TYSUF – Chapter 3 A Dream from the Previous Dynasty (2)

On the same day Shen Xi’s letter arrived, a young man came.

He wore a blue linen tunic and gray cloth trousers. As soon as he entered the study and saw Fu Tongwen, his eyes reddened.

“My master sent me. Third Master, something terrible has happened.”

Fu Tongwen leaned forward slightly, his gaze darkening. “Speak slowly.”

“Mr. Song was assassinated.” The young man spoke softly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Fu Tongwen exchanged a brief glance with the doctor.

“Before he died, my master left three requests. All books stored in Nanjing, Beijing, and Tokyo should be donated to the Nanjing Library. His family is poor, and his elderly mother still lives—please ensure she is taken care of. Lastly…” The young man’s voice choked. “He asked that all of you continue fighting for the nation and not abandon your duty because of him.”

When he finished speaking, a heavy silence filled the room.

After a long moment, Fu Tongwen asked in a low voice, “Is he still alive?”

“He died with hatred in his heart.”

Fu Tongwen’s eyes flickered slightly. He let out a cold laugh.

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

The doctor understood his meaning.

They had heard this phrase before in an opera during their studies in England:

“Hell is empty, and the demons walk the earth.”

The assassination of Mr. Song, the acting leader of the Kuomintang, shocked the entire nation.

Second Master deeply admired Mr. Song and was devastated by his death.

He had a column in a newspaper, and his fury over the incident led him to write several articles condemning the president.

Some people secretly passed a message to Fu Tongwen, asking him to persuade his elder brother to stop.

Fu Tongwen agreed on the surface, but he never spoke a word to Second Master.

Instead, he quietly paid off the newspaper offices, instructing them to find ways to protect Second Master.

As a result, before long, none of Second Master’s articles made it to print.

Everyone assumed he had been suppressed, even Second Master himself, who frequently complained about it at the dinner table—until Fu Laoye (the old master of the Fu family) picked up a chair and smashed it over him, warning him to keep his pen in check and not bring disaster upon the Fu family.

Not long after, a business card was delivered to the Fu residence—addressed to Second Master.

The sender? A staff officer of the Presidential Guard.

This staff officer’s surname was Lu, and he was well-known in Beijing for his cruel and notorious reputation.

He had a peculiar habit—whoever he wanted to kill, he would invite them to a banquet, and after the meal, pull out a gun and send them on their way.

Blatant. Ruthless.

Just last year alone, he had assassinated countless patriots.

However, the business card never reached Second Master’s courtyard—instead, a servant delivered it to Fu Tongwen’s study first.

Fu Tongwen held the card and pondered for a moment.

“Summon Second Master.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant left.

Fu Tongwen finished half a cup of tea before Second Master arrived.

Without preamble, Fu Tongwen told him directly:

“A staff officer from the Presidential Guard wants to meet you.”

Second Master froze for a moment.

Fu Tongwen gestured to the stool by the Eight Immortals table.

“Sit. I’ll go with you.”

Second Master hesitated, afraid of implicating him.

“Let’s meet him in the front hall instead.”

Fu Tongwen chuckled, then turned to the servant outside.

“Bring the guest in.”

“Yes, Third Master.”

Not long after, Staff Officer Lu entered.

He had come expecting to meet Second Master, only to find himself stepping into Third Master Fu’s study instead.

This renowned Third Master Fu—Lu had once had the fortune of seeing him in the Eight Great Lanes.

It was on the eighth day of last month.

That night, Third Master had booked half the venue to support someone.

He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, wearing a mandarin-collared shirt with an unbuttoned vest, leaning slightly to the side, whispering to the person beside him.

From Lu’s vantage point, he had only caught a glimpse of Third Master’s profile—exuding a kind of melancholic charm.

Rumors had it that, despite his reputation as a heartbreaker, he was always a gentleman toward courtesans.

Though known for being unfaithful, he was never cruel.

Women who spoke of him always had praise, never a single harsh word.

But that was the Third Master of the pleasure quarters.

Not this one.

Everyone knew—Third Master Fu was no gentleman.

The moment Staff Officer Lu saw Fu Tongwen, all the words he had planned to say vanished.

Instead, he shifted the conversation to matters of livelihood with Second Master, as if they were old friends reunited.

Fu Tongwen listened in silence, his gaze cold, never uttering a single word.

During the conversation, the doctor entered, bringing him medicine and water.

Fu Tongwen swallowed the pills, then set down the porcelain cup with an audible thud.

The sound made Staff Officer Lu’s heart jolt.

It felt like a silent signal—he immediately pushed back his chair and stood up.

“I must have talked too much—Second Master and I get along too well. It’s getting late; I should return to work.”

Fu Tongwen did not respond.

His silence was a tacit dismissal.

Lu dared not linger a second longer and hurriedly took his leave.

Fu Tongwen ordered his servants to escort him out.

As Staff Officer Lu stepped past the gate, the doctor who had been by Fu Tongwen’s side all along caught up to him.

He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, handing it over.

“Third Master sends his regards. He figured that you didn’t get to enjoy yourself properly last month in the Eight Great Lanes. This check should be enough to cover a six-month stay.”

Lu’s hands turned cold as he took the envelope.

There had been countless patrons that night—how had Fu Tongwen known that he had been there?

In that instant, Lu understood one thing—he must never cross the Fu family.

Once everyone had left, Fu Tongwen suddenly recalled the letters and parcels from America.

He grabbed a military knife, slit open the package, and pulled out a thick stack of newspapers and reports.

He then loosened his vest and let out a breath.

But before he could flip through them properly, a servant walked in, carrying another stack of letters and placing them on the desk.

The topmost envelope happened to be from America.

The following year, after the academic term ended, the apartment was livelier than before.

Another group of Chinese exchange students had arrived, and discussions of China’s current affairs filled the air.

Naturally, the assassination of Mr. Song was a recurring topic.

“Mr. Song came from poverty. But when Yuan Shikai’s men sent him a blank check, guaranteeing unlimited funds—he refused. His heart was with the nation!”

“We must follow his example!”

“Yes! As he once said, ‘Fear not death, for our will cannot be taken from us!’”

There were some who wept in sorrow, and others who were filled with righteous indignation.

But now, the President held the military in his grasp—who could challenge him?

As Shen Xi listened, she wondered if her father and brothers had been like this back in the day, which led to their tragic end.

These people gathered together often, staying up all night talking.

By this time, Shen Xi had already chosen to study surgery. Aside from the time spent writing letters to Fu Tongwen, she dedicated herself tirelessly to studying day and night, never engaging in their discussions. Among the fellow students she was close to, there was a male classmate studying the same field—Chen Lin Guan—who got along well with her. They rarely spoke of anything trivial, and whenever they did, it was about their coursework.

The two of them pushed each other, learning with such fervor that they were nearly obsessed. They couldn’t finish the models provided by the teacher during class, so they would stay after class to catch up. Not satisfied with just anatomy and practical lessons, Shen Xi would often host, and her classmate would find ways to pay for access to surgical procedures so they could observe surgeries, thus accumulating valuable surgical material and anatomical sketches.

However, every time they gathered precious materials, they made sure to keep meticulous records and accounts.

Chen Lin Guan came from a poor family, so most of the expenses were covered by Shen Xi. Sometimes when the expenses piled up, Shen Xi would complain about how wasted the bodies of dead smokers in the opium dens were—if only they could have been used for study. She kept track of every penny spent, reminding Chen Lin Guan that he had a responsibility to save more Chinese people and earn blessings for Fu Tongwen.

Wan Feng thought Shen Xi was studying too obsessively and often tried to pull her out for outings—listening to opera, watching movies. But Shen Xi wasn’t particularly interested in those things. Eventually, she became fascinated with the heart, though the teachers at the school didn’t focus on it.

Her professor also mentioned how, when performing surgery on the heart, blood would flow out uncontrollably, and it was nearly impossible to stop the heart. Operating under such conditions was extremely difficult.

“Last century, some said performing surgery on the heart was a desecration of the art of surgery. Whoever dared to do it would ruin their reputation,” the professor laughed as he spoke in class, spreading his hands. “But now, people have begun to succeed. The ice is breaking, and we will find the path to the heart.”

The students laughed, filled with confidence about the future.

By the third year, she successfully completed all her scheduled courses.

The professor asked if she planned to continue her studies. If she stopped now, it would be a great waste of her potential in this field.

She hesitated.

Fu Tongwen had never mentioned any plans for her future.

That night, under the dim light, she flipped through her biology notes until the early morning, eventually pulling out the letter paper she had prepared earlier and began writing to him. This was the first time she had mentioned “the future” in her letters. Perhaps she was afraid, fearing that he would reply with words like “We may never meet again” or “It is not suitable for us to meet again.” She wrote in a roundabout way, filling three pages without clearly stating the main point of the letter.

After sending the letter, she once again waited from summer to winter.

That evening, Wan Feng and Gu Yiren were both invited to a Christian family gathering. She and Chen Lin Guan had been practicing vascular suturing, and by the time dawn arrived, they went home and went straight to bed. When she woke up, it was already dusk.

His letter lay on the carpet, placed there like a gift.

The moment she saw it, Shen Xi tumbled out of bed with the blanket still wrapped around her, awkwardly clutching the letter and blanket as she crawled back.

At the bottom of the drawer in her nightstand, there was a blade specifically for cutting envelopes. The year was nearly over, and only now had she used it for the first time.

She carefully cut open the envelope and pulled out the letter, still folded into three parts.

Her heart raced, but her hands moved slowly. She opened the paper, and again, there were only a few lines:

“I will soon be leaving for England, with no fixed return date. As for your tuition, do not worry, it will be covered until you have no books left to read. Apologies for the hurried letter.

Fu Tongwen
July 7th”

Upon seeing the date, Shen Xi guessed that he must have already left without having had the chance to receive her letter.

A sense of loss filled her heart as she wrapped herself in the blanket, burying her face in the pillow.

The smell of disinfectant lingered in the folds of the fabric.

Was he going to England for business, or was there something else? Perhaps there was some lady waiting for him in a foreign land? Once her thoughts went down this path, the more she thought, the more absurd it seemed. Hungry and restless, with the idea of him marrying and having children in England filling her mind, Shen Xi could no longer stay in bed. She turned over, got out of bed, and managed to dress herself before heading downstairs.

“I must eat something right away—something a Chinese person should eat.”

Shen Xi took the stairs two at a time, practically running down. As her feet hit the floor, she saw the people sitting in the living room. She couldn’t stop in time, and with a humiliating stumble, she bumped into the armrest.

In the open-concept living room of the apartment, several people were gathered around a man in the center.

They were all in a formation that resembled the stars surrounding the moon.

Fu Tongwen held a teacup in his hand, his gray-black collared suit jacket open, revealing the waistcoat and shirt inside. The tie looked nice, and the standing collar of the shirt looked good too. He seemed… detached from the world, like a rare gem that would be hard to find again…

God, what a foolish thing to think.

All the books she read as a child were wasted.

Shakespeare, Goethe, Tolstoy, Li Bai, Du Fu, Bai Juyi, vascular suturing, blood clotting, tourniquets…

What should I say?

Shen Xi forgot where she was or what time it was. A moment ago, she was imagining his romantic adventures in England, and now, here he was, face to face. No, they were separated by eleven… thirteen or fourteen steps, gazing at each other.

Fu Tongwen finished his tea, placed the white porcelain cup down, and teased her lightly, “I didn’t expect that you’d still be following Chinese time here?”

To emphasize his teasing, he glanced out the window.

It was near dusk.

A slanting beam of sunlight filtered through the window, landing on his trousers and brown leather shoes, as if golden powder had been sprinkled over him.