20. The Princess

December 10th, Princess Minghua of the Chang lineage, by imperial decree, arrived at the Camellia Banquet.

In fact, this year, the sovereign had ordered Princess Minghua to preside over the Flower Message Banquet. The whole capital was already abuzz with rumors that she would appear at the Camellia Banquet. It was no wonder the ladies of the capital were so anxious; Princess Minghua’s status was truly extraordinary.

Princess Minghua was a legitimate daughter of the late emperor, her noble birth needing no further emphasis. When the current ruler was crown prince, he grew up alongside her under the care of the late empress dowager, and they were as close as siblings. Yet her uniqueness stemmed from another matter.

Apart from the brave old Duke of the State, grandfather to Shen Biwei, there were no other dukes in the empire. This was because all the dukedoms granted at the founding of the dynasty had since died out. The most meritorious and prestigious among them was the Duke of Britain, a founding general ranked first among the warriors commemorated in the Lingyan Pavilion, and that was Princess Minghua’s husband’s family.

Princess Minghua’s marriage to the heir of the Duke of Britain marked the peak of the Duke’s household’s glory. But in less than ten years, all vanished in a storm of ruin—her entire family was executed, save for the heir’s descendants, spared out of the late emperor’s love for his daughter and grandson. Yet gossip in the streets whispered of the old adage: once the rabbit dies, the dog is discarded; once the birds are caught, the bow is set aside. Moreover, the purge had been ordered by the then crown prince—now the sovereign—adding another layer of complexity to the siblings’ relationship.

Among the noble families in the capital, secret rumors circulated. Because of this history, the sovereign’s feelings toward his sister were complicated—a mixture of respect and guilt. The bond of siblings who grew up together in the palace remained, yet the current circumstances were hard to face. Amidst such tangled emotions, Princess Minghua had become a uniquely revered figure in the capital. Though many princesses and imperial daughters existed, none matched her prestige.

When the sovereign ascended the throne, the first honorific title posthumously awarded was to the late empress dowager, and the second was to Princess Minghua—before even the empress’s title was finalized. Since then, on annual foreign tributes or grand national sacrifices, only the empress dowager and the sovereign ranked above her in the palace hierarchy. Rare treasures flowed continuously into her residence.

Among these was a jeweled seven-treasure Buddha pagoda sent by the Western regions. The sovereign’s most beloved daughter, Princess Wenzhen, instantly fell in love with it and begged through the empress dowager to claim it, promising it would be kept in the Eternal Longevity Palace to accompany the empress dowager in worship. In truth, it was intended as part of Princess Wenzhen’s wedding dowry. As the only legitimate daughter of the empress, she was cherished like a treasure and also petitioned for it. Even with the combined requests of the three most powerful ladies of the harem, the sovereign still bestowed it upon Princess Minghua’s household. Yet Princess Minghua lived quietly and rarely even worshipped.

After the Duke of Britain’s household was purged, the late emperor ordered Princess Minghua to return to the palace to accompany the empress dowager. Yet she chose to remain in the Duke’s mansion. When the sovereign ascended the throne, he could not persuade her otherwise and hence built a residence for her, bestowing gifts. From then on, the princess lived even more secludedly, rarely appearing before the public. Among the younger generation, even someone of Han Yueqi’s esteemed lineage never had the chance to meet her. Only Shen Biwei recalled glimpsing her long ago during a court banquet with the Duke, describing her as an extraordinarily radiant beauty, dressed simply yet exuding a majestic aura. Silent and aloof, she was like an iceberg amidst a blossoming garden.

Now the sovereign had devised a new scheme: the Northern Garrison Army had returned to the capital, and a Flower Message Banquet of a scale unseen in ten years was planned. Observers could see that the sovereign intended to manipulate the marriages of these young military officers—neither allowing them free rein for alliances with noble families, lest they grow too powerful, nor ignoring marriage as a tool to bind them. Ideally, he sought to tether them through loyal clans like the Shen family, ensuring a next generation of capable commanders when war resumed.

As Shen Biwei put it, this was akin to noble families pairing their trusted maids with talented young servants—governing the realm like managing a household, treating officials as servants. Such is the emperor’s strategy. Though somewhat ruthless, it was apt.

Yet for such an important task, the sovereign still entrusted Princess Minghua. People wondered whether this was truly to manipulate the Northern Garrison’s marriages or to coax the long-retired princess back into society.

Many experienced duchesses and elder princesses in the capital were puzzled that the Flower Message Banquet’s steward was a widow who had secluded herself for years.

But no matter how puzzling, it had to be understood. The Ye family was mid-ranking among the noble clans, and the current “Lady Ye” kept a hands-off relationship with the Qinglan sisters, so they paid little mind. But Han Yueqi and others had been puzzling over it repeatedly—even the usual order of the banquet’s events was scrutinized, wondering if the princess’s early appearance signaled something. The banquet traditionally assessed the young ladies and scions of noble families, but with the princess’s presence, the hosting ladies themselves became the subjects of scrutiny. The Shen family, as leaders among the civil officials, naturally were no exception.

The host family of the Camellia Banquet was the royal lineage branch of Prince He Ping and the Ruyang Prince’s family. Though stripped of their princely title and now serving in the Ministry of Revenue, they were among the more competent of the imperial clans—otherwise they would not have been temporarily appointed to host the banquet. The capital’s noble families respectfully called them Ruyang Zhao.

The banquet was as elaborate and impractical as others—half the dishes were meant for show rather than taste, a tradition. Though unpalatable and costly, these were required by custom; without them, the banquet would not be considered proper.

Compared to the ever-changing tables arranged by the capital’s noble housekeepers, with novel dishes every half year and fierce competition for top chefs, this banquet was rather ordinary. It was dignified, adhering to ancient court rituals: a full array of livestock and grains, opening with bell and tripod, dishes served with clappers, and the ladies dressed in formal gowns. Some newcomers, like Lady He and her kind, wore ceremonial dresses that seemed overzealous; while no one spoke openly, there was much amusement behind their backs. Lady He herself felt somewhat embarrassed.

“Look at He Qingyi,” Lingbo whispered to Qinglan, “Such a pity; she is a clever woman.”

Acu immediately looked over and saw that although He Qingyi sat among the young ladies, she kept an eye on the ladies’ seats. Seeing her mother mocked, her eyes reddened, and she left the porridge untouched.

Meanwhile, Lu Wenyin showed off her skill by urging the young ladies to try the dishes. “This is black chicken from our estate, a gift originally bestowed by the palace, raised on medicinal herbs from the Southern Seas tribute. If not for Lady Zhao’s friendship with our lady, I wouldn’t dare send it. Misses, do try it; the chicken soup is the best for health.”

As hostess, Lady Zhao smiled and said, “I knew your grandmother was generous in promise, but you must have been reluctant.”

“Isn’t that a stab to the heart? The soup’s already cooked, and you ask if I’m reluctant,” Lu Wenyin laughed, drawing Lady Zhao to sit down. “You should rest; eat a bit or my lady will say I’m unfilial.”

The ladies all laughed, making jokes about the close friendship between Lady Zhao and Lady Chen and how Lady Zhao, having tasted the soup, owed Lady Chen no complaints. Lu Wenyin then persuaded the young ladies again. He Qingyi endured quietly, drinking the soup and thanking her, even as Lu Wenyin used her as a prop, patting her shoulder, “Qingyi likes it. We still have some left—better to share since the leftovers won’t cover the banquet. Why not distribute it?”

Lu Wenyin’s team, with Yang Qiaozhen and Sun Minwen, had firmly grasped the He family, intimidating the young ladies. Only Shen Biwei, aloof in her status, refused the soup with a frown.

Lu Wenyin smiled and began to explain, “That’s because the tribute chickens were raised on medicinal herbs,” when Lady Zhao quickly interjected, “Biwei has a sensitive palate. At a palace banquet, when the osmanthus in the pastries was changed from Red Scholar to Vermilion Osmanthus, many nobles didn’t notice—only Biwei did. Even the empress was surprised, confirming the swap. Truly, the daughter of a prestigious duke’s household.”

Lingbo smiled quietly, glancing at Lady Lin, who tended the guests, whispering to Acu, “See? As long as you’re noble, a little pampering doesn’t matter; someone will cover for you.”

Yet Han Yueqi would not let Shen Biwei be branded as spoiled. As the elder sister-in-law and a noble lady herself, she spoke up with a smile, “Not so. I was at the palace banquet too; Biwei was young and ate only a bite before putting it down. The empress asked, and then Biwei explained. Please don’t blame the palace kitchen staff. The empress praised Biwei’s kindness; a sensitive palate is a minor matter.”

The sparring between Lady Zhao and Lu Wenyin was their affair, but no one could use Shen Biwei as a pawn without her consent.

The conversation ceased, the banquet continued, with this exchange making He Qingyi’s isolation more evident. Unfortunately, Lady He was not eloquent and was mocked twice during the meal, leaving her awkward.

The true opportunity for mockery came after the banquet, during the warm pavilion’s tea and flower viewing. Fortunately, Lady Zhao’s household was lucky; just as the guests had washed their hands, rinsed their mouths, and drank tea, preparing to return to their chambers to refresh, the summons came—the clappers sounded urgently, and the stewardess of the Zhao family rushed in with news that thundered through the house: Princess Minghua had arrived, the imperial carriage already entering Wangyue Street.

Lady Zhao hurriedly changed into her ceremonial phoenix crown and embroidered robe, donning full formal makeup and rushed to greet the princess. As the hostess, she wore the full formal dress, while the other ladies, as guests, wore various formal robes—still appropriate but less grand. Lady He’s overly formal attire seemed too eager, hinting at speculation about the sovereign’s intentions.

But all the ladies held titles and were accustomed to grand occasions, led by elder ladies, and showed no signs of panic. They formed ranks to greet the arrival at the second gate, while the young ladies waited inside the courtyard for summons. The Zhao estate, once a royal mansion, was spacious enough to accommodate such arrangements.

Acu, witnessing this for the first time, heard the commanding bell and drum sounds, the distant marching music, the whip cracking, and the palace attendants’ calls opening the way, then glimpsed the imperial escort and carriage. It was said the sovereign felt both respect and guilt toward his sister, so even the carriage followed the etiquette fitting a queen mother, dazzlingly splendid.

“Princess Minghua has arrived. Lady Zhao, a third-rank titled lady, is ordered to receive Her Highness,” the eunuch announced loudly.

The ladies and young ladies knelt to receive the princess. Lady Zhao rose, bowed forward, accepted the imperial edict from the attendant, and was about to kneel again when the attendant calmly said, “No need.”

The golden-threaded emerald canopy swayed, the palace maids’ ceremonial arms parted like wild goose wings, revealing a richly dressed court lady supported by the attendant, descending from the carriage and handing her hand to Lady Zhao.

Lady Zhao’s expression was as if she held a priceless, fragile glass vessel, speaking with utmost caution.

“Your Highness’s arrival graces our humble abode. We, your servants, are overwhelmed and beg you to forgive our humble reception and proceed to the main hall to receive our homage.”

Princess Minghua said nothing, only glanced at the attendant.

“Granted,” the attendant ordered.

Lady Zhao then supported the princess to the main hall. The princess sat solemnly beneath the pearl curtains, and the ladies, ranked by status, approached in order to bow. The attendant then conveyed the princess’s decree to summon the young ladies from the Camellia Banquet to pay respects.

Shen Biwei led the first group of young ladies. Acu was surprised that the Ye sisters were not among them, as their father held a third-rank official post and they were legitimate daughters. Only after Lingbo smiled and took her hand, with Qinglan walking ahead and Yanyan by her side, did she realize the Ye sisters had deliberately stayed in the second group to accompany her.

Touched, she followed the Ye sisters up the steps, where the red carpet was new and adorned with golden auspicious floral patterns. The Zhao household had clearly prepared in advance; the main seat was an apricot-yellow chair embroidered with the motif of myriad birds facing a phoenix, arranged by palace attendants.

Acu, following Lingbo and Qinglan, knelt beside Yanyan and imitated Qinglan’s gesture, placing both hands on her forehead and performing the grand kowtow, only to hear the attendant’s indifferent command: “Rise!”

Acu understood this meant to stand. Qinglan rose, and upon observing her, several young ladies who had been secretly watching her reactions also relaxed and stood aside.

Acu dared not look at the princess, knowing it would be disrespectful, nor the attendant. Then, Princess Minghua asked, “Where are my nieces?”

The wives of Prince Ping and two other princes understood this as an expression of familiarity. The wife of Prince Ping hurried forward, “I am Gao, consort of Prince Ping. In response to Your Highness, we did not wish to disturb you, so our daughters offered their respects with the young ladies. Wenxian, Wenyu, come and pay respects to Your Highness.”

The princess merely spoke casually to show closeness. Seeing two county ladies come forward to bow, she glanced at the attendant, who promptly distributed gold bracelets—though modest, it was a rare honor as the princess’s first summons.

“Where are the Misses of the Marquis Wei and the Shen family?” the princess inquired further.

The ladies understood the princess wished to identify them. Prince Ping’s consort had set an example; as the princess now presided over the Flower Message Banquet for the first time, she sought to appear approachable, unwilling to summon elder titled ladies, some of whom were high-ranking or elderly, for fear of appearing presumptuous. Hence, she asked only for the young ladies.

Prince Ping’s consort, sharp-witted, immediately understood and introduced them to others as a model: “Your Highness, these are the lady of Minister Shen, the young mistress Han, and the Shen family’s eldest and second daughters.”

“I am Lu of the Shen family, with daughter-in-law Han, and daughters Biwei and Luwei, paying respects to Your Highness.”

Madam Shen bowed; the princess smiled, and the attendant said, “No need.”

“How is the Duke of the State?” the princess inquired with a smile.

“Thanks to Your Highness and the sovereign’s blessings, my father is in good health and ever grateful for the imperial grace,” Madam Shen replied.

“And at Baode Temple, Biwei, have you been well?” the princess asked Shen Biwei with a smile.

Rarely embarrassed, Shen Biwei blushed and smiled, “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness; I am well under your grace.”

The attendant explained above, while Lingbo softly explained to Acu, “Shen Biwei’s grandfather is the brave old Duke of the State; truly, Minister Shen pales beside him. Only he merits the princess’s inquiry.”

Qinglan frowned at Lingbo, signaling restraint, so Lingbo fell silent, though her observation was accurate—the princess ignored Minister Shen and looked toward Madam Wei.

Lingbo sneered at Madam Wei’s slow wit.

Prince Ping’s consort quickly interjected, “Madam Wei, where is Leshui?”

Leshui was at Madam Wei’s side. Hearing this, Madam Wei hurried forward with Leshui to pay respects. Before she could introduce herself, the attendant said, “No need.”

Madam Wei quickly said, “I am Miao, grateful for Your Highness’s grace.”

“No need for thanks,” the princess smiled faintly. “Lord Pingyuan pacified the northern border and achieved great merit; I should be the one thanking Madam Wei.”

Madam Wei was momentarily stunned; Prince Ping’s consort quickly caught on.

“Madam Wei, thank Your Highness,” she urged, supporting Madam Wei to express gratitude. “The title of Marquis Pingyuan has finally been granted, the imperial edict surely arrived. Your Highness is congratulating you—don’t delay in thanking her.”

Relief and joy lit Madam Wei’s face. She knelt, thanking the princess with Leshui beside her. Instantly, the ladies surged forward to congratulate her, with Lu Wenyin at the forefront, clutching Madam Wei’s wrist intimately, exchanging playful words, urging her to fully embrace the banquet’s significance—double blessings with the marquisate and the banquet’s reward for the troops.

“She really knows how to work the fire,” Lingbo muttered spitefully.

“Why don’t you congratulate her?” Shen Biwei, having quietly stepped back, asked knowingly.

Lingbo rolled her eyes but lowered her voice, “Don’t joke now. The princess values you; you should serve her well, or others will seize the opportunity.”

Her words were heavy with intent, but Shen Biwei was unafraid, teasing Yanyan nearby. Acu grew more anxious. She was Lingbo’s devoted follower and found all others unreliable. Qinglan was kind but too indifferent, lacking ambition; Yanyan was a scatterbrain; Han was too busy; even Lady Shen couldn’t fully support the Ye family’s schemes. Shen Biwei, high in rank and leisure, was frustratingly unambitious, even more so than Yanyan.

Though Shen Biwei was kind and often entertained Yanyan and Acu, she was inwardly anxious and had little time to play.

Meanwhile, the princess listened as the princess consorts discussed plans for the marquis’s banquet. Only the capital’s top noble ladies remained in attendance, with the less influential families having withdrawn. By right, Shen Biwei should have been among the foremost, as the princess had inquired specifically about her and Leshui. Yet she had also stepped back to play with Yanyan and Acu in the warm pavilion, vacating the princess’s presence to give Lu Wenyin room to bring forward Lu Wanyang.

Lu Wanyang appeared gentle and refined as she approached to pay respects, saying, “Wanyang greets Princess Minghua, wishing Your Highness health and longevity, and enduring good fortune.”

Prince Ping’s consort laughed, “Wanyang, how do you know the princess worships Buddha?”

Lu Wanyang smiled without reply, secretive. Acu understood she sought favor with the princess. Qinglan had taught that palace folk prized discretion; loose talk was dangerous. Revealing the time she met the princess at Baode Temple would be reckless and presumptuous.

Indeed, the princess nodded slightly and smiled, “Wanyang and I met once at Baode Temple.”

Prince Ping’s consort naturally pressed for details, asking when and why Lu Wanyang was there. Lu Wanyang explained she prayed for her mother’s blessing. Lu Wenyin added testimony of her filial piety, winning the ladies’ praise and creating a joyful atmosphere.

Acu realized why Lingbo had lamented Shen Biwei’s lack of ambition—if she had not stepped aside, Lu Wanyang would never have had this opportunity. Yet Shen Biwei had chosen to play with them instead, refusing to even bow before the princess.

In the warm pavilion, Acu reluctantly glanced back, feeling a great loss. Shen Biwei coaxed her, “Come on, both your sisters have left; come with me. Yanyan, do you still have the little horse I gave you? You can play here.”

Yanyan happily produced a few toys and offered them to Acu, who refused, sulking aside.

She was angry at herself for failing to help the Ye sisters and for having no words to say. Yanyan, ever cheerful, tried to cheer her, “Let’s go out and play?”

“For what? Didn’t second sister say the banquet is serious business? No running off,” Acu replied in Lingbo’s tone.

Yanyan smiled mischievously, “Second sister ran off herself. Come on, don’t be mad. I’ll take you to buy some food.”

She reached for Acu’s hand, but Acu jerked away.

“Who’s hungry? I’m not a toddler,” Acu scolded, frustrated. “I’m not Wei Leshui. Besides, you know her. Why don’t you talk to her now?”

“We don’t play with the Wei family anymore,” Yanyan said with righteous certainty.

Acu groaned in frustration.

“You’re silly,” she lectured. “We don’t play with the Wei family because they were rude to sister. We have to show our stance. But the Wei family is popular now, and Lu Wenyin has no ties with them but wants to get close. Our families used to be friends. Why not play?”

“But you chased Wei Yushan away,” Yanyan retorted quickly.

“You don’t understand. I have a plan,” Acu urged. “If you’re sensible, go play with Wei Leshui. At least get familiar with the princess. It’s good.”

“I won’t,” Yanyan was stubborn.

Acu frowned deeply, glaring at her.

“Your sisters treat you well for nothing,” she scolded. “You only think of fun and food, never about us…”

Before she finished, applause sounded behind her. Turning, she saw Shen Biwei watching her with an amused, half-smile.

“Wow, quite fierce. Truly Lingbo’s disciple.”

Acu was a child at heart; her quarrel with Yanyan stemmed from childish jealousy over their elders’ efforts. Seeing Shen Biwei, her elder sister, catch her made it different. Acu turned her head and said nothing.

Shen Biwei smiled at her expression.

“Why, mad at me too?”

Acu lifted her head, cold and defiant like Lingbo, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not?” Shen Biwei sat down, teasing her.

Lingbo had worked hard for the privileges now granted—her own private warm pavilion, no need to be told. Acu and Yanyan could not gain such access before the princess. Acu had noble lineage, fate’s favor, and beauty—all present. Yet she lounged lazily, unambitious, playing with children.

Acu’s heart burned with frustration, so she dared to look at Shen Biwei and said, “The princess knows sister Shen. She’s here with us, which is a waste. I wouldn’t dare be angry with sister Shen.”

Shen Biwei laughed immediately.

She was clever, fully aware of Acu’s meaning, and recognized the tone was just like Lingbo’s. She had heard such words countless times.

“So, by your logic, I should be at the princess’s side to avoid being wasted?”

Shen Biwei smiled, not offended, and said, “I understand.”

Then she looked at Yanyan, “You two play here. Don’t wander off. If anything happens, send for me.”

As she left, Acu hurried after her, glancing back to see Yanyan smiling knowingly, as if understanding her plan. Suddenly shy, Acu explained, “You don’t know. I’m going to see how sister Shen does before the princess, to see if she needs my help…”

Halfway through, she realized how absurd it was: Yanyan was a child who wouldn’t understand. So she switched to an adult tone, instructing Yanyan, “You stay here and behave. Don’t run off. I’ll come back for you soon. Got it?”

Having said this, she hurried after Shen Biwei, afraid to be left behind.