Chapter Eleven: Making an Appearance

In Yue Capital, snow often fell in winter, flakes as delicate as plum blossoms, plum blossoms as pale as snow. During the season for seeking plum blossoms, one still resented even the briefest of partings.

Weishao Qingyu did not truly love plum blossoms. They were too cold, proud in their defiance of winter, and she disliked the chill and loneliness—yet, in the end, she too was cold and solitary.

With the matter of Lu Yanran concluded, Weishao Qingyu returned once more to the Prince of War’s Manor, ready at last to begin her life as his princess. A significant event loomed ahead: the approaching New Year’s Eve palace banquet.

It was now the sixth day of the twelfth lunar month, and in twenty-three days, the New Year would arrive. This would be Weishao Qingyu’s first time attending a palace banquet as the Princess of War. She intended to make a proper appearance at the banquet, then, after the New Year, heal the scars upon her face.

It would be best to appear only in the women’s quarters, for otherwise she would have to face Feng Jinye directly, and it would not only embarrass him but also the Prince of War’s household.

She had already prepared herself for the possibility of being recognized. If she had been exposed before marrying into the manor, perhaps the marriage would have been ruined; but now, it no longer mattered. Even so, letting others know she was Weishao Qingyu would not help her plans. Reluctantly, she resolved to consult Feng Jinye.

Since childhood, Weishao Qingyu had always worn a veil, only revealing her eyes after her “replacement.” Few had seen her true face; the only noble lady she remembered meeting was Luo Yanqing.

Luo Yanqing was the woman rescued from the great fire at Shuiyue Pavilion by Weishao Zhantian, Weishao Qingyu’s father.

The atmosphere in the Prince of War’s Manor had softened over the past two days. When Weishao Qingyu arrived at Tingfeng Pavilion, Feng Jinye was sipping tea and reading a military treatise. A slender silhouette caught his eye.

Feng Jinye looked up to see Weishao Qingyu clad in a moon-white silk gown, trailing to the floor, unadorned by any pattern. Her dark hair was casually gathered into a cloud-like bun, held in place by a plum blossom hairpin of agate and jade, set at an elegant angle.

He was momentarily entranced.

Weishao Qingyu rarely dressed so carefully. Today, it was Qingxia who had insisted—reminding her that she was now the Princess of War, that her relationship with the prince had improved, and she could no longer behave as carelessly as before.

Self-conscious under Feng Jinye’s gaze, Weishao Qingyu cleared her throat and said, “I have something to discuss with you.”

Feng Jinye shifted his eyes away, set down his book, and smiled lightly, “I could hear your footsteps from a distance. There’s no need for the feigned cough.”

Weishao Qingyu thought, So you knew I was here, yet still pretended not to, and even called out my little ruse!

She sat down and poured herself a cup of hot tea, sipping the Lushan Mist brew. “I’ve been thinking about the New Year’s Eve banquet.”

In Liyue, the current sovereign was Feng Jinye’s brother, Huangfu Chen. The second prince, younger than Feng Jinye by two years, had been sent back to the capital, but was gravely ill and heirless. The Empress Dowager now held the reins of power, and the matter of succession remained a mystery.

The Empress Dowager, Yun Tianyou, was the eldest legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Xibo’s house, and the aunt of Yun Ming, the marquis’s heir.

Because the emperor was too ill to be seen, Feng Jinye was spared the traditional entry into the palace to offer thanks after his marriage. Thus, the banquet would be Weishao Qingyu’s first time entering the imperial palace.

“You’re worried about your identity being exposed?” Feng Jinye wasn’t concerned; if he wished to protect her, none could harm her.

Weishao Qingyu, feeling chilled, poured another cup of tea and drank it down. “Not exactly, but I don’t believe revealing myself would help with our plans. I’d rather make a brief appearance among the ladies and let the past remain hidden.”

“A public appearance?” Feng Jinye was astonished. For a woman to show her marred face was indeed difficult, and he hadn’t expected Weishao Qingyu to be so bold.

His reaction betrayed the fact that he had seen the scars on her face.

Weishao Qingyu sighed. She had suspected he might have seen them, but confirmation still stung.

“I have the antidote now. After the New Year, I’ll be cured.” Today, she wore only thin garments, and soon after sitting, the cold seeped in; she couldn’t help but rub her hands together.

Feng Jinye frowned, poured another cup of hot tea, and pressed it into her hands. “Why are you dressed so lightly today?”

“Qingxia insisted. She said if I dressed lightly, you would feel sorry for me.” Weishao Qingyu repeated Qingxia’s words bluntly. Feng Jinye wanted to sneer, but he had just handed her hot tea…

He nodded awkwardly, then fetched a cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “What’s your plan for the banquet? Do you need my help?”

“I doubt I can manage alone. Take me to see Luo Yanqing.” Weishao Qingyu wanted Luo Yanqing’s assistance, and perhaps could also learn about the day her father died.

Feng Jinye saw through her at once. “You want to approach Luo Yanqing to investigate your father’s death?”

Luo Yanqing was the second legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan, and the fiancée of Huangfu Xi. Given the ties between Feng Jinye and the Huangfu family, arranging a meeting would not be difficult.

Luo Yanqing was a year older than Weishao Qingyu—already nineteen but still unmarried. Rumors in Yue Capital claimed she was destined for the throne, and that her family was waiting for the right moment to break off the engagement with the Huangfu family and send her into the palace. Yet the wait had only made her an old maid.

Knowing she couldn’t hide anything from Feng Jinye, Weishao Qingyu nodded and added, “There’s news from Dongyue Pavilion: every year on the Laba Festival, Luo Yanqing prays at Qingfeng Temple in the east of the city, then distributes Laba porridge to the poor nearby.”

She couldn’t help but marvel—Luo Yanqing’s family was truly aiming for the empress’s seat. Did the Marquis of Dingyuan not realize the emperor was gravely ill, yet chose to sacrifice his daughter’s entire life?

“So you want me to go to Ah Xi and arrange a meeting between you and Luo Yanqing?” Feng Jinye understood immediately.

“Yes.” Weishao Qingyu nodded, eyes shining with anticipation.

Feng Jinye gave a resigned nod. Weishao Qingyu smiled. “Thank you. To show my gratitude, I’ll cook Laba porridge for you on the festival.”

Feng Jinye nodded, somewhat dazed. She would cook for him—he was genuinely pleased!

Two days later, on the eighth day of the twelfth month, Feng Jinye tasted her Laba porridge. Words failed him; the rice was cooked but not soft, and some beans were mushy while others were hard as stone.

He wanted to ask—how had she made it like this?

But when Weishao Qingyu, resting her chin in her hands, her eyes shining as she asked if it tasted good, Feng Jinye could not utter a single complaint and only replied, “It’s not bad.”

Weishao Qingyu grinned. “I only made a little that was edible. I’ll eat Qingxia’s porridge instead!”

Feng Jinye was left speechless, yet looking at the half-bowl of porridge remaining, he still wanted to eat it.

After breakfast, they set out together. Feng Jinye had learned that Huangfu Xi always visited Luo Yanqing on this day, so he only needed to bring Weishao Qingyu along.

Qingfeng Temple bustled with people; many commoners came to pray and receive porridge.

From afar, Weishao Qingyu saw a young woman, lightly made up, dressed in a crescent-feather silk skirt, a peach-blossom hairpin in her bun, dark hair cascading down her back—earnestly ladling porridge.

Watching Luo Yanqing, Weishao Qingyu asked Feng Jinye, “Her porridge looks tastier. Do you want a bowl?”

Feng Jinye ignored her, though in truth, after having her Laba porridge, he was in quite a good mood.

Huangfu Xi led Feng Jinye and Weishao Qingyu to meet Luo Yanqing. Luo Yanqing studied Weishao Qingyu for a long time, but Weishao Qingyu met her gaze calmly. Afterward, they distributed porridge together; only when the task was done did Weishao Qingyu state her purpose.

All went smoothly, and Weishao Qingyu was relieved.

On the carriage ride back to the manor, Weishao Qingyu suddenly asked, “Do you think Huangfu Xi will ever marry Luo Yanqing?”

“What do other people’s affairs have to do with me?” Feng Jinye showed not the slightest interest in her sudden question.

“You’re terrible at conversation!” Weishao Qingyu pretended to be annoyed.

Feng Jinye paused, then answered, “He won’t.”

“Yes, I think it’s unlikely too. Still, Huangfu Xi goes to see her—he’s quite devoted.” Weishao Qingyu sighed: “How easily people’s hearts change. I wonder what Luo Yanqing thinks.”

Feng Jinye said, “They say you, Luo Yanqing, and the former Lu Huiyan were the three most distinguished noble daughters in Yue Capital—talent and beauty combined.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Weishao Qingyu replied.

“I found out during my inquiries. At last year’s poetry gathering, Luo Yanqing was hailed as the city’s most talented woman, but she claimed she was no match for you in either talent or beauty.” As he spoke, Feng Jinye studied Weishao Qingyu. Even veiled, Luo Yanqing could not compare!

Beauty—certainly not. But as for talent, he could not judge.

“Ah! Perhaps she thought I was dead, so she flattered me—after all, the dead won’t compete with her for the title!” Weishao Qingyu spoke carelessly, fearing nothing.

“Don’t speak nonsense!” Feng Jinye rebuked her.

Weishao Qingyu feigned a wounded look, glancing at him—she had discovered this tactic was remarkably effective!

Feng Jinye averted his gaze and asked, “When you were thirteen, didn’t you become famous at the poetry gathering?”

“Heh, all the poems I recited were borrowed from others.” Weishao Qingyu replied indifferently, “Do I look like a talented woman to you?”

She reflected that she had been too foolish before, never understanding why her father insisted she always wear a veil, or why he kept such a low profile.

She had arrived in this world at the poetry gathering, was mocked, and responded with a poem by Nalan Xingde, which had won her instant renown.

As for Luo Yanqing, Weishao Qingyu could not read her, but she could see clearly that Luo Yanqing did not love Huangfu Xi. If so, perhaps it was fortunate if he did not marry her.

“Did you manage to learn anything about Huangfu Chen?” Weishao Qingyu’s thoughts turned from Huangfu Xi to Huangfu Chen.

Feng Jinye paused. As expected, he was the one she cared for most. He nodded. “No news from Ah Xi, either.”

“That scoundrel Huangfu Chen! Where has he gone, to stay away for a whole year?” Weishao Qingyu ground her teeth.

Feng Jinye said nothing.

Weishao Qingyu suddenly mused, “Why is Huangfu Xi the heir of the Marquis of Qinbo, and not Huangfu Chen?”

Feng Jinye guessed that for Huangfu Chen to impersonate him, it would be inconvenient if he also held the heir’s title.

He felt a twinge more guilt toward Huangfu Chen.

“I think it’s fair. Huangfu Chen was only born a little before Huangfu Xi. If everything went to him just for that, it wouldn’t be right to Huangfu Xi,” Weishao Qingyu remarked casually.

The Huangfu brothers were twins!

Feng Jinye didn’t want to discuss Huangfu Chen further, but still offered, “Huangfu Xi is scholarly, Huangfu Chen martial. Truly, Huangfu Xi is more suited to be heir, and Huangfu Chen to the battlefield.”

This view was shaped by the many military merits Huangfu Chen had won under his name over the years.

Weishao Qingyu disagreed. “I don’t think so. He’s more suited to marriage and raising children, staying home with his wife and kids!”

Feng Qingxuan was already twenty-two—a true old maid in these times!