The spring of the nineteenth year of Pingjia arrived unusually late. The second month was the season of melting snow, and it was even colder than at the Start of Spring. Since the end of the first month, the brazier in Baoying’s room had not once gone out.
Outside the window, a faint crab-shell blue was spreading across the sky. It was already past the hour of Mao, yet she still lingered in her warm bed, unwilling to rise.
Her parents doted on her, so sleeping in was hardly a serious matter. On overcast days when the sun did not show, it was common for her to sleep until the hour of Chen.
But this time, her mother Zhenniang did not indulge her. After much coaxing and persuasion, she pulled the girl up: “My precious child, hurry and get up to wash and dress—the palace’s etiquette instructress has arrived.”
“What etiquette instructress?” Baoying’s mind was still muddled.
Zhenniang helped her into her clothes while chiding softly, “You child, you’re to be married in the fourth month, and you still can’t take anything to heart?”
Baoying took the strong tea handed over by her maid and rinsed her mouth, thinking to herself that her mother was doing her an injustice—when it came to marriage, no one was more attentive than she was.
After all, this was her own marriage!
Speaking of it, this match had come about most fortuitously.
In the eleventh month of last year, just after Baoying had passed her seventeenth birthday, her parents began making arrangements to betroth her. The intended match was none other than her maternal uncle’s second son, her cousin Wei Xuan.
The Wei family had three siblings, and Baoying had grown up alongside them since childhood.
The eldest cousin, Wei Ji, was gentle and courteous, and her elder cousin-sister Ruyin was as close to her as a sister. Only the second cousin, Wei Xuan, made her gnash her teeth in fury.
Wei Xuan was truly the most detestable person she had ever met.
Since childhood, he had loved to bully her. Every time they met, he would not rest until he made her cry. Yet he was also very skilled at winning girls’ favor—of Baoying’s close friends, eight out of ten were fond of him, which only added to her silent frustration.
For Baoying, marrying Wei Xuan would be worse than death.
Just as the elders of both families, disregarding her wishes, were enthusiastically discussing the match, an imperial edict of betrothal descended like divine troops from heaven, promising the only daughter of the Shi family, Baoying, to the current emperor’s third prince.
This edict threw everyone into disarray. The marriage between the Shi and Wei families could no longer proceed, and the elders of both families wore somewhat somber expressions.
Only Baoying felt this was a good thing—after all, in all the world, what marriage could be better than marrying a prince or royal descendant?
Her cousin-sister Ruyin told her that the third prince had been enfeoffed as the Prince of Yan, and that the moment she married him, she would become a first-rank princess consort.
Baoying had no concept of noble ranks. Her father was merely a minor seventh-rank official; the highest official she had ever seen was the Prefect of Shuntian. Oh, and there was her maternal uncle, who served as a sixth-rank secretary in the Ministry of Rites—already an unattainable height in Baoying’s eyes.
Ruyin offered an analogy: “Let me put it this way—once you become a princess consort, you can eat only the neck meat of pork, only the roe and golden cream of crabs, only two-head abalone, and even for spring bamboo shoots, only the tenderest tips!”
Baoying’s mouth nearly watered just listening.
She was utterly delighted with this marriage, counting the days on her fingers until the wedding.
It was said that the old Empress Dowager in the palace was gravely ill, and the imperial family intended to use this marriage to dispel misfortune, hence the auspicious date was set for the fourth month.
After the first month, the palace dispatched embroideresses from the Needlework Bureau to take her measurements and sew her wedding gown and princess consort ceremonial robes, along with an etiquette instructress to teach her court protocols.
Fearing that her daughter might leave a poor impression on the palace folk, Zhenniang urged Baoying through a hasty wash and dress, then accompanied her to the front hall to meet the instructress.
Looking over, one could see the etiquette instructress in a severe set of female official robes. She appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, her silver hair combed back immaculately, and two deep nasolabial folds revealing her stern temperament at a glance.
Baoying involuntarily shrank back.
As she studied the instructress, the instructress was also observing her.
The young woman before her had lustrous black hair and snow-white skin, with a face of abundant beauty. Her large, round almond eyes were bright and liquid, and the whole of her was like a white peony shimmering with light and dew—so beautiful it made one’s heart tremble.
Looking further, she wore a peach-red kesi short jacket over a willow-green skirt embroidered with gold thread. The bright, vivid clothing did not overshadow her at all; rather, it set her off like the splendor of jade, the radiance of moonlight—clear and dazzling.
Having served in the inner court for over thirty years, the etiquette instructress had seen countless selected maidens and imperial consorts, yet this Miss Shi’s appearance was unquestionably in a class of her own.
No wonder that when the Prince of Yan had requested the emperor to issue the betrothal edict, his stated reason had been love at first sight.
At first, the instructress had found it puzzling—the daughter of a minor seventh-rank official being made a consort was already an elevation. But now, seeing her in person, she could somewhat understand the Prince of Yan’s choice.
Being someone from the palace, no matter how her thoughts churned within, her expression remained watertight: “Miss Shi, I am the Registrar of the Bureau of Ceremonial Etiquette. You may simply call me Nanny Gui. For the next two months, I will be teaching you court protocols and etiquette. I hope you will study with utmost diligence and not bring shame upon the imperial family.”
Seeing her solemn expression, Baoying could not help but feel nervous, and she obediently lowered her head in acknowledgment.
On the first day of learning protocols, Nanny Gui introduced the masters of the palace to Baoying.
The current Son of Heaven was in the prime of his years, with three thousand beauties in his harem and many children. Yet because the empress had borne no son, he had yet to name an heir apparent.
There are a full twelve princes in the palace, but the ones most likely to contend for the position of Crown Prince are the five who have already come of age.
Baoying’s future husband was one of them.
The Third Prince, Zong Duo, was born of Consort Xu. His maternal grandfather held the office of Grand Secretary and concurrently served as Minister of Revenue, wielding considerable power and influence.
Zong Duo himself was equally accomplished in both civil and martial arts. Three years prior, he had accompanied the army on a campaign against the Northern Yuan and was enfeoffed as Prince Yan for his merits. He now commanded the Dragon Guard, one of the three elite guards of the inner court, and enjoyed a fine reputation at court.
Nanny Gui told Baoying that the other princes had all married daughters of high ministers, and that only Zong Duo had taken a princess consort who could be of no help to his official career. She hinted delicately that Baoying must cherish this hard-won fortune and, in the days to come, strictly observe her place as a wife and support her husband and raise their children.
Baoying did not catch the implication beneath Nanny Gui’s words. She simply thought that Zong Duo had excellent taste.
That said, although he was said to have fallen in love with her at first sight, Baoying could not recall where she had ever met this Third Prince.
She humbly sought instruction from Nanny Gui: “Nanny, is His Highness Prince Yan handsome?”
“Miss, mind your words!”
Unexpectedly, this remark was like poking a hornet’s nest. Nanny Gui’s sharp rebuke startled Baoying.
She spoke with deep distress: “When Miss marries into the imperial family and becomes a daughter-in-law of the clan, every word and deed represents the dignity of the Heavenly House. How can you set your mind on a man’s appearance? Such talk, contrary to womanly virtue, must never be mentioned again!”
Baoying was so frightened she dared not make a sound, only blinking her big, clear eyes in bewilderment.
Oh no. Judging by Nanny Gui’s agitated reaction, her betrothed must be quite unsightly indeed.
Nanny Gui’s instruction was extremely strict. Baoying had to rise at the hour of the tiger (3–5 a.m.) every day, and from the moment she opened her eyes it was nothing but learning rules and practicing etiquette, with dinner only allowed at the hour of the dog (7–9 p.m.). Because she was slow to learn, she would also receive a scolding from Nanny Gui from time to time.
Of course, her mild-mannered and slow-witted nature also frequently left Nanny Gui speechless with frustration.
And so, amid all this chaotic bustle, the eve of her wedding arrived before she knew it. Baoying had finally finished learning the palace rules and etiquette, and sent Nanny Gui—whom she and Nanny Gui were mutually tired of—back to the palace.
The day before the wedding, her maternal uncle’s family came over to add to her dowry.
Since Baoying was marrying into the imperial clan, her dowry naturally could not be too shabby. Her uncle had brought over Ruyin’s dowry to add to her trousseau—after all, Ruyin was not yet betrothed, and could slowly build up her own again later.
“Aunt, did Wei Xuan not come back?”
Baoying looked around but did not see Wei Xuan’s figure, and felt a little disappointed.
Wei Xuan had been sent to Shu at the age of ten to learn martial arts, and only returned to the capital for about ten days during festivals. Although Uncle Wei had sent word to Shu after her engagement was settled, the April wedding date was too rushed—it seemed he had not been able to make it back before her wedding.
Aunt Wei took her hand and said earnestly, “Good child, you and your brother Xuan were not meant to be. Don’t think of him anymore, all right? After you marry, you must live well with Prince Yan…”
Baoying did not know whether to laugh or cry.
It was not that she was reluctant to part with Wei Xuan—she simply wanted him to see that her status had changed and was no longer what it used to be. If Wei Xuan ever thought of bullying her again, he had better first weigh his own worth!
That evening when it was time to sleep, Zhenniang entered Baoying’s boudoir and sent the maid Xiaolian out, giving mother and daughter space for private words.
Sitting by the bedside, looking at her daughter with her hair ornaments removed, Zhenniang gently stroked her hair, as smooth as black satin, and sighed with deep emotion: “Once you were a tiny little thing, toddling along behind your mother, as if you would never grow up. In the blink of an eye, you are about to be married.”
Baoying burrowed into Zhenniang’s arms and nuzzled her, coaxing, “I’ll still come home often.”
“Silly talk. Once you’re another family’s daughter-in-law, how can you run back to your natal home every day? Aren’t you afraid of others laughing at you?”
“Why should I be afraid of others laughing?” Baoying muttered. “Why are people so idle, laughing at this and that all day long.”
Zhenniang’s smile faded, and she said slowly, “Once you are a bride, you can no longer be as willful as you were at home. You must serve your parents-in-law, look after your husband, manage the household…”
Baoying protested, “Is my husband still a little child? Why should I look after him? He should be looking after me!”
She had secretly peeked at the marriage certificate—Zong Duo was fully four years older than her!
Zhenniang laughed helplessly: “Very well, in any case, husband and wife should support each other, without distinction between yours and mine.”
With that, she slowly revealed the purpose of her visit that night, taking a picture book from her sleeve and handing it over.
Baoying opened it and saw exquisite, detailed illustrations—latticed windows, dim chambers, curtains hanging low… and in every picture, two naked people were embracing each other.
She widened her eyes in astonishment and asked with great interest, “What are these two people doing?”
Zhenniang saw that her daughter showed not the slightest trace of shyness, but instead pressed on with bright, curious eyes—clearly this innocent child had not the faintest clue, poor thing, and she was about to become a wife.
A faint sadness welled up in her heart. Stroking Baoying’s head, she said, “This is the rite of Zhou Gong. When Baoying marries the Third Prince, on your wedding night you must do as in these pictures—perform the rite of Zhou Gong, and only then will you truly become husband and wife.”
Baoying looked at the naked man and woman in the painting, and a flush of red suddenly crept up her cheeks. “Huh? So I have to get naked to kiss him? But—but he’s a man!”
She had only ever undressed in front of her mother and Xiaolian!
Zhenniang smiled helplessly. “He’s your husband! Marital intimacy between husband and wife is only natural. Baoying, there’s no need to resist it.”
Baoying listened absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting back to the Third Prince’s appearance.
Fine… she really was quite shallow. If he were ugly, she definitely wouldn’t be able to bring herself to kiss him.
Author’s Note:
Matchmaker: Pre-wedding wish time! Bride and groom, please share your expectations for your partner.
Bao: He must be handsome!
Duo: She must be clever.
Shameless plug for my good friend Little Sleeping Raccoon’s strong-arm romance ancient novel Spring Oriole in the Palm.
At sixteen, Lingying was brought back to Luoyang by her father and betrothed to a fiancé who appeared gentle on the surface but privately found fault with her at every turn.
She didn’t care.
Her heart had long been occupied by someone else—His Majesty, who treated her with the utmost care.
Back then, Yuan Ji had been ambushed and gravely wounded, fallen into the mud and dust. It was Lingying who risked her life to save him.
Through the long, dark night in a crumbling mountain temple, she gripped his hand, held him close in her arms, and hummed a soft tune from Wu Commandery over and over, refusing to let him drift into sleep from the cold.
She thought this was a mutual pledge of hearts.
At first, Yuan Ji’s approach to Cui Lingying was nothing but a calculated scheme.
She blushed for him, obeyed his every whim, and gave him her whole heart like a mother bear protecting her cub.
But he watched coldly from the sidelines, from beginning to end.
In his eyes, she was merely the daughter of his enemy—an insignificant pawn to be discarded in his game of chess.
As for the so-called affection she prattled on about, he didn’t understand it, nor did he deign to.
Someone so foolishly infatuated would have to be mad for him to ever fall for her.
It was much later that Lingying came to understand that her father, who wielded power over the entire court, had long been at irreconcilable odds with the young Son of Heaven.
She thought Yuan Ji must hate her.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have pressed her so relentlessly, nor would he have punished her night after night in his own way.
So one day, Lingying took her infant daughter in her arms and fled.
The world all said that the current emperor had no heirs and was a cruel, violent man.
Lingying heard this and simply drew her daughter closer, murmuring softly, “He’s far away in Luoyang. Don’t be afraid.”
Days later, the small temple where they sheltered was surrounded on all sides.
The courtyard gate was kicked open with a single blow, and a figure strode slowly inside. Behind him, a servant held the hand of a small boy who was fighting back tears.
Lingying stared at that little face, so strikingly similar to her own, and stood frozen—then even took two steps back, clutching her daughter.
Yuan Ji’s eyes reddened at the sight of her retreat, the madness on his face growing more intense as he hissed viciously, “Cui Lingying, you’re asking for death!”
The daughter in her arms burst into frightened sobs. “Tyrant! Ty—”
Lingying’s shoulders trembled. She hastily covered her daughter’s mouth, all the color draining from her face.
Like the most mischievous child in the world, he had caught a beautiful bird but didn’t know how to cherish it.
Only when the oriole’s feathers withered and she fought desperately to escape his palm—leaving him to search the heavens above and the underworld below, never to find her again—
did he finally taste what it meant to have his heart torn apart.