself, it still couldn’t get Fu Tongwen to abandon everything at home—including the little girl hidden away in that place.

That night, Fu Tongwen crushed her pride into dust.

They parted on bad terms and never saw each other again.

Until tonight.

That year was the 31st year of the Guangxu reign—it had been Shen Xi’s second year in the capital.

The incident where Fu Tongwen saved Shen Xi had been the final spark that burned the engagement to ashes.

Why had Gu Youwei returned?

Fu Tongwen understood—it was for him. But he feared it was truly for him.

Applause erupted from the audience.

Fu Tongwen set down his teacup.

“Do you like watching these kinds of performances? I never did,” Gu Youwei said, leaning her elbow on the back of his chair, in an intimately familiar posture. She started chatting with Shen Xi.

On stage, a man had fallen lovesick, bedridden for a long time. The woman, her rouge washed away by tears, had married another.

But beneath the stage, it was a different story entirely.

Shen Xi and Gu Youwei began talking—from the New York subway to architecture in Europe and America, and eventually to laws in certain states that prohibited interracial marriage between Black and white people. At first, it was just the two of them, but soon the younger guests upstairs were drawn in. The livelier ones came over to listen, and even the elders lost interest in the performance and turned their attention to them.

At first, it was a normal conversation.

But gradually, something felt off. If Shen Xi mentioned the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, Gu Youwei had to bring up the Louvre. If Shen Xi said she studied medicine, Gu Youwei insisted that Europe was the birthplace of cardiology. It was as if she were determined to outdo Shen Xi on every front.

Shen Xi wasn’t one for arguments. Every time, she simply let it go, letting Gu Youwei have the last word.

Today, Fu Tongwen had been granted a special pardon to leave the compound.

After over a hundred days of isolation, he still hadn’t fully grasped the Fu family’s position or the current state of affairs outside. The wisest course was to keep quiet and avoid contention with this “distinguished guest.” Shen Xi understood that much.

Winning or losing a petty squabble meant nothing. Even if she won on words, it would be pointless. What mattered was helping Fu Tongwen shed his shackles and return to action.

She lowered her gaze, quietly sipping her tea—comforting herself this way.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fu Tongwen glancing at her.

The opera had ended, and the crowd beneath the pavilion was laughing and cheering, urging those on the second floor to throw money down.

After all the nickel and copper coins were thrown, Sixth Miss clung to Fu Tongwen, pestering him for more money. Fu Tongwen smiled without responding and gave Wan’an, who stood nearby, a look. Wan’an quickly ran downstairs and soon returned with a redwood tray. When he lifted the red cloth covering it, a small mountain of silver Yuan Shikai coins was revealed. A few of the young ladies gasped softly in surprise.

“What a ruckus,” the matriarch laughed while chiding, “if these silver coins hit someone, it’ll be no small matter.”

“It’s Father’s birthday—we need some festive luck. Wan’an, tell the people below to move out of the way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wan’an leaned over the railing and shouted loudly, warning that Yuan coins were about to be thrown and to avoid getting hit.

The relatives and performers below cheered in delight, pushing each other aside to clear the area, all looking up toward the second floor.

Fu Tongwen grabbed a handful of the silver coins and scattered them downward. The mass of silver shone brilliantly under the moonlight and lantern glow, falling like hail onto the opera stage.

There was a sudden crackling noise, like firecrackers going off, as if celebrating the New Year.

Laughter erupted below, with people calling out for more.

Sixth Miss now joined in the fun, leading a group of sisters and mimicking Fu Tongwen, grabbing fistfuls of silver dollars and tossing them down. Cheers rose from the first floor, and laughter echoed among the young ladies and young masters upstairs.

Seeing the children so happy, the concubines and ladies of the house were naturally pleased.

“Third Brother really knows how to make a show—word of this will spread tomorrow, and it’ll bring great honor to Father’s name,” Second Master Fu said with a smile to the matriarch.

“Indeed,” Second Young Madam chimed in, “Year-end is near. The opera troupe will be visiting various households, and gossip travels fast.”

“Tongwen has never brought us shame,” the matriarch said warmly.

Several concubines, fond of the third young master, eagerly echoed the praise.

The lanterns were bright, the atmosphere festive and joyful—a picture of family harmony.

Even Eldest Master Fu, under such circumstances, had to join the chorus of praise for Fu Tongwen.

Master Fu himself, though silent, was clearly in good spirits. He glanced at Fu Tongwen and said, “Tonight you finally look the part. If you can understand a father’s hardships and marry Youwei, that would be true filial piety.”

Fu Tongwen stood a bit away, hands tucked into his trouser pockets, leaning against a pillar, watching the lively scene below.

Due to four months of confinement and prolonged illness, his face appeared even more gaunt than before.

A few large red lanterns hung from the second floor, spinning in the wind, the character for “fortune” appearing and disappearing. In their flickering light, his eyes alternated between bright and dark—bright like the shimmering lake under the moon, dark like a rain-drenched mountain shrouded in mist.

When it was time to return, Master Fu instructed Fu Tongwen to escort Gu Youwei.

Wan’an, meanwhile, accompanied Shen Xi back to her quarters. He worried she was upset but didn’t know how to console her. Along the way, he stammered awkwardly, jumping from the moon to current politics, trying to mimic Fu Tongwen’s patriotic concerns. But he soon ran out of things to say, making it all the more awkward.

“I’m going to the study. You go to sleep,” she said when they reached the main house. She didn’t want to go inside.

Her heart felt heavy.

“So late—why go to the study, Miss Shen?”

She gave a bitter smile. “You’ve spent the whole way trying to cheer me up—what are you doing?”

“I know you’re unhappy… I just don’t know what good the study will do.”

Shen Xi lifted the cotton curtain and said with a smile, “Just going to find a couple of books. Reading helps calm me down.”

“You’re right,” Wan’an took her seriously. “Then read more—ease your mind.”

Shen Xi entered the study but could no longer smile.

From all that happened tonight, it was clear to her: Gu Youwei had returned to rekindle old feelings with Fu Tongwen. The young woman was openly eager, and the elders of the Fu family clearly supported it… Shen Xi pulled a few books from the shelf and nestled onto the couch by the window.

This room was not like the bedroom with its heated floor. There were only two charcoal braziers for warmth. Shen Xi, always afraid of the cold, piled everything she could on her legs for insulation. In the corner stood a tall Western-style floor clock, amplifying each passing second for her.

She read for a while but couldn’t focus, so she used the book as a pillow and thought stubbornly: Fine, I’ll just sleep here tonight. The car ride had already taken half an hour—was he driving her out of Beijing?

The sleet rattled against the window paper, worsening her mood.

A breeze stirred, followed by the rustle of the curtain falling.

He’s back?

Shen Xi resisted the urge to open her eyes, wanting to hear him speak first.

But he said nothing. When a person pretends to sleep too long, they inevitably give themselves away. Her eyelids twitched slightly with anxiety. After a while, she couldn’t outlast Fu Tongwen and opened her eyes to look for him.

And saw him leaning against the bookshelf, smiling at her as if he’d been waiting for quite some time.

Shen Xi propped herself up and smoothed her hair. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“If you want to sleep here next time, let the servants know so they can light more braziers,” he said with a smile. Carrying a book, he walked over to the couch and, without removing his shoes, leaned diagonally against her shoulder.

Still mad…

Shen Xi gave him a reproachful glance and shifted to avoid him.

But when he acted like a rascal, he forgot his age and status—like a teenage playboy. He paid no attention to her resistance, stubbornly leaning on her until he’d backed her into the corner and finally rested against her shoulder as he wanted.

“Completely wronged. The car broke down while dropping her off. I waited for her family to come pick her up. Stood in the cold for ages, now my head hurts,” he said, pausing for a long while after.

Fell asleep? Headache? Should she get him something warm?

Just as worry crept in, he chuckled and asked, “Yangyang, tell me—my head hurts like hell, but I still can’t get a smile from you. Am I not the most pitiful person alive?”