On the third day of the third month, the Shangsi Festival.
At the hour of Chen (7:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.), the crisp cries of birds awoke before the light of dawn.
The doors and windows of the Eastern Palace sleeping quarters were tightly shut. Steam rose and lingered, condensing upon the beams into fine, crystalline droplets.
Behind the screen, a graceful silhouette appeared. Zhao Yen gathered her half-dry long hair from behind her neck with one hand, revealing a slender, pale neck. With the other hand, she pressed the soft and resilient plain white silk cloth against her chest, slowly turning her body, winding and tightening it circle after circle.
After binding for nearly half a year, this chest hardly seemed to belong to her anymore. Yet as the weather warmed, spring garments grew ever thinner, and Zhao Yen did not dare relax her vigilance in the slightest.
“Tighter.”
Zhao Yen frowned as she spoke, then was immediately constricted until she suffocated, taking quite a while before she could slowly find a gap to breathe again.
“After the toasting, there will be no further need for the Crown Prince to appear. If the process moves quickly, then Your Highness need only endure half a day.”
Liuying served her mistress by draping a plain white inner garment upon her, covering the layers of taut binding silk, and said with lowered brows: “Spring and summer are the hardest to endure. Your Highness has suffered.”
She was a palace maid personally trained by the Empress, and thus naturally acted just like the Empress—only asking for results, unconcerned with the means. It was rare that she said a few words from the heart.
“Liuying, you truly are becoming more and more humane.”
Zhao Yen still had the mind to tease her. She put on a crimson gauze robe, let down her gathered hair, and said: “Before I returned to the palace, I had already prepared myself mentally. Now that I have come this far, no matter how hard it is, I must endure.”
Once dressed and ready, stepping out she saw Lady Liu standing beneath the corridor, wearing a veiled hat.
She lifted a corner of the hanging gauze and said to Zhao Yen: “I am leaving the palace. Your Highness, take me out as well.”
Although Lady Liu possessed the Eastern Palace token, considering that the factions of the court kept close watch, and with Prince Su such a figure with hands reaching heaven, her movements were not convenient. If she could conceal herself within the Crown Prince’s carriage to leave the palace together, then these troubles could be spared.
Zhao Yen actually quite liked Lady Liu’s temperament.
Whatever she thought or did, she would speak out directly, and she had strong opinions of her own. For example, what she said now was not asking “Can you also take me out of the palace?” but firmly deciding with “Take me out as well.”
Zhao Yen did not pry into what she was going to do upon leaving the palace. “Do not doubt the people you employ” was the method of conduct taught to her by Grandmother the Empress Dowager.
The Flower-Banquet was set in Penglai Court, north of the Imperial City. From the Eastern Palace side gate, turning a corner and following the path along the palace wall for two quarters of an hour, one could reach Penglai Gate.
“Where will you alight from the carriage?” Zhao Yen asked Lady Liu.
Lady Liu lifted the curtain of the carriage to glance outside and said: “Right here will do.”
Speaking thus, she fixed her veil and alighted from the carriage.
Zhao Yen used her finger to lift a corner of the carriage curtain and looked out. She saw Lady Liu enter Yongchang Ward Gate, stroll idly through the roadside shops, and then merge into the ceaseless stream of people.
Only after watching her fade into the distance did Zhao Yen order Gu Xing to continue driving the carriage forward.
Lady Liu wandered through several streets, aimlessly loitering for nearly half an hour, until she confirmed that no suspicious person was trailing behind. Only then did she enter a rouge shop on Daning Street, exit from the back door, and circle around to the rear wall of the Mingde Pavilion.
She boldly lifted her skirt and tucked it at her waist, disregarding the revealed under-trousers and calves. Familiar with the way, she stepped upon that crooked-necked jujube tree and flipped herself up onto the wall.
A vendor selling tofu pudding passed by, shouldering his racks, staring dumbstruck at the woman sitting so brazenly atop the wall.
Lady Liu’s movement of rubbing her ankle stiffened. She let down the troublesome hem of her skirt to cover herself, tossed her hair, and scolded fiercely: “What are you looking at! Have you never seen a woman rendezvous with her lover?”
Having rolled her eyes, she leapt down into the rear courtyard of Mingde Pavilion.
The birds upon the wall startled and flew. The vendor muttered, “The morals of the world decline,” shook his head, and went on his way.
Lady Liu stood with arms crossed, hiding behind the rockery in the corner of the courtyard. She frowned and only after that group of pedantic scholars, wandering about reciting poetry, had left did she step out and head straight toward the Jingjian Tower.
All along the way she slipped and dodged, truly resembling some shady character unfit to be seen.
On the Shangsi Festival, the Mingde Pavilion was on recess. The scholars either returned home to visit family, or went out in groups for spring excursions. The more refined would even seek out some scenic place of mountains and streams to float goblets upon running water, composing poetry in turn. Thus, at this moment the tower was empty, with no one on duty.
Lady Liu stepped upon the spiraling, aged wooden stairs, ascending to the top fifth floor.
The top floor was a loft with windows on three sides. As it had long been abandoned without timely sweeping, a thick layer of dust had settled within, leaving desks and wooden flooring dull and lusterless, their original color nearly indistinguishable.
The stench of old decay wrapped in from every direction. Lady Liu raised a hand to brush aside a great cobweb above her head. After clenching her fists several times, she finally gathered the courage to step once more into this desolate gloom.
A lotus-shaped candlestick lay toppled on the ground, its paper lampshade torn until only the bamboo framework remained, like a skeleton sprawled across the floor.
Lady Liu set the candlestick upright, her fingertip pressing hard to sweep the dust from the desk corner, and faintly revealed before her eyes were the two neatly written characters: “Fu Deng”.
The memories of this time last year surged forth like a flood: the flourishing scene of scholars surrounding the gentle, sickly Crown Prince Zhao Yan, discussing the classics and expounding on the Way.
They had no sense of weariness, lying down in all directions when exhausted. Sometimes in dreams a marvelous idea would arise, and they would scramble up disheveled to write with vigorous strokes, until the faint light of dawn, when they collapsed again with immense satisfaction.
At that time the lamps in the loft burned through the night, just like the fire in their chests, burning fervently.
They all believed the long night was about to end, that dawn was just before their eyes…
Lady Liu knit her fine brows, pulled out the hairpin from her hair, and little by little carved apart and scratched out the characters “Fu Deng” on the desk corner, until no trace of the original remained.
She gathered her sleeves, crouched down, and pried open a hollowed plank, retrieving an object sealed away for nearly a year.
It was a scroll, palm-sized. She untied the knot and unfolded one corner: the first to appear was a crooked flower-shaped drawing, followed by several inscriptions of differing brush styles.
Crown Prince Zhao Yan of Great Xuan, Shen Jingming, Cheng Jixing, Wang Yu, and Liu…
Lady Liu did not look further. She stuffed the heavy scroll into her bosom and turned to descend the tower.
——
Penglai Court was the imperial garden, vast in area.
From east to west, it encompassed over a dozen gardens, planted with entire groves of peach, pear, apricot, and cherry blossoms. Mountains and ponds stood amidst, halls and pavilions scattered, towers veiled among rising mists and rosy clouds, like a paradise on earth.
The Eastern Palace carriage stopped before the main gate. Zhao Yen stepped down with the aid of the footstool, then suddenly halted, rubbing her right eye. That tiny tear mole was rubbed into a bright red.
“Is Your Highness’s eye still uncomfortable?” Liuying asked with concern.
“My eyelid keeps twitching.” Zhao Yen frowned.
Liuying went to the carriage and brought out a small hand warmer, pressing it to the acupoint at the corner of her eye: “It may be that Your Highness has strained your eyes these past days, without proper rest.”
“I still feel something is not right.”
Zhao Yen thought a moment, then instructed the accompanying Liuying: “Later at the banquet, all wine and food served must be privately tested before being presented. And the incense burned in the beast-shaped braziers—replace it with our own things.”
“Yes.” Liuying replied, “It has already been told to Li Fu in advance. After taking seats, this servant will remind him once more.”
The defenses of Penglai Court were not as tight as within the palace. At the banquet, with dragons and fish intermingled, more vigilance could never be wrong.
As mistress and servant were speaking, suddenly the sound of hoofbeats came slowly from afar, drawing near.
Zhao Yen still held the warm hand stove in her hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw beneath the slanting palace wall where pear blossoms bloomed, Wenren Lin guiding his horse with one hand upon the reins, riding forth.
In Great Xuan, the colors black and red were honored as supreme. Today he too wore everyday attire of red, the hue deeper than that of an official robe, dark crimson as though dyed with fresh blood. It outlined his broad shoulders and long legs, displaying his vigorous form, and also set off his features to appear even more frost-pale and refined than usual.
Yes, the Emperor had commanded him to choose a noblewoman to his liking at the banquet, so naturally he had to dress strikingly.
Zhao Yen turned her body aside to avoid his gaze. Yesterday she had received a reply from Huayang, written under the name of “Princess Changfeng” by Shi Lan, saying that she was grateful for the envoy’s concern from the palace, and that the Empress Dowager was safe and well in the Huayang Palace…
The wording of the letter was tactful, indirectly pointing out that indeed someone was secretly probing into the affairs of Huayang.
Wenren Lin had lately been appearing and vanishing unpredictably, who knew what scheme he was brewing. Thinking further of how he repeatedly mentioned “Princess Changfeng,” Zhao Yen surmised that he would not give up easily.
No wonder, since yesterday, this eyelid had been twitching without pause.
While she pondered, Wenren Lin had already dismounted and walked this way. Pear blossoms as white as snow scattered and fluttered about his boots.
Zhao Yen inconspicuously turned around, facing instead Zhou Ji, who had just alighted from his sedan.
“Lecturer Zhou, you have come just at the right time. Regarding the floral hairpin etiquette we studied yesterday, there is still one point I am not quite certain of. May sir graciously instruct me.”
Saying this, she took from the tray presented by her attendant a blossom of Eighteen Scholars, with petals layered in full bloom.
Thus, she naturally and cleverly avoided an encounter with Wenren Lin.
Wenren Lin’s steps did not falter.
The young Crown Prince usually dressed with elegant simplicity, most often in snowy white or pale apricot robes. Today, however, she had on a rarely seen robe of light scarlet gauze. The vivid color brightened her whole person, even lending the tearmole at the corner of her eye a hint of alluring charm.
At this moment, she held with some diligence a blossom of layered white camellia, adjusting her posture again and again according to Zhou Ji’s pointers, her brows and eyes full of a gentle smile.
Compared with her fingertips, it was hard to tell whether the petals of the Eighteen Scholars or her own skin were the whiter.
Wenren Lin only swept one glance, then withdrew his eyes, striding past the two who were conversing with bright smiles, ascending the stone steps.
He had not come here for the Crown Prince; he had no mood for teasing cats.
The cool breeze brought by their passing brushed by and was gone in an instant.
Zhao Yen caught a whiff of the faint woody fragrance upon Wenren Lin’s body, mingled with a scent never noticed before, resembling… the chill purity of ice and snow in the depth of winter.
“Your Highness?” Zhou Ji called softly.
Zhao Yen returned to herself, covering with: “Many thanks, Lecturer Zhou. I have remembered it now.”
To merely “use” Zhou Ji and then leave seemed somewhat discourteous, so she offered the white camellia in her hand: “This, let it be my thanks to sir.”
At the Flower-Banquet, to be granted a blossom by the Heir Apparent was a great favor, not to be refused.
Thus Zhou Ji extended his hand to receive it, and said: “Many thanks to Your Highness.”
The white camellia lay within his gentle fingers, indeed quite well suited to his refined bearing.
Zhao Yen departed, satisfied.
Zhou Ji gazed upon her relaxed figure, and in his mind arose a familiar scene.
At the Huayang Palace, peach blossoms like rosy clouds, a lively and charming young maiden had casually broken off a budding branch and handed it to him: “The spring scenery is just right, what a pity to be shut in the study. Young Master Zhou, do not be so obstinate, here, this is for you!”
The breeze stirred his azure robe. Zhou Ji felt puzzled at the sudden emergence of this memory.
Though the voices were utterly different, and the temperaments worlds apart, why did he feel that the person before his eyes was like an old acquaintance?
It seemed that his face-blindness was growing ever more severe.
Zhao Yen had not expected there to be quite so many women attending the banquet.
Besides the unmarried noble ladies presented from various families, the idle consorts of the harem had also gathered in the northeast corner’s Lanfang Pavilion, ascending to admire the blossoms and gaze far at the grand scenery.
The moment Zhao Yen appeared, the eyes of everyone at the banquet turned upon her.
Amidst the rows of Enke presented scholars clad in blue-green robes, the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace stood out most strikingly in his crimson gauze robe embroidered with gold—let alone that he possessed a face of such calamitous beauty, indistinguishably male or female!
Such an extraordinary countenance—among all the men at the banquet, only Prince Su could surpass it.
Yet Prince Su’s position was high, his power great, his moods unpredictable; he was not a man easy to approach. The noble ladies had all been warned and instructed by their parents and elders, and would certainly not be so foolish as to throw themselves into the tiger’s jaws. Just earlier, that daughter of Minister Guo’s household, overestimating herself, had plucked up the courage to “happen upon” Prince Su. No one knew what words that prince, with a shallow smile, had spoken to her upon the painted bridge, but not long after, the Guo family’s legitimate daughter had come back in tears, her limbs cold and trembling, as though she had lost her very soul…
Seeing this with their own eyes, the others thoroughly extinguished any improper thoughts.
But the Crown Prince was different.
Exalted and beautiful, approachable at a glance, his figure was slight yet not frail—just the sort to stir a woman’s motherly tenderness and pity.
What of being young? Elder sisters could always suffice!
These noble ladies were all at the age of first love. Even with the veil-hats of hanging gauze covering their faces, they could not conceal their flushed cheeks and pounding hearts.
Zhao Yuanyu stood in the shadow of the gate arch, watching from afar the Crown Prince basking in the favor of beauties. His yin-soft, bitter face was steeped in darkness.
“Why has that wretch still not come? Hurry and present the thing already!”
He nearly ground his teeth to pieces as he urged on, eager to drag Zhao Yan down from the altar, to trample the dignity of the Eastern Palace into mud.
The little eunuch dared not disobey, scurried off with flying steps to deliver the message.
Elsewhere, Zhao Yen endured with patience, smiling as she inclined her head in acknowledgment to each Enke scholar who came forward to kneel and salute.
After the Ministry of Rites’ long-winded opening address, at last came the process of the Imperial bestowal of flowers.
Two rows of palace maids entered in succession, presenting trays already prepared with gold and silver velvet blossoms.
