Xiang Rui stood outside the room with her hands folded, suppressing the urge to pace, uncertain of what awaited within.
The lip rouge Chun Feng wore had been made by Xiang Rui herself. She was skilled in perfumery, and powders and rouges were no less within her craft—the name “Xiang Rui” itself came from her talent.
Because it was prepared for a noble lady, the lip rouge was blended with rose juice, coconut oil, beeswax, and pearl powder—only the finest ingredients. As a woman herself, she knew one could not help but taste a little of the rouge when wearing it. Fearing it might be unpleasant, she had added a touch of honey.
The honey made the rouge harder to preserve, but noblewomen’s cosmetics prized delicacy above all. If it spoiled, it was simply remade; longevity was not the concern.
Still, she worried—what if the color was not solemn enough? After all, the Eastern Palace was strict about propriety. When she had told Chun Feng the Crown Prince was “lenient,” it was partly an exaggeration, though not entirely false.
There was no mistress in the Eastern Palace. Since the Empress Dowager had assigned her there, Xiang Rui had seldom seen the Crown Prince, yet she had never heard of him mistreating his servants. Of course, that did not mean his temper was gentle.
The Crown Prince handled affairs of state daily; without a firm, iron hand, he could never have subdued the court. Rumor said the Emperor had left behind nothing but chaos.
At that thought, Xiang Rui stopped herself. Court matters were not for a palace maid to discuss. She refocused, straining her ears toward the chamber. Inside, only a few words were exchanged before silence fell. Puzzled, she looked up just as Chun Feng emerged, her expression equally unreadable, slipping through the gauzy curtain.
The next instant, Xiang Rui gasped in shock: “Princess—what has happened to your lip rouge?!”
Chun Feng: “Hm?”
Chang Ying followed her out, a palace maid at his side carrying a bronze mirror. Unable to hold back his amusement, he raised his sleeve to hide a smile and gestured: “Princess, please look into the mirror.”
Chun Feng tilted her head toward it—and froze. So that was why the Crown Prince had asked that question.
Xiang Rui hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her lips, but Chun Feng, unused to being waited on, took it herself. She pressed the cloth to her lips and rubbed away the blotched rouge while staring at her reflection.
When the laughter subsided, Chang Ying cleared his throat: “The Crown Prince has issued a command.”
Chun Feng, handkerchief still at her mouth, looked at him.
Chang Ying said: “The Princess’s appearance was marred. This is the fault of her attendant maid. She is fined three months’ wages, as a warning to others.”
Xiang Rui immediately dropped to her knees: “Yes, this servant obeys.”
Chun Feng mouthed the words carefully, then finally understood. The handkerchief slipped from her lips, forgotten, as she asked: “Why punish Xiang Rui?”
Had anyone else asked, Chang Ying would have given only a look, leaving them to grasp the meaning—or die for their ignorance. But Chun Feng was different. Besides the Crown Prince, he knew she was not truly the princess. He had not risen to chief eunuch by mere cunning. So he explained: “Today, the Princess lost decorum before the Crown Prince. That can be corrected. But if such lapses occur before the full court of ministers, it would disgrace the royal family. One must guard against small faults before they grow.”
Chun Feng did not understand the phrase “guard against small faults,” but she caught most of the meaning. She straightened and said firmly: “Then punish me instead.”
Before Chang Ying could reply, Xiang Rui cried out in alarm: “Princess, this servant cannot accept such mercy!”
No master ever bore punishment in place of a maid.
Chang Ying hesitated—until another eunuch stepped out from the chamber, bowed, and said: “The Crown Prince commands: since the Princess herself is willing to accept punishment, let it be so.”
The dispute at the doorway must have carried inside, and the Crown Prince had heard. He granted it directly.
Chang Ying looked at the young princess, so earnest in her “one bears the consequences of one’s own actions,” and thought her heart truly pure. Glancing around, he motioned the eunuch back two steps, then lowered his voice: “His Highness values strict propriety. The palace is not like the outside world. Princess, caution must be your guide.”
Chun Feng knew he meant well and whispered back: “Alright.”
It was the first time Chun Feng realized that being a princess meant she could not act on her whims. Recalling the Crown Prince’s steady, indifferent gaze, she shivered involuntarily, then shook her head to drive his face from her mind. When she and Xiang Rui reached a quiet corridor, Xiang Rui suddenly dropped to her knees before her.
Chun Feng quickly helped her up. “What are you doing?”
Tears glimmered in Xiang Rui’s eyes. “Princess, you stood up for this servant. I am deeply grateful.”
Chun Feng flushed—after all, it had been her own sneaking a taste that caused the trouble.
But Xiang Rui went on: “Only, Princess, you exchanged your monthly stipend for mine. It is not worth it. Please, do not do so again.”
Chun Feng asked, “How much is your monthly stipend?”
Xiang Rui replied, “It used to be two strings of cash a month. Now that I serve the Princess, it is five.”
Chun Feng’s mouth fell open. So much! Xiang Rui’s three months’ wages could feed the Lin family for half a year. Thank goodness the Crown Prince had not punished her instead.
Curious, she pointed to herself: “And me? Do I also get five strings a month?”
Xiang Rui shook her head. “The Princess’s stipend has not yet been set. But even the youngest princess in the palace is granted a fief of one hundred households.”
Seeing Chun Feng’s confusion, she explained: “That means, over a year, at least one hundred taels of silver in land revenue—without counting extra income.”
Chun Feng: “Oh… oh…” Her face unchanged, she turned, walked two steps, and promptly bumped into a red pillar, giving herself a painful knock.
Xiang Rui cried out: “Princess!”
…
“One hundred taels a year… ten taels a month… thirty taels for three months…”
Yu Xiujun winced as she rubbed Chun Feng’s forehead. The Crown Prince was far too harsh!
Lin Datian muttered: “All this over a bit of lip rouge—such a small matter, yet he must punish it.”
In recent days, as the Princess’s “foster parents,” they had not been mistreated: meat at every meal, coarse clothes replaced with fine ones.
But their carriage trailed at the end, and in Jinzhou, they were lodged in the outer quarters, unable to see Chun Feng often. Only now, sneaking into the inner court while food was being delivered, had they learned she was fined three months’ stipend. If they themselves could earn ten taels a month, they would never have had to dodge creditors, nor risk everything by pretending she was a princess.
Yu Xiujun had always heard that great households were strict with rules. The royal family, being the greatest household of all, surely had even more. Fearing her daughter could not adapt, she said: “No, you must be careful of the Crown Prince from now on.”
Chun Feng, forehead still sore, nodded vigorously. How could she not be careful? For three little words—“It’s sweet”—she had been fined thirty taels. Ten taels for a word. Fortunately, she needn’t go out of her way to avoid him; she and the Crown Prince rarely met anyway. His retinue lingered in Jinzhou to deal with a corrupt official—the Prefect of Jinzhou.
The Prefect was of the Wang clan, a man of great literary talent but obsessed with inscriptions and stone carvings. Since taking office, he had neglected the people, scouring the land for steles and carvings. Had his governance been merely mediocre, it might have passed—but instead, he became a glaring liability. He was bewitched by greed, diverting disaster relief funds to acquire a “Yang Gong Stele,” a slab ten feet long and wide, inscribed with an essay once composed by the great literary master Li Zhi. Afraid the touring Crown Prince might discover it, he buried the stele on the outskirts of Jinzhou.
Li Xuan mobilized nearly a hundred soldiers before it was finally unearthed. Now, four carriages hauled the Yang Gong stone, following the prince’s procession back to Changjing.
Chun Feng poked her head out to look. She asked Xiang Rui, “Is that big stone really important?”
Xiang Rui replied, “It’s said to be a monument erected centuries ago by the people of Hanyang to honor an incorruptible official. Naturally, it’s precious.”
Chun Feng thought to herself: so it’s a good-official stele.
But after hundreds of years of calamities and wars, the original monument must have been destroyed. True or false, once Prefect Wang was arrested, this thing simply became property of the state.
Resting her chin in both hands, Chun Feng gazed at the stone outside the window. “The palace has so many treasures—will there be room for it?”
Xiang Rui couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s plenty of room. The palace is enormous.”
Chun Feng: “Twice the size of the prefect’s mansion?”
Xiang Rui: “Much larger.” Seeing Chun Feng’s round eyes sparkle, she grew animated, describing the palace: “Red walls, glazed tiles, throngs of people…”
…
At the palace gates, frost-tipped leaves fluttered past the layered eaves and glazed rooftops. From the towers rose the solemn strains of ritual music.
Behind the towering red walls, shadows of countless figures swayed. Civil and military officials in full robes and hats knelt in unison, crying out: “Long live the Crown Prince, ten thousand years!”
Inside the carriage, Chun Feng leaned against the window, eyes wide with wonder—so many people…
Seeing them bow, she softly murmured, “You may rise.”
At the head of the procession, Li Xuan wore a dark round-collared robe, a ginger-yellow cloak embroidered with cranes draped over his shoulders. Handsome and composed, he raised one hand and declared, “All ministers, rise.”
Under the guidance of the Left and Right Chancellors, the assembled officials took their places to either side.
At that moment, Xiang Rui whispered to Chun Feng, “Once inside the palace, there will be many eyes upon you. Since Your Highness has not yet mastered court etiquette, simply follow the Crown Prince’s lead in recognizing people.”
Chun Feng understood well—after all, Li Xuan was her “elder brother.” Following him would never be wrong.
When Xiang Rui helped Chun Feng down from the carriage, her footing was barely steady when, from the shadowed palace gates, a graceful young woman approached with two maids in attendance.
The woman first greeted the Crown Prince, then turned to Chun Feng. “Princess, this servant Mingyuan, by order of the Empress Dowager, requests Your Highness to proceed to Shouyang Palace to meet the Empress Dowager, His Majesty, and the Empress.”
Chun Feng replied, “No need for ceremony. Lead the way.”
Ming Yuan bowed. “Yes.”
As Li Xuan had just returned from his tour, he too was obliged by custom to pay respects to his elders, so the party continued together. He was tall, his stride long; with each step his cloak swung lightly, leaving Chun Feng and her attendants ten paces behind. Chang Ying hurried at his side, reporting matters of state.
Along the way, Chun Feng noticed Xiang Rui’s deferential manner toward Ming Yuan and abandoned any thought of idle chatter. As Xiang Rui had said, the vastness of the imperial palace was unlike any provincial governor’s residence. Beyond the heavy walls stretched long corridors—brick laid seamlessly and towering, exuding a chill that seemed to cut off the mortal world.
At the corridor’s end, two sedan chairs awaited: one for the Crown Prince, the other for Chun Feng. Seated within, she observed the surroundings. Occasionally, the chair passed palace halls with open gates, where a slender branch stretched beyond the wall—an oddly charming sight.
After a quarter hour, they arrived at Shouyang Palace.
The sun slanted west, scattering brilliant evening clouds. The palace lay hushed inside and out. When the sedan stopped, Chang Ying lifted Li Xuan’s robe hem as he alighted and entered. Xiang Rui remained outside, while Ming Yuan led Chun Feng within.
Though Chun Feng had rehearsed this moment countless times in her mind, faced with such unfamiliar grandeur, a flicker of unease stirred. Forgetting her grievance over those thirty taels, she quickened her pace to keep close to Li Xuan.
The great doors of Shouyang Palace stood wide, solemn and austere. Though daylight lingered, bronze bamboo-shaped lamps already burned, and the air was laced with sandalwood.
In the main hall, an elderly woman with silvered hair sat upon a boxwood chair carved with chrysanthemum motifs. Her face was round, softened by years of privilege, though her lips pressed tight. Only when her grandson entered did she rise with her staff, her brows easing into a smile. “The Crown Prince has returned.”
Li Xuan bowed. “I greet Grandmother.”
Chun Feng echoed softly, “I greet Grandmother.”
To the Empress Dowager’s left stood a woman in her forties, resplendent in a palace gown of peony-patterned brocade. Her beauty remained, though her brows were knit.
Li Xuan: “Mother.”
Chun Feng: “Mother.”
At Chun Feng’s address, the Empress’s frown deepened.
On the Empress Dowager’s right sat a Daoist priest in dark-blue robes. His features still bore traces of youthful handsomeness, resembling the Crown Prince somewhat, though his long beard flowed to his chest. He spared no glance for Li Xuan, fixing his gaze solely on Chun Feng, silent.
Li Xuan bowed. “Father.”
A soft, clear voice followed: “Father.”
Li Xuan turned slightly, lowering his gaze to the small shadow trailing behind him.
Sensing his eyes, the girl lifted her chin. Her face glowed, eyes bright as spring water, lips tinted with vermilion like a single ripe ruby. Today, she had not stolen a taste. Perhaps the silence misled her; her long lashes lowered, and she bent in a proper bow. “Royal Brother.”