“Speaking of which, I went to the temple yesterday,” Jiang Zhuo said, trying to sound lighthearted. “A little novice told me that the reason some people are clever and some are foolish is because some are living as humans for the first time, while others have lived many lives. Sister Guanzhi, you’re so smart—you’ve probably been human many times already.”
“If past lives are real, then my stepmother must’ve been a huge rat—stupid and vicious!” Shen Guanzhi huffed, still complaining. She reached out and tapped Jiang Zhuo’s forehead. “And you—you must’ve been a tiny fish. Carefree most of the time, but when something truly happens, you wouldn’t even know how you died.”
Even when the topic touched on past lives, Shen Guanzhi showed no abnormal reaction. Jiang Zhuo quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Shen Guanzhi had not been reborn.
Jiang Zhuo was grateful. At least up to now, Shen Guanzhi had shown her no malice. She had even always tried to teach her how to handle the open and hidden struggles within noble households.
In her previous life, facing her former friend’s rise and her own downfall, Jiang Zhuo had indeed hated and envied her. Under the instigation of others, she had even slipped safflower into Shen Guanzhi’s tea during her pregnancy.
Trusting Jiang Zhuo completely, Shen Guanzhi drank it without suspicion—and lost her first child.
“Jiang Zhuo, from this day on, our sisterhood is severed.”
With pain in her eyes, Shen Guanzhi had turned and left.
Afterward, Jiang Zhuo—having committed a crime—had been passed along like an object and given to Marquis Wuwei.
“Don’t I still have you to protect me, Sister Shen?” Flustered, Jiang Zhuo clung to Shen Guanzhi’s arm, using coquettishness to hide the guilt and unease twisting inside her.
As long as she didn’t compete with Shen Guanzhi in this life, she wouldn’t repeat her past mistakes… right?
Jiang Zhuo thought somewhat naively.
“Who needs me to protect you?” Shen Guanzhi laughed easily. “A pretty little fish like you—half the young lords in the capital would fight over you.”
And so, in their chatter and playfulness, the carriage arrived at their destination—the Princess Residence.
Princess Zhao Shuyue was the host of the banquet. According to family rank and status, she had arranged the seating of all the noble ladies.
Because Shen Guanzhi’s father held only a low fourth-rank leisurely post, her seat was placed far behind Jiang Zhuo’s.
Seated near the front due to her higher status, Jiang Zhuo had not felt others’ focused attention in quite some time. Now, suddenly receiving so many gazes, she felt unexpectedly uneasy.
After a round of polite greetings, attendants presented a magnificent Qionghua blossom, its size like an enormous white jade bowl.
Looking closely, Jiang Zhuo saw that the Qionghua consisted of eight five-petaled large flowers forming an outer ring, surrounding smaller pearl-like blossoms, all encircling a cluster of butterfly-like stamens—layer upon intricate layer.
Because Qionghua flowers were mostly found in Yangzhou and difficult to cultivate elsewhere, even the previous dynasty’s emperor had failed to transplant them despite multiple attempts. Yet the princess had successfully grown them here. With spring turning to summer, this was the perfect blooming season—thus the elegant gathering.
Jiang Zhuo remembered that in her previous life, not long after this very gathering, the Qionghua in the princess’s residence had withered overnight. Most likely, they had merely been transported here and had not truly taken root.
The flower appreciation was a pretense; selecting consorts for the princes was the true intention.
Behind the noble ladies hung layers of gauzy screens. Hidden behind them sat the Empress Dowager and several princes.
As the girls praised the blossoms, the princess ordered an attendant to bring out a guqin and performed Spring Dawn Melody, its bright and lively notes quickly enlivening the atmosphere.
Soon after, the noble ladies in the front rows began discussing their talents.
Almost by order of status, the granddaughter of the Duke of Jing, the daughter of the Chancellor, and the sister of the General of Cavalry each presented their performances.
Jiang Zhuo discreetly paid attention to the movement behind the screens.
Each time someone finished performing, an attendant entered and exited through the curtain. The princess would speak with the messenger before giving her evaluation and rewards.
The imperial family would not linger long. Thus, the earlier the performance, the higher the chance of being noticed.
Did Shen Guanzhi perform in this banquet in her previous life?
Jiang Zhuo tried to recall, but she had no impression whatsoever.
“I’ve heard that younger sister Jiang plays the pipa wonderfully. Would we be fortunate enough to hear a piece today?”
The sudden call startled Jiang Zhuo from her thoughts. She quickly composed herself and smiled as she rose.
“What a coincidence. Sister Guanzhi recently wrote beautiful lyrics for one of my tunes—perfect for today’s scene. Sister Guanzhi, would you be willing to accompany me?”
Sitting in the back row, Shen Guanzhi looked up in surprise. Meeting Jiang Zhuo’s sincere gaze, she paused, then rose and saluted.
“Your Highness honors us. Though my skills are meager, I will offer my humble talent.”
In private, Jiang Zhuo and Shen Guanzhi often played music together for fun, but never before had they performed jointly in public.
Still, this was the princess’s banquet—everyone present had prepared a talent to show. Jiang Zhuo wasn’t worried Shen Guanzhi would embarrass herself.
“…Giving such a good opportunity away—seems the rumors are true.”
“A timid fool, afraid to stand out.”
“That Shen Guanzhi really benefits. Climbed up by grabbing onto that silly girl.”
“Let’s see if the small Shen family can even carry such fortune.”
But joint performances between two noble ladies were rare—especially at a selection banquet like this. The act inevitably drew murmurs of criticism.
Jiang Zhuo plucked the pipa softly, starting a slow melody. She chose Shen Guanzhi’s most familiar tune: Butterfly Loves Flowers.
“The blossoms fade, red gone, green apricots small. Swallows dart by as streams surround homes all. On boughs, the willow’s cotton drifts less and less. Where in the world is there no fragrant grass?”
Shen Guanzhi had a lovely voice—clear and melodious. The pipa notes flowed from Jiang Zhuo’s fingertips like moonlight.
The two young women, both fair and elegant, one in warm tones and one in cool hues, complemented each other beautifully.
The hall gradually fell silent.
“Inside the wall, a swing; outside, a road. Outside, a passerby; inside, a beauty laughed. Laughter fading, sound falling into hush. The sentimental vexed by the heartless.”
The music grew sparse but held traces of gentle sorrow.
They say the young do not know sorrow and force sadness just to craft new verses—but Jiang Zhuo was no longer the ignorant fifteen-year-old of her past life. She had lived through separation and reunion, joy and death. Her playing now carried deeper emotion.
With a gliding note, she closed that lingering melancholy.
The piece ended.
Silence filled the hall.
Jiang Zhuo and Shen Guanzhi bowed together.
But behind the curtain, no attendant stepped out to announce any verdict.
Not wanting the moment to stagnate, the princess was just about to clap and offer praise—
Someone lifted the curtain and stepped out.
“Aunt, I told you this trip wouldn’t be wasted. If you hadn’t come, how would you have discovered such a marvelous pair in the capital?”
The newcomer’s eyes were deep, his brows sharp, a folding fan in hand. His manner was relaxed yet enchanting.
Jiang Zhuo stiffened.
It was none other than her second husband from her previous life—Marquis Wuwei, Ling Heng.
“Why do you never lift your head?” Ling Heng chuckled. “Am I so frightening that you don’t dare look at me?”
In the capital, men and women observed strict separation. Unmarried ladies wore veils.
But because this was the princess’s women’s banquet, none of the ladies present were veiled.
Jiang Zhuo lowered her head even further and stayed silent.
The Empress Dowager shot Ling Heng a glare before saying steadily, “The lyrics and performance were both excellent. Today, I grant each of you one wish. Whatever you desire—speak.”
Shen Guanzhi glanced at Jiang Zhuo.
Originally, this had been Jiang Zhuo’s solo performance, and her status was higher. Shen Guanzhi’s glance meant she was yielding the first wish to her.
Months before the Qionghua Banquet, Jiang Zhuo had constantly inquired about Prince Jing’s preferences.
Shen Guanzhi quietly assumed that Jiang Zhuo, taking a risky step this time, intended to ask the Empress Dowager to grant her a marriage to Prince Jing.