When Ying Zheng saw her, his stern brow seemed to soften momentarily as he raised his hand in a gesture of assistance. “Yinman has arrived. Take your seat.”
“Thank you, Father Emperor.” Ying Yinman rose and, guided by palace attendants, calmly took the most honored seat to Ying Zheng’s right, a position subtly higher than even several elder princes.
From her entrance to her seating, her gaze remained calm as still water, never lingering on Huhai’s commotion, nor casting even a glance toward that corner.
It was as if the minor disturbance earlier was merely settled dust, unworthy of attention.
Ying Yinman spoke softly with the emperor, her voice clear and gentle. The conversation touched neither upon the marvels of the sky screen nor court disputes, focusing instead on amusing palace anecdotes and appreciation of newly received tributes.
In the corner, Ying Qingyue secretly blinked. Though she had been transmigrated here for seventeen years, she still couldn’t endure the kneeling etiquette.
Whether dining or discussing affairs, one had to kneel on the ground. After barely half an incense stick’s time, her calves would grow painfully numb.
While all eyes were focused on the head table, Ying Qingyue stealthily used her fingertips to massage her calves, maintaining an appearance of bowed head and submission.
Her maid Qinghe noticed her subtle movements but could only fret inwardly.
With the banquet in full swing and under everyone’s watchful eyes, how could she dare step forward to help? She could only hope her mistress would endure a little longer and avoid drawing attention over such a minor matter.
Looking at the food vessels before her, they were all common Qin palace items: bronze cauldrons, pottery dou vessels, and lacquered plates.
The cauldrons kept warm a rich mutton soup, its surface covered with a fine layer of oil droplets. The dou vessels contained evenly sliced fermented meat paste, slowly brewed from venison and sea salt.
The lacquered plates were arranged with steamed millet and roasted young deer meat, accompanied by a small dish of pickled vegetables to cut through the richness.
These were all ordinary delicacies for current Qin imperial banquets – refined enough, yet far less varied than later eras. Ying Qingyue stared at the food before her without any appetite.
The gaminess of the mutton soup and the heavy saltiness of the meat paste were things her modern stomach could never quite accept.
Ying Qingyue lowered her eyelids, her long lashes casting small shadows beneath her eyes. Though she appeared distracted, she was actually pondering: when would Xuan Ye return with the potatoes?
The Reward-seeking Incident at the Auspicious Banquet
After three rounds of drinks, Ying Zheng, pleased with the heavenly signs indicating Great Qin’s prosperity, scanned the banquet hall with rare relaxation. “Today’s celestial auspicious signs foretell Great Qin’s flourishing. Our heart is greatly comforted. If any of you have requests, so long as they are reasonable, We shall grant them.”
Before his words faded, Huhai eagerly jumped up, his brocade robe sweeping across the table, his voice filled with childlike excitement: “Father Emperor! Your son wants a Ferghana horse! It must be the most divine steed, one that can outrun the wind!”
Seeing his exuberant manner, Ying Zheng’s lips curved into a faint smile as he waved his hand. “Granted.”
Huhai was overjoyed, thanking him loudly before sitting down and smugly winking at the princes beside him.
When it was Ying Yinman’s turn, she rose slowly, her curved-hem skirt draping elegantly to the floor, her posture as graceful as bamboo in moonlight. Her voice flowed as softly as a clear spring over stones, each word perfectly measured:
“Your daughter finds the greatest blessing in being able to accompany Father Emperor daily, listening to your teachings and watching Great Qin’s mountains and rivers remain stable. My heart holds no other desires.”
Hearing this, the pleasure in Ying Zheng’s eyes deepened as he nodded slightly, growing even more satisfied with this daughter’s understanding.
Next, Fusu stood up, his black robes accentuating his upright posture, yet his face remained clouded with unresolved gravity.
He bowed deeply, his tone earnest: “Father Emperor, the heavenly auspice is surely a result of benevolent virtue moving the heavens. Your son ventures to request, considering the laborers from the northern prefectures building the Great Wall who toil day and night in unbearable hardship, could we appropriately reduce some corvée labor this year to demonstrate Your Majesty’s boundless heavenly grace?”
As these words fell, the warmth in the hall instantly dissipated, the air seeming to freeze solid.
Ying Qingyue, whose thoughts had been wandering, snapped back to attention. Her gaze fell upon Fusu’s back, feeling this elder brother was terrifyingly stubborn and incapable of reading the room.
The smile vanished from Ying Zheng’s face, the warmth in his eyes replaced by sharpness as his tone suddenly turned heavy: “Fusu, are you implying that my governance is unvirtuous and indifferent to the people’s suffering?”
“Your son wouldn’t dare! It’s just that the people are the foundation of the state, your son…”
“Enough!” Ying Zheng cut him off sharply, his authority from the Dragon Throne pressing down like Mount Tai. “Today is a family banquet, not a state council! Withdraw!”
What should have been a lighthearted request for rewards had instantly escalated into a political confrontation between father and son. The atmosphere in the hall grew so stifling it was hard to breathe, with everyone bowing their heads and holding their breath, not daring to speak.
Amid this oppressive silence, Ying Zheng’s gaze inadvertently swept to the corner, as if suddenly remembering a daughter sat there. His tone softened slightly as he asked casually: “And you? Do you have any requests?”
Ying Qingyue raised her head, wearing a carefully crafted expression blending awe for celestial authority with pure curiosity stirred by the sky screen, her gaze clear as she looked toward the imperial throne:
“Father Emperor, yesterday’s vast sky screen revealed the mysteries of time and space. Having witnessed it, your daughter finally understands the breadth of heaven and earth, the infinity of the cosmos, and deeply feels how insignificant I am, like a grain in the ocean, with such shallow knowledge.”
She slowed her speech, as if weighing each word. “Your daughter has long resided within palace walls, my vision limited to these square courtyards. Today, enlightened by the sky screen, my heart yearns…”
“Your daughter ventures to beg Father Emperor to permit me to leave the palace for half a day, to see with my own eyes the imperial capital of Xianyang under Your Majesty’s rule, to experience what this magnificent prosperous age that gathers the world’s essence truly looks like!”
As this request was made, suppressed gasps and faint murmurs immediately arose in the hall.
Huhai snorted with derision. Though not speaking loudly, his lip movements clearly formed the words: “Wishful thinking.”
Fusu frowned deeply. In his view, this request violated propriety and was truly unbefitting of a princess.
The other princes and princesses exchanged glances, their faces showing confusion.
The surprise in Ying Yinman’s eyes flashed only briefly before returning to still water without ripples, even with a faint trace of… pity?
Or perhaps indifference toward what she deemed a foolish act.
The dust outside the palace, the clamor of common markets—what concern were they of hers?
All pressure now converged upon the imperial throne.
Ying Zheng’s gaze felt physical, heavily weighing upon his sixth daughter below the dais, this daughter he had nearly forgotten.
Time passed in silence, the hall so quiet one could hear the slight crackle of lamp wicks bursting.
Finally, the fate-deciding voice sounded—flat, authoritative, and brooking no argument:
“Granted.”
A single word, yet it struck like thunder.
“I shall let you see what manner of spectacle my realm presents. The Chief of the Gentlemen-of-the-Palace shall arrange for palace guards to escort you outside the palace for half a day tomorrow.”
“Thank you for Your Majesty’s great grace! Long live Father Emperor!” Ying Qingyue’s voice brimmed with incredulous delight and excitement as she repeatedly kowtowed.
The banquet ultimately drew to a close after this dramatic scene.
In the eyes of most people, this unremarkable princess was merely blessed with extraordinary luck.
Or rather, it was His Majesty’s exceptional leniency regarding the sky screen that had indulged her childish curiosity.