Jiaying understood everything clearly — the servant girl's act, her intentions, the danger of her son's naivety.
But knowing was one thing; making Fang Zheng see it for himself was another matter entirely.
Each time she pictured that girl's innocent smile before her son, frustration welled up inside her, simmering just beneath the surface.
Yet, it wasn't Fang Zheng who truly kept her awake at night.
Her greatest concern — the one that gnawed at her every quiet moment — was her eldest son, Fang Yuan.
For two long months, Jiaying had watched as Fang Yuan shut himself away, his door closed to the world.
She didn't know exactly what he was doing in there — cultivation, yes, but she also knew it was never just that.
She knew her son's secrets.
No matter how carefully Fang Yuan tried to hide them, she could see through him.
A mother always could.
His thoughts were calm and distant, but she could feel the weight he carried — the quiet, dangerous sharpness beneath his composed surface.
When he was only seven, he had bought a Stone Bag Gu from the passing caravan. She hadn't stopped him. She hadn't even asked why.
At the time, she couldn't.
Back then, every time she looked at him, guilt would surface — the same guilt she carried for blaming him for her father's death.
So, she gave him distance. Freedom. It was the only thing she knew how to give.
People in the clan always praised him, saying that even as a child, Fang Yuan had taken responsibility and managed the tavern. But she knew better.
Respect was not freely given to a child. It was borrowed from her — from her protection, her silent presence behind the scenes.
She had always shielded him quietly. She gave him everything she could, without ever letting him see the cost.
When he turned eight and returned from the caravan with Relic Gu in hand, she understood immediately what he was aiming for. His ambition was already too sharp for his age — frightening, even.
Yet, she couldn't bring herself to stop him.
So, she helped him in the only way she knew — indirectly.
She sold her Vitality Leaves, sent the income through the tavern as a cover, pretending it was part of business.
She told no one. She just wanted him to have a bit more support in the future, even if it came unseen.
Every decision he made reminded her of how far apart they had grown. But no matter how cold or distant he became, in her eyes, he was still that quiet boy who had once stood under the sunlight — small, alone, and far too strong for his age.
For years, Jiaying had supported Fang Yuan in silence.
She never asked for thanks, never sought recognition. It was enough just to watch him grow stronger from the shadows.
But when her own strength began to fade — when her body broke and her aperture was damaged — everything she had been holding inside finally cracked.
That day — when she saw tears in Fang Yuan's eyes for the first time — her composure shattered.
The facade she had built for so many years — of calmness, of strength, of distance — all fell apart.
She pulled him into her arms and wept quietly, realizing how long she had denied herself this simple warmth.
In that moment, she swore she would never make the same mistake again.
From then on, she stood by him openly.
There was no more hesitation, no more guilt.
Yet even then, she still helped him the only way she knew — quietly, carefully, unseen.
The income from her Vitality Leaves never went directly into his hands. Instead, she funneled it through the Wine Tavern, keeping the transactions disguised.
Every coin she sent was a silent promise: You are not alone.
She even spoke to the caravan manager herself, long before Fang Yuan ever did.
She told him her son would handle all future dealings in her name. Because of that, no matter what Gu Fang Yuan purchased later on, no one ever questioned him.
The caravan never dared make things difficult for him.
And when whispers began to spread through the Gu Yue Clan — people wondering who was secretly hoarding Relic Gu, pointing fingers into the dark — Jiaying acted first.
She used her name, her status, her quiet authority to smother every rumor before it could reach him.
No one ever knew.
But every protection, every cover, every silent action — all of it had been for him.
Even now, she didn't know whether he understood or not.
But it didn't matter.
She had already decided long ago — whether he needed her or not, she would keep standing behind him, unseen, for as long as she could.
A faint breeze drifted through the window, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked bamboo.
Jiaying's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her cup of tea — the liquid cold, the porcelain slick beneath her touch.
"Yuan'er…" she murmured, her voice breaking softly. "I will protect you for as long as I can… but…"
Her hand pressed against her chest, as if to hold her heart together. Her breath came shallow, strained.
"When… when I die…" The words trembled, unfinished, swallowed by silence.
A long pause followed — only the ticking of the water clock and the distant murmur of villagers outside.
Then, she whispered again, her voice gentler, almost prayer-like:
"Yuan'er… I am truly sorry."
"For all the years I neglected you… for all the years I left you to walk alone…"
The injury to her wasn't just physical.
Her aperture had been shattered, but her body carried a mortal wound as well, one that gnawed silently at her life force.
She knew exactly how little time she had left — a year, maybe two at most.
That knowledge made every heartbeat feel precious.
She longed to see Fang Zheng married, to hold a grandson in her arms before her time ran out.
She wished Fang Yuan might one day marry as well — to find a fragment of warmth in a life she could only imagine for him, though she knew such dreams were far from his nature.
More than anything, she wanted him to find peace — not in the world, but within himself. Yet she knew that was something only Fang Yuan could attain, and no longer something she could give.
All she could hope for was to see her youngest live a better life — just once — before she vanished from the world.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, falling onto the wooden table below.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Jiaying's heart skipped a beat. She wiped her face, hastily trying to erase the trace of sorrow before it could show.
Then, with disbelief and relief mingling in her trembling voice, she called out — softly, but alive with hope:
"Yuan'er!"
...