TYSUF – Chapter 67 Vast Old Rivers and Mountains (5)

After a cup of tea, Shen Xi walked shoulder to shoulder with him, leaving Fu Tongwen’s courtyard.

All the Fu family servants had been dismissed, and the other courtyards lay abandoned. Naturally, there was no one to sweep the snow as before. The road was covered with thick, pure white snow; leather shoes sank into it, hiding the yellow earth beneath.

Behind the tall walls, while Beijing inside the city was full of festive cheer for the year-end, this place was desolate and cold after decay.

Outside the main gate, they waited for their car.

Fu Tongwen idly brushed the snow off a stone post and patted it, as if saying, “Farewell, old friend.”

“Since Yangyang has been with me, she’s never seen Third Master at his prime,” he said softly, taking off his black sheepskin gloves and lightly tapping them in his palm. “What a pity.”

“A pity for what?” she whispered. “A pity that I never saw you at your most dashing? Su Qing told me that in the past, you and Fourth Master were like ‘young noblemen riding horses along long boulevards, indulging in lust and youthful wanderings.’ Just hearing that, I can imagine how triumphant you were as a youth.”

Fu Tongwen smiled.

“What are you smiling at? Did I recite it wrong?” She wasn’t familiar with poetry and prose, and his smile made her a little anxious.

Fu Tongwen shook his head. “No, it’s correct. It just reminded me of another line, by the same poet.”

“What line?”

“‘Returning clouds vanish without a trace, where lies the former stage? Pleasures grow estranged, wine-drinkers desolate, unlike in youth,’” he said slowly.

The same poet wrote both verses, perfectly capturing a nobleman’s life before and after.

The old family destroyed, people gone, buildings empty—nothing like the vigor of youth.

It also reflected his own state of mind.

The former Fu household always had three or four rickshaws waiting outside. Even with frequent outings of the young masters and young ladies, it was never enough. Now, there was not a single one; the front gate lay empty. When the car arrived, an empty rickshaw happened to pass by.

“Third Master?” The coachman saw Fu Tongwen and them, stopping enthusiastically. “Are you heading out? Shall I call a few more cars?”

“Since we happen to meet today, take care of your business and call them,” he smiled.

The coachman quickly called his colleagues, and within moments, five rickshaws were lined up outside the Fu residence.

Third Master was in high spirits, so Wan An followed orders, instructing men to load the luggage onto the cars. Watching them sit into the rickshaws one by one, he whispered details to Shen Xi—mostly about meals, accommodations, and travel arrangements.

As they departed, Wan An shot a jealous glance at Peide and waved a long, wistful farewell.

By the time they reached Zhengyang Gate, the escort for the delegation had just arrived.

To avoid the noise, Fu Tongwen steered clear of the farewell crowd and waited in a first-class waiting carriage. Once the delegation was all aboard, he led his group into the last carriage. This train was specially prepared for the delegation; from beginning to end, the carriages were converted from first-class cars into compartment-style cabins.

Inside their compartment was a long, narrow wooden table, flanked by goose-down cushioned seats—soft and warm, clearly designed to resist the cold. The six of them sat facing each other.

At first, it wasn’t noticeable, but by nightfall, the temperature in the carriage had dropped to minus ten degrees Celsius.

The compartment was cramped, movement restricted. With limited mobility, blood circulation was poor, making it even colder.

Shen Xi and Fu Tongwen spoke in low voices, their breaths forming white mist.

“When we reach the Northeast, then Korea… aren’t we going to freeze to death?” she joked softly, handing him a white towel freshly taken from hot water to wipe his face.

Someone knocked on the door.

Because it was so cold, coal stoves had been lit in the front two carriages. The Foreign Minister asked those in the rear two carriages to come warm themselves.

Fu Tongwen, needing to introduce Third Master, led them directly to the first carriage to meet the Foreign Minister.

When they entered, Zhou Lixun was there, along with the Minister’s Belgian wife.

“So this is Mrs. Fu?” The Minister smiled at Shen Xi after shaking hands with Fu Tongwen.

“Hello,” Shen Xi nodded politely.

“Come, let’s sit and talk,” the Minister gestured; he was obviously familiar with Fu Tongwen and Zhou Lixun.

The Minister’s wife personally served tea to everyone, then smiled warmly at Peide, asking her nationality and name.

Peide answered seriously. When the Minister’s wife heard the translation from Tan Qingxiang, she immediately smiled. Speaking in German, she said, “I’m from Belgium and happen to speak German, so no need for translation,” then warmly shook Peide’s hand, adding, “My name is also Peide—what a coincidence!”

Tan Qingxiang, quite surprised, translated it into Chinese for everyone present.

Everyone laughed at the amusing coincidence.

“In that case, you should accompany her for a chat,” the Minister told his wife.

“All right, you focus on your business; we’ll step out and talk,” the wife agreed, taking Peide’s arm and leaving the carriage. Tan Qingxiang, worried about Peide’s temperament, followed to ensure she didn’t offend the lady.

Once they left, the Minister gestured for everyone to sit and converse.

Shen Xi and Third Master sat in the farthest corner. In front of her was a coal stove, and behind her were dozens of wooden boxes containing important diplomatic documents.

“When you were young, you saw me before—do you remember?” the Minister asked Third Master. “You’ve probably forgotten, right?”

Third Master smiled and shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

The Minister looked at this young man, evidently keen on a diplomatic career, and smiled with emotion. “When I started, Master Xu told me a story about the French Embassy. It was still the late Qing Dynasty; we rented a private house. When the lease expired, the landlord came to reclaim it, furious. Why? Because the entire embassy, from top to bottom, were heavy smokers, and the house was ruined. It caused quite a scandal and embarrassed us in France.”

He smiled helplessly, then continued, “After telling me this story, Master Xu gave me three rules,” holding up three fingers, “No opium, no gambling, no visiting houses of ill-repute. I tell you this because Tongwen hopes you will pursue diplomacy, and I hope you can abide by these rules.”

“I will,” Third Master said solemnly.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs was immersed in memories of the past, unable to extricate himself. “He wanted to mentor me, but disliked the old custom of formal apprenticeship and sworn brotherhood. He merely instructed his subordinates to take extra care of me. My mentor… was a man of great principles. He trained me for the country, not for spreading his disciples across the world.”

That era could not accommodate too many people.

The “Xu Gong” mentioned by the minister was none other than Xu Jingcheng, a well-known diplomat from the late Qing Dynasty and an elder familiar to Fu Tongwen. When Fu Tongwen was young, he had studied under Xu Gong alongside Miss Gu, and even the words often quoted by Gu Youwei—“Diplomacy cannot be learned in an instant; diplomatic talent cannot be made overnight”—came from him.

In the 26th year of Guangxu, when the Eight-Nation Alliance invaded China, Xu Gong, for opposing Empress Dowager Cixi’s decree, was executed by the court.

That year, Fu Tongwen had only recently arrived in Britain. The double blow of the allied forces invading Beijing and Xu Gong’s execution struck him hard, and he fell ill for half a month.

The minister fell into a brief silence, and Fu Tongwen remained quiet as well. He reached out, warming his hands over the coal stove, his eyes reflecting the flames.

“Our generation of envoys all carried out acts that humiliated the nation, signing unequal treaties,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs looked at Young Master Wu. “The Twenty-One Demands with Japan… the so-called ‘Four Articles of the Citizen Treaty’ you’ve read about in the newspapers, I signed them. Even my wife would say that by signing such documents, I lived my life as a sinner who wronged my country.”

The minister’s voice was soft, heavy with the weight of the past.

Young Master Wu didn’t know how to respond.

“In Paris, we will avenge this humiliation,” Fu Tongwen picked up the words for Young Master Wu.

“Yes,” the minister said with a relieved smile, “we’ve finally waited for this day.”

After introducing Young Master Wu, Fu Tongwen didn’t want to disturb the minister further.

As he led Shen Xi and Young Master Wu out of the carriage, several men in dark cashmere coats were already waiting outside—envoys who had previously met Fu Tongwen. They nodded in greeting as they passed by.

Passing through two carriages, they entered a private compartment, where Peide and Tan Qingxiang had already arrived.

As soon as Shen Xi sat down, Peide poured her a cup of hot water and pushed it toward her, smiling warmly.

“Why is she so happy?” Shen Xi quietly asked Tan Qingxiang. “What happened?”

“The minister’s wife told her marriage story—it’s a beautiful love story,” Tan Qingxiang replied with a helpless smile. “Young girls all like that sort of thing.”

Shen Xi’s curiosity was piqued. “What is it? Tell me.”

“You tell her,” Tan Qingxiang said lazily, unwilling to repeat himself, passing the task to Fu Tongwen.

“I don’t know it very well,” Fu Tongwen said perfunctorily. “Men rarely talk about these things. You understand it better than I do.”

Tan Qingxiang had no patience, giving a brief summary. Shen Xi wasn’t satisfied, so she pressed Fu Tongwen for more details.

Unable to resist, Fu Tongwen carefully recounted the story to her and Young Master Wu.

When the minister had just started his diplomatic career, in his early twenties, he met a mature woman at a diplomatic ball. She was sixteen years older than him, cheerful and generous—the daughter of a famous Belgian general. After dancing together, they both fell in love. But according to Chinese tradition, marrying a Western woman dishonored one’s ancestors, and their children could not enter the ancestral hall or tombs. The minister faced significant opposition from his family, his mentor Xu Gong, and even the court. Yet he remained steadfast—he would marry only her.

Eventually, it was his teacher who petitioned the court, citing the benefit to Belgian diplomacy, and the marriage was approved.

“Sixteen years? My mother was sixteen when she gave birth to me. That’s another generation in China!” Young Master Wu was shocked. “Such an age gap—why… why insist on marrying her?”

Fu Tongwen smiled. “Love makes one heedless of obstacles.”

Tan Qingxiang added, “Beauty is in the eye of the lover.”

Well, Young Master Wu still hadn’t developed much romantic insight.

The group started from this legendary love story, chatting freely about everything under the sun. Hot water was passed around to ward off the carriage chill. By late at night, Shen Xi and Peide dug out thick coats and shared them with everyone.

Though cold, they had to sleep; otherwise, after a long journey, they’d all fall ill within three days.

Shen Xi let Peide and Young Master Wu lean against a corner to rest. Zhou Lixun and Tan Qingxiang took their coats and went to the next carriage to find space. Everyone was tired, and soon they dozed off.

Because of the heavy snow, the train kept stopping and starting.

At dawn, Shen Xi woke first. After going to the restroom and returning, Fu Tongwen was awake as well.

In the darkness, she quietly returned to his side and sat close.

“We’re about to clear customs, right?” she asked softly.

“Already cleared,” he whispered.

“Really?” Shen Xi exclaimed with delight, sitting up to look out the window.

It was her first time leaving China for the northeast, so everything felt new. Before dawn, the moonlight was faint, the sun not yet risen, and the scenery along the tracks was unclear. Only one impression remained: the sky was dark, the ground white.

The biggest difference from leaving Beijing was that thick ice had formed on the carriage window.

She found it fascinating and wanted to tell him, but Fu Tongwen raised his hand to stop her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The train is slowing down,” he whispered.

“Could it be a supply station?” she guessed.

Outside the compartment, footsteps were heard simultaneously.

Not only Fu Tongwen but people in the next compartment noticed it. He and Shen Xi quietly got up and left the compartment. In the corridor stood three men, one of whom was Zhou Lixun, who had gone to sleep next door the previous night.

“What’s happening?” Fu Tongwen asked Zhou Lixun quietly.

“Not sure yet—”

Within two or three minutes, the train came to a complete stop.

Shen Xi looked out the window opposite the compartment. Lights flashed along the tracks, and dark figures moved about.

At that moment, a young man ran into the carriage and whispered something to Zhou Lixun.

Zhou Lixun was slightly surprised but nodded. “Understood.”

He then turned to the other two men and Fu Tongwen. “They’re from the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. A special train is waiting on the South Manchuria Railway to pick us up.”