Fu Ying snapped back to attention at once, looking ahead.
It was a procession of ten, surrounding a stunningly beautiful woman of graceful, noble bearing at its center.
The woman looked to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, wearing a golden crown and golden armor, dressed in a long robe patterned with phoenixes, inlaid with pearls and jade, noble and dignified.
Seeing Fu Ying suddenly appear in her line of sight, her brow rose slightly, though her expression betrayed no particular feeling.
After only a moment’s eye contact with Princess Qingxi, Fu Ying lowered her head and bowed respectfully: “This concubine, Fu Ying, greets Your Highness the Princess. May Your Highness enjoy peace and good fortune. This concubine was lost in thought just now and did not mean to cross Your Highness’s path. Please forgive this offense.”
Since entering the palace, she had committed to memory the names and titles of the entire imperial family.
This Princess Qingxi before her was named Yunyan, the second daughter born to Empress Zhen Yi, the third princess of Great Yong.
Not knowing her temperament, Fu Ying clenched her hands, feeling somewhat uneasy.
The corner of Princess Qingxi’s mouth curved slightly. “It was an unintentional matter. Rise.”
Seeing that the princess did not hold it against her, the palace maid who had reprimanded Fu Ying bowed and stepped back.
Princess Qingxi favored those who were gentle, refined, and neither servile nor arrogant, and Fu Ying happened to fit her preferences perfectly, being respectful and courteous as well, this earned Fu Ying a measure of her goodwill.
Fu Ying thanked Princess Qingxi, secretly relieved in her heart, feeling that this noble princess was, after all, rather approachable.
Had this lapse in etiquette occurred before someone petty and hot-tempered, she would surely have faced a scolding and pursuit of blame, with no telling whether she could have escaped unscathed.
Princess Qingxi looked at Fu Ying and asked: “Has miss come from the Northern Di? Why aren’t you staying at Chonghua Hall?”
She already knew of the arrival of the ten Northern Di princesses, and had made a rough guess, though she had not expected to run into one of them while out on a walk in the palace.
Fu Ying nodded. “This concubine’s roommate had invited someone else over, so it was inconvenient for me to remain there, and I came outside the hall instead.”
Hearing this, Princess Qingxi raised an eyebrow slightly.
A Northern Di woman already had an acquaintance within Daming Palace, and had even been driven out by her own roommate.
Truly amusing.
“Who came?”
Fu Ying was momentarily at a loss for words, a flush of red rising unconsciously to her cheeks, and answered quietly: “The Prince of Wu came.”
“Ha—”
Princess Qingxi laughed and nodded, and from Fu Ying’s few words, roughly grasped the whole picture.
She knew the Prince of Wu reasonably well herself.
“As women, we have a natural advantage, one that can serve as a weapon.”
Princess Qingxi looked at the somewhat embarrassed Fu Ying and cautioned her: “But it must be used on the right target, and with the right method. Use a weapon wrongly, and it becomes a blade that wounds yourself instead.”
Fu Ying understood, Princess Qingxi was kindly warning her not to try conquering a man like the Prince of Wu by offering up her own body.
Meeting for the first time, and with Princess Qingxi being the Prince of Wu’s own sister, her willingness to say such things to Fu Ying came as a surprise.
A flicker of gratitude she had never quite felt before welled up in her heart, and the unpleasantness she had experienced back at Chonghua Hall dissolved away entirely.
“Thank you for your guidance, Your Highness. This concubine understands.”
Princess Qingxi said no more, leaving the point where it stood, and without lingering, walked gracefully away.
Fu Ying bowed to see her off, then continued on her way ahead.
Princess Qingxi, having already paid her respects to the emperor, was on her way out of the palace, walking along the long street toward the city gate.
Just then, a tall man in court robes came walking from the direction of the main hall, coming face to face with their group.
“Fifth brother.”
Princess Qingxi stepped forward, a warm smile spreading across her brow and eyes, asking with concern: “Is your leg feeling any better?”
Wen Zhuo’s left leg was afflicted, and he needed a cane to walk. Although his pace was not fast, Princess Qingxi could see it was considerably steadier than before.
“It’s improved a good deal. Are you heading back to your residence, sister?”
Princess Qingxi nodded, and seeing a dark cloud hanging over Wen Zhuo’s face, asked curiously: “You just went to pay respects to the Empress Dowager, why do you look so displeased?”
Wen Zhuo recounted what had happened just now.
He had gone to Yanqing Palace to pay his respects, and had happened to find Consort Xian there keeping the Empress Dowager company.
Consort Xian was the younger sister of Grand Commandant Pei Ye, holding a position in the inner palace second only to the Noble Consort, above ten thousand others.
The two of them had unexpectedly begun discussing the matter of Wen Zhuo’s marriage prospects, and Consort Xian had brought up her own niece, Xiao Yunchang.
Xiao Yunchang came from the Xiao clan of Lanling, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Heng, accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and had been devoted to Wen Zhuo for years, vowing to marry no one else, utterly infatuated.
Xiao Yunchang’s reasoning went like this—
Wen Zhuo commanded the three armies, spirited and full of vigor, and over ten years of military campaigns had won illustrious achievements.
She admired such a dashing man in the prime of his life so much that she had painted numerous portraits of him, hanging them all over her own boudoir, thinking of him day and night.
Wen Zhuo found the whole thing absurd.
Everyone knew he was sinister and cruel, cold and merciless, and afflicted with a leg ailment on top of it, why would any woman fall so deeply for him?
But Consort Xian had spoken of Xiao Yunchang’s devoted love with such passionate detail that the Empress Dowager, upon hearing it, had exclaimed how wonderful it all sounded, and already seemed inclined to arrange a marriage for Wen Zhuo.
“Fifth grandson, at your age you should have married long ago. This grandmother knows you’re reluctant to marry, but with the Xiao girl so devoted, willing only to serve faithfully by your side for the long term, with your leg as it is, it would be better to have someone to care for you.”
“……”
Standing before two such senior figures as the Empress Dowager and Consort Xian, Wen Zhuo could not simply refuse and cause them to lose face, and had no choice but to grit his teeth and settle the matter.
“Your grandson respectfully obeys the Empress Dowager’s instruction.”
No one was forcing him to treat Xiao Yunchang as a devoted wife, Wen Zhuo simply intended to think of her as a long-term guest residing in his household, nothing more.
……
Hearing this, Princess Qingxi only smiled.
“Fifth brother, once this sort of thing starts, there’s no stopping it partway through. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ll have quite a few more wives before long.”
Wen Zhuo let out a light laugh, unconcerned. “The women of this world can’t avoid me fast enough, sister, you do love teasing me.”
The two of them, born of the same mother, had an excellent relationship in private, and teasing one another was an everyday occurrence between them.
Past the midpoint of the hour of shen.
Shang Yao was utterly worn out, but still forced her limp, exhausted body upright, attending carefully to helping the Prince of Wu dress properly.
The Prince of Wu sat like some indolent great Buddha, unmoved, letting her busy herself over him.
Once Shang Yao had fastened his sash and smoothed out the creases in his court robe, the Prince of Wu finally raised his eyes slightly. “Miss’s service is truly attentive and thorough.”
“Your Highness flatters me.”
Receiving the Prince of Wu’s praise, Shang Yao could not help but feel a secret thrill, convinced that everything she had done was worthwhile.
The two of them left the east wing one after the other, drawing sidelong glances from the women around them.
Just as they were about to step over the tall threshold out of the hall, Shang Yao gathered her courage and gently tugged at the Prince of Wu’s sleeve.
“Your Highness, when will you come see A Yao again?”
The Prince of Wu could not help but frown, a wave of impatience rising in him.
Shang Yao was a striking beauty, and had captured his restless heart the first time he saw her.
On his first two visits to Chonghua Hall, Shang Yao had been utterly compliant with him, attending to his every need.
But coming today, seeing that same unchanging, docile, coy performance, the Prince of Wu found it thoroughly dull, and had already grown weary of her.
The Prince of Wu’s patience for women did not even last as long as the shelf life of fruit, once that thought had taken root in him, he could no longer tolerate Shang Yao’s affected coyness.
The Prince of Wu lowered his eyes toward Shang Yao, about to refuse her coldly.
A slender, graceful figure flickered at the edge of his vision, and turning his head to look, he found his gaze unable to move away.
“Your Highness—Your Highness?”
Fu Ying, having left Yuqing Lake and now walking not far from Chonghua Hall, heard Shang Yao’s petulant voice.
Fixing her gaze ahead, she found herself, to her surprise, meeting the Prince of Wu’s eyes directly.
A smile hung on his face, his gaze burning as he stared fixedly at her, and the complex, tangled look in his eyes gave her a jolt of alarm.
He paid not the slightest attention to Shang Yao pulling at his arm, his eyes instead studying her with unmistakable, suggestive interest.
Fu Ying felt as though pierced by thorns [1]pierced by thorns (ru mang ci bei, 如芒刺背) Idiom, feeling deeply uneasy, as if being watched or scrutinized jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3270234_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3270234_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, alarm bells ringing loudly in her mind.
She disliked this feeling, of being stared at and examined by a man as though she were an object.
But having already caught his eye, she had no choice but to steel herself and walk forward.
Fu Ying bowed to the Prince of Wu, who stood before the main gate of Chonghua Hall: “This concubine greets Your Highness.”
“Have you also come from the Northern Di?”
The woman before him had a stunningly beautiful face, an outstanding air about her, and a cool, distant quality that discouraged strangers from approaching.
The interest the Prince of Wu had been on the verge of losing was instantly rekindled, his eyes brighter than they had been a moment ago.
“Why haven’t I seen you before?”
On his previous visits to Chonghua Hall, Fu Ying had always shrunk to the very back, lowering her head as far as it would go, striving with all her might to conceal her presence.
She avoided men like him as though they were something to be feared, wanting no involvement with him whatsoever.
The Prince of Wu raised an eyebrow, and without waiting for Fu Ying to answer, asked again: “What is miss’s name?”
Shang Yao cut in first: “Her name is Fu Ying. She’s my father’s foster daughter.”
She deliberately emphasized the latter half of that sentence, quite displeased that Fu Ying had drawn the Prince of Wu’s attention away from her.
Fu Ying paid no mind to Shang Yao’s behavior at all, even wishing that Shang Yao would completely steal back his attention.
“This concubine takes her leave.”
She bowed once more, meaning to slip past the two of them and away from this place of trouble.
“Come find me at the side hall of Chenghuan Hall, this same hour tomorrow.”
Having said this, the Prince of Wu, without waiting for any reaction from her, strode off with his attendants in tow.
Fu Ying’s spine stiffened, and she stood rooted to the spot, unmoving, and helplessly closed her eyes.
That irresistible order tore mercilessly through the last line of defense in her heart, the one urging her to keep herself out of harm’s way.
Her hands, hanging at her sides, gradually clenched tight, her nails even digging into the flesh of her fingers.
Shang Yao’s gaze, filled with intense resentment, and the whispered murmurs of the other women in the hall, she seemed to feel none of it, and hear none of it at all.
……
The next day.
Fu Ying sat by the window, watching with a forlorn expression as a group of women chatted and laughed together outside in twos and threes, and let out a soft sigh.
She could not remember how she had gotten through the night before.
She only remembered that after the Prince of Wu left, Shang Yao had not spoken a single word to her.
Fu Ying knew Shang Yao harbored resentment toward her, but in this whole matter, she herself had no say in anything, and was just as much a victim of circumstance, being pushed and pulled by others.
Yet Shang Yao had directed her anger squarely at her, leaving Fu Ying feeling rather dejected.
As the hour of shen approached, the blazing sun hung over the southeastern sky, scorching down over Daming Palace, radiating a heat that refused to dissipate.
Fu Ying rose from her chair, opened the wooden cabinet standing in the corner of the room, and dug out, from a hidden spot beneath the pile of clothes at the very bottom, a dagger of exquisite, intricate craftsmanship.
This dagger, its blade sharp and gleaming, had not left its sheath in nearly a year.
Fu Ying clenched her back teeth, tucked the dagger into her robe close to her waist, and secured it in place with the plain white silk sash tied around her middle.
Although she did not go with the resolve to die, carrying this thing that “he” had personally handed to her eased the restlessness in her heart considerably, the fierce flame of unease burning within her gradually dying down.
Having been apart from him for so long now, she had gone from a golden, jade-precious princess to a woman in dire straits, a hostage with no say over her own life, and had no idea where he was now, what post he held, or what troubles weighed on him.
Fu Ying lowered her lashes, suppressing the endless melancholy in her heart, glanced once at the water clock, and slipped quietly away.
Daming Palace was vast beyond measure, its walls stretching in every direction. Fu Ying spent a great deal of time asking palace maids and eunuchs for directions along the way, and finally, after much winding through the grounds, arrived at Chenghuan Hall.
Seeing no one around, Fu Ying pushed open the door and entered the side hall.
Perhaps she had come too early, the hall inside was empty as well, with nothing to be heard but the faint, delicate call of a painted thrush outside the window.
She stood still for a while, taking several deep breaths, steadying her somewhat disordered breathing.
Suddenly, an abrupt sound of footsteps reached Fu Ying’s ears, carried in on wisps of a gentle breeze.
Before she could even turn around, the hall’s door was suddenly thrown open.
The Prince of Wu’s face, wearing that meaningfully suggestive smile, appeared right before her.
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