When Shang Fuqu was hauled out of her blankets like a radish being pulled from the ground by her two personal maids and pressed down in front of the dressing table, her brain was still struggling to catch up.
“His Majesty… took my lantern?”
Though the book really hadn’t said who the Emperor sought out on the first night…
“Lady-in-waiting, you’re so happy you’re talking nonsense,” said Xing’er, the newly hired maid, ambitious and eager. She brandished a comb over Shang Fuqu’s head, her face full of excitement. “This is the greatest of favors! Out of all these beauties, His Majesty took only your lantern.”
She lowered her voice. “The Crown Prince never had any concubines before… On this first night, you must be gentle, and leave a good impression on His Majesty.”
A very subtle hint.
But Shang Fuqu’s brows knotted tighter and tighter as she listened.
The instructing matron had taught her everything she needed to know before entering the palace, but this sort of thing could only be described as: the master leads you through the door; cultivation depends on the individual.
She got it. And yet she also didn’t.
Only Xing’er and Xiaodie were excited.
“Rest assured, my lady, I’ll put your hair up in a beautiful coiffure. His Majesty is sure to fall for you at first sight.”
“Pull yourself together, miss! Sky-high fortune has come knocking!”
The two of them pumped her full of pep, and Shang Fuqu nearly crumpled the hem of her robe as a spark of fire finally flickered up in her heart.
But it wasn’t fighting spirit—it was fear and nervousness.
According to those strange books, it was the feeling of a slacker student who’d assumed the sky falling would be shouldered by taller people, that trouble would never land on her, suddenly being shoved into an exam hall.
“Lady-in-waiting, you’re beautiful,” Xing’er said. “When you pay your respects later, it would be even better if your eyes could flow with a little charm.”
It was advice!
Shang Fuqu hurriedly asked, “How do I do that?”
A noble lady’s prospects were their prospects too—when one rose to heaven, even the chickens and dogs ascended. Xing’er was very enthusiastic. “Xiaodie, help the lady-in-waiting to her feet.”
Shang Fuqu stood, her head ringing.
Her family wasn’t wealthy; half of the jewelry she’d brought into the palace was in her hair tonight, all in the effort to achieve merit.
“Let me teach you, my lady. First, go through the etiquette the instructing matron taught you.”
Shang Fuqu knelt before the main door and bowed her head. “This humble one respectfully wishes His Majesty good health.”
A perfectly standard kowtow.
She still had young and old at home to provide for—whatever needed learning, she’d learn well. She wanted to idle through life, not hang up entirely.
“Your bow is flawless, my lady. Practice a few more times, so you won’t falter when His Majesty arrives.”
Shang Fuqu thought that made sense.
She wasn’t the aloof, proud type.
Since she’d entered the palace, it was for wealth, glory, and a brilliant future. Even if she couldn’t win the competition, a favor delivered to her doorstep was not to be refused—she might as well ladle herself a few extra mouthfuls of soup while she had the chance.
Lifting her skirt, she rose, then bowed again.
“This humble one respectfully wishes His Majesty good health.”
“Good, my lady, once more.”
“This humble one respectfully wishes His Majesty good health.”
“Again.”
“This humble one respectfully wishes His Majesty good health.”
“Again.”
…
Muscle memory worked.
Shang Fuqu’s deep bows and skirt-lifting rises grew ever more polished. Her body reacted faster than her brain—though her legs were going a little numb.
Rubbing her calves twice, she moved to rise again. “This humble one respectfully wishes—”
Before the words left her mouth, a figure suddenly descended before her eyes.
It happened so abruptly, without any eunuch’s announcement. Not only Shang Fuqu, but both personal maids were stunned.
Xiaodie hurriedly reached out to pull her up, but Xing’er tugged at her, wanting her to keep bowing.
In a clumsy tug-of-war with no coordination at all, the elaborate dress seemed to catch on the desk behind her. Her weak, aching knees failed to hold, and with a headlong lunge, Shang Fuqu crashed straight into that slender, straight calf in front of her.
Her hairpins and ornaments rattled down like ripe fruit shaken from a tree.
The impact made stars burst before her eyes, and a warm trickle spread through her nose.
And so, at her first audience with the Emperor, Shang Fuqu—face covered in a spectacular nosebleed—prostrated herself, all five limbs on the floor, beneath the young Emperor’s dragon robes.
“May Your Majesty be blessed with peace…”
Eunuch Qi nearly died of fright.
He was a veteran of the palace, having served the previous Emperor, and had seen countless consorts.
But he had never seen a would-be bedmate-assassin like this.
Aware of her breach of etiquette, Shang Fuqu kept her head down, not daring to make a sound, staring only at the blood-blossom spreading across her sleeve. She could sense that the Emperor, who had only given her a cursory glance upon entering, now had his gaze fixed on her without moving.
Fair enough.
Beauties are common; oddities are rare.
One doesn’t necessarily look twice at someone merely pretty—but someone both pretty and deranged absolutely warrants a few extra glances…
Lu Huai’s impression of this Lady-in-waiting was still that little cross-eyed figure. Now, meeting her in the flesh, he couldn’t even see her face clearly.
From this angle, all he could see was the girl’s disheveled raven-black hair and her emerald dress spread across the floor like water.
Only then did he remember—this girl had been raised in the misty rain country.
The soft Wu dialect of the water towns was indeed as melodious as a lotus-picking song.
But this temperament… seemed to be another matter entirely.
“Rise.” Lu Huai raised a hand in gesture. “Take Lady Shang to change into clean clothes.”
After this ordeal, the two maids wilted.
Xing’er was full of regret. “Ah, my lady should have just gone along with it and kept bowing. What if His Majesty gets angry and never comes again?”
First impressions matter enormously—they determine the flattering filter applied later on.
But Shang Fuqu, whose first impression had just been smashed to pieces, was brimming with confidence again. “No way. I think His Majesty actually looked at me a few extra times. Maybe I’ve already successfully caught his attention.”
Absurd, but true.
“My lady.” Xiaodie wiped the blood from her face, eyes brimming with tears. “Does it still hurt?”
Shang Fuqu shook her head, then paused.
That headbutt of hers had carried quite a force—surely the Emperor’s leg…
Coming out from the inner room, Lu Huai sat upright on the side couch, turning the pages of a book. Before entering the palace, Shang Fuqu had heard that the current Son of Heaven was young, but she hadn’t expected him to be this young—he looked every bit a youth.
Shaped by the teachings of several great scholars, he was an elegant, upright young gentleman. Only his brows and eyes could not quite conceal their sharpness, his deep, ink-dark gaze daunting to behold.
He still wore his court robes—a solemn black gown, tall and imposing, carrying a dignity and gravity beyond that of ordinary youths. His looks were extraordinarily outstanding, gold in substance and jade in form; among all the men Shang Fuqu had ever seen, none could compare.
Clearly, whoever wrote this book was a sucker for pretty faces.
In short:
Handsome. Total win, no loss.
Not daring to stare, Shang Fuqu performed the full formal bow once more.
“Sit.”
Only now did Lu Huai get a clear look at her.
Whether she was a beauty or not hardly mattered. Thinking of his vision of peace across the four seas, the Emperor’s eyes grew steadily more ardent.
“Have you studied?”
Shang Fuqu, pinned by his gaze, dared not lift her head, silently complaining about how fussy the bedchamber procedure was—no one had told her that before physical exchange there was to be such a rich intellectual exchange.
She answered as her mother had repeatedly instructed: “This concubine has only read ‘Yan Yan’ and ‘Zhong Si.’ I know a few characters and can read books, that is all.”
Poetry and verse were indeed not her strong suit.
But back in Nanshui Prefecture, she had read plenty of storybooks.
Madam Shang knew this well, which was why she had specifically warned her to watch her mouth—lest she open it and start spouting things like Nine Yin White Bone Claw or Pegasus Meteor Hammer.