Le’an had never been particularly fond of composing poetry.
Now that the activity had come to a pause, the little princess immediately felt it was a perfect opportunity. She promptly ordered someone to bring up the slips of paper she had prepared.
“Writing poems all the time is terribly dull,” Le’an said cheerfully as she shook the jar full of slips. “Since everyone here is so talented, why don’t we draw lots instead? Whatever you draw, that’s what you’ll perform!”
“Wait.”
The crown prince’s gentle, warm voice rang out—but the tone left no room for refusal.
“Le’an, bring your slips over and let me take a look.”
Le’an pouted, clearly reluctant, but still handed the jar to a young eunuch beside her, who then delivered it to the crown prince.
The crown prince took the jar, casually opened a few slips to glance at them, then placed them back inside.
“Some of these activities aren’t suitable for everyone,” he said. “For example, dancing.”
“If you can’t dance, then swing a sword!” Le’an retorted.
“Not everyone knows swordsmanship either. If people must do whatever they draw, it would be forcing them into difficulty. And if everyone performs, this banquet might not end even by midnight.”
Le’an frowned. “Then what does Imperial Brother suggest?”
The crown prince glanced at the jar, then turned to the eunuch beside him.
“Go fetch another jar. Copy down the names of everyone present according to the guest list, cut them into slips, and put them inside. Give it to the princess. Whoever’s name she draws may choose their own talent to entertain the guests.”
Within the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the eunuch returned with the prepared jar and stood beside Princess Le’an. Le’an reached in, stirred the slips around, and pulled one out, unfolding it to read.
“County Princess Yunshu?”
Le’an stared at the slip in her hand, momentarily stunned.
Shen Yunshu was just as surprised—she hadn’t expected the very first draw to be herself.
But it wasn’t a big deal. She could simply play a piece on an instrument.
“I’ve long heard that County Princess Yunshu is both talented and beautiful,” a voice suddenly said from the side. “They say she understood music at six, wrote poetry at seven, and could compose dances and melodies by eight. Surely today she won’t disappoint us—why not compose a brand-new piece on the spot and let us broaden our horizons?”
It was County Princess Xiangyi, who had not spoken to Shen Yunshu even once since the banquet began.
Shen Yunshu had no idea how she had offended her, yet Xiangyi’s words were dripping with thinly veiled mockery.
Though Xiangyi was the daughter of Prince Yun, she herself was also only a county princess. Not only were their ranks the same, but Shen Yunshu’s father—though an enfeoffed prince of a different surname—held status equal to Prince Yun. Naturally, Shen Yunshu was not intimidated.
“You flatter me, County Princess Xiangyi,” Shen Yunshu replied calmly. “Rumors tend to exaggerate. I hardly deserve such praise. Composing something on the spot would only invite ridicule if it turned out poorly. I’m still young and rather thin-skinned—stage fright gets the better of me.”
With a single remark about her youth and nervousness, Shen Yunshu neatly deflected the jab.
After all, she was indeed the youngest person present. County Princess Xiangyi was three years older than her. By emphasizing age, Shen Yunshu made it seem as though Xiangyi were deliberately bullying a child.
“It’s precisely because County Princess Yunshu gained such fame at such a tender age that I wish to see for myself whether she’s truly that remarkable,” Xiangyi insisted.
In other words, she didn’t believe it—she suspected Shen Yunshu’s reputation was nothing more than manufactured praise.
Princess Le’an’s eyes widened as she shot Xiangyi an unfriendly look.
“Cousin Xiangyi finally makes a rare trip to the capital, yet instead of enjoying the scenery, you seem to have memorized all the street gossip,” Le’an said coolly. “Could it be that the noble ladies of Yunzhou lack learning, that my cousin is so obsessed with other people’s reputations?”
Li Xiangyi was angered by the remark, yet had no way to refute it.
“If she’s truly that talented, wouldn’t it be obvious after a simple test?” Xiangyi pressed on. “Why evade the challenge and only raise suspicions?”
Even with Princess Le’an speaking up for her, Li Xiangyi refused to let Shen Yunshu go.
The Li imperial clan had always had far more men than women. Only in the current emperor’s generation were several princesses born.
Thus, even as the daughter of a prince, though merely a county princess rather than a true princess, Li Xiangyi had always been highly regarded.
Yet now, a mere minister’s daughter—elevated only because the emperor had granted her father a princely title of a different surname—had also been named a county princess, standing on equal footing with someone of true imperial blood.
Li Xiangyi had always looked down on this. After arriving in the capital and hearing constant praise of Shen Yunshu’s talents and beauty, her resentment only deepened.
Yunzhou was her family’s domain, painstakingly managed by her father for years. She herself had finally surpassed all the noble ladies there to earn the title of Yunzhou’s foremost talent.
Yet here, under the emperor’s very gaze, the daughter of a non-imperial prince dared to be so ostentatious. Today, Li Xiangyi was determined to expose Shen Yunshu’s false reputation. She refused to believe that a mere child, barely past the age of early schooling, could truly be that impressive.
Seeing the look on Li Xiangyi’s face—like someone who thought she’d uncovered a great secret—Shen Yunshu rolled her eyes inwardly, while outwardly putting on a helpless expression.
“Since County Princess Xiangyi wishes to see, then I’ll comply,” she said softly. “After all, you’ve traveled such a long way. With such a small wish, it would hardly be proper for me to refuse and embarrass you.
“Le’an, may I borrow your zither?”
Princess Le’an waved at Hu Po, signaling her to fetch the instrument.
Shen Yunshu calmly took a sip of tea, her mind already sifting through which pieces would be appropriate for the occasion.
She wasn’t like the heroines in novels who would launch into something like A Roar of Laughter Across the Vast Seas at a palace banquet. That kind of tune belonged to the martial world, not the imperial court. True nobility wouldn’t find it praiseworthy for a young lady of a great house to play such a bold, wandering melody—especially if it were to be forever labeled as her own creation.
Hu Po brought over Le’an’s zither and set it in place.
Shen Yunshu walked over unhurriedly and sat down. Her jade-like hands lifted gently, and a clear, flowing melody—like a mountain spring winding through stone—rang out.
Crimson silk skirts, golden round fans, rouge-dyed parasols~Green bamboo flutes, jade pendants, white jade crowns~
Have you not seen spring snow beneath the slanting sun,Petals falling into a clear ravine;Have you not seen withered trees sprout new buds,Old men trading stories for wine?
Green mountains ever present, wrapped in morning mist;Evening winds brush the face, rain taps the eaves.A youth hidden among bamboo groves,Falling asleep to the sound of a flute~
This piece was no famous masterwork. It was merely a southern folk tune she’d once heard during her travels—a melody she had loved, though she remembered it only vaguely.
After arriving in this world and learning to play various ancient instruments, she had tried to recreate it from memory.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to compose something entirely original—but in an age where entertainment had exploded, nearly every melody imaginable had already been written. She wasn’t a prodigious musical genius, so whatever she played inevitably carried traces of her previous life.
That said, the lyrics she’d just performed were indeed something she’d improvised during that short tea break. Subtly infused with a young girl’s tender, budding romantic imaginings, they fit the atmosphere of this matchmaking-like banquet perfectly.
Though she herself held no lofty fantasies about love, occasions like this were not the place to stand out too sharply—doing so would only make it easier to be isolated.