Chapter Twelve: A Grand Performance

On her sixth year in the Kingdom of Liyue, Weishao Qianyu found the New Year festivities particularly lively, echoing the childhood poem she had once learned: "With the crackle of firecrackers, the old year departs; the spring breeze brings warmth to the spiced wine. As the sun rises upon a thousand households, new peachwood charms replace the old."

Weishao Qianyu felt nostalgic for the days when she had chosen spring couplets with her father, cut paper window decorations, hung lanterns, and set off firecrackers.

The palace banquet was set for midday, and early in the morning, Qingxia had her up to be dressed and styled. In previous years, before her marriage, Weishao Qianyu had been carefree about such things, but now, as the Princess Consort of the Prince of War, her appearance at grand occasions had to reflect her status—dignified and elegant.

Thus, she could only let Dongnuan feed her breakfast while Qingxia did her hair and helped her prepare.

Feng Jinye stood outside the Prince of War’s mansion, his figure emanating a faint aura of aloofness as he waited in the backlight. After a while, he saw Weishao Qianyu approach, her black hair styled in an elegant chignon, draped in a pear-blossom embroidered, soft fur brocade cloak, and holding another, darker cloak in her arms.

“This is for you,” she said with a gentle smile, handing Feng Jinye a matching black cloak embroidered with pear blossoms. “It’ll keep out the snow.”

Feng Jinye paused for a moment, then took the cloak and offered her his hand to help her into the carriage.

Inside the narrow space, Feng Jinye felt a bit ill at ease and asked, “What are your plans for today?”

“That depends on Luo Yanqing. She’s clever; I didn’t tell her what to do, just let her improvise.” Weishao Qianyu glanced at the cloak Feng Jinye had set aside, feeling a twinge of displeasure.

Noticing her gaze, Feng Jinye couldn’t bear to see her disappointed, so he said, “There’s no snow inside the carriage.”

Startled, Weishao Qianyu realized she had just said the cloak would be useful against snow. Yet Feng Jinye’s words indicated he would wear it as soon as they stepped out.

Outside the palace, they encountered Yun Ming, heir of the Marquis of Xibo.

Yun Ming, the same age as Feng Jinye, was a gentle and refined gentleman. Feng Jinye preferred dark colors; Yun Ming, white. Weishao Qianyu once told Feng Jinye that had she met Yun Ming at Mingke Residence that day, she might have fallen for him, for Yun Ming truly possessed an otherworldly grace.

He was the embodiment of that classic line: “Upon the road, he stands as jade; among gentlemen, none is his equal.”

Yun Ming gazed at Weishao Qianyu, waves of emotion surging within him, scarcely believing his eyes.

She, however, was serene, offering a soft smile. Seeing the hand warmer in his grasp, she asked Qingxia for a small warming pouch and handed it to Yun Ming, saying, “Here, this will keep you warm all day.”

Yun Ming’s hand trembled as he accepted it—it really was her!

The first time he’d met Weishao Qianyu had also been in winter, with those same words: “It’ll keep you warm all day.” Back then, Yun Ming had hesitated to take the pouch, but Weishao Qianyu, nestled in Feng Jinye’s arms, had laughed, “I have him!”

It might warm him for a day, but for Yun Ming, that warmth lasted much longer.

He had suspected she wasn’t dead, but never imagined she would end up married to Feng Jinye after all.

Yun Ming focused on the pair before him—one in ink-black, the other in moon-white, both cloaked in pear-blossom embroidery—a pair worthy of envy.

Feng Jinye guessed that Yun Ming and Weishao Qianyu knew each other, but was surprised when Yun Ming recognized her at a glance. “Headed to the palace?”

“Yes. I’ll go in with the ladies; see you at the banquet!” Weishao Qianyu smiled in farewell, turning away. Today, on this special occasion, every step and gesture exuded elegance and poise.

Yun Ming watched her disappear into the distance before regaining his composure, murmuring with a faint smile, “She still married into the Prince of War’s family.”

Feng Jinye withdrew his gaze as well, his brows knitted slightly. “I thought you’d spend the New Year at Yunyang Mountain?”

“For some reason, my father insisted I attend the palace banquet,” Yun Ming replied, clutching the warm pouch, a subtle smile playing on his lips as it warmed his hands.

Feng Jinye suspected something was bound to happen today—perhaps it would involve Yun Ming?

Changle Palace, the residence of Noble Consort Liu, was also the place where the noblewomen were received. With no Empress enthroned, the Empress Dowager held the highest status in the inner palace. Yet, with the Emperor gravely ill and the Empress Dowager presiding over state affairs, she would not be in the harem but would instead stand in for the Emperor at Changming Palace.

Today, both Changle and Changming Palaces were ablaze with color and joy—pairs of red lanterns hung high, palace eaves adorned with fluttering banners or red paper cuttings, everywhere alive with celebratory cheer.

Yet the palace inhabitants themselves were cold and distant.

Weishao Qianyu entered Changle Palace without an attendant to show her to her seat, so she went to the left seat below the main place on her own, directly across from her aunt, Lady Lu.

Lady Lu looked a little uncomfortable, and just then, the Marchioness of Dingyuan arrived with Luo Yanqing. At the sight of Weishao Qianyu, several faces changed. The maid beside Luo Yanqing hurried over, asking sharply, “Who are you?”

Weishao Qianyu didn’t respond, wondering if this was part of Luo Yanqing’s plan.

Seeing her dressed plainly and silent, the maid picked up a cup of tea from the table and flung it in Weishao Qianyu’s face.

Weishao Qianyu thought to herself: That’s certainly straightforward, and there aren’t even many people here yet.

She had conspired with Luo Yanqing on the eighth day of the twelfth month for her to use some small trick to pull off her veil during the palace banquet, never expecting it to be so crude. Yet she endured it, thinking: I brought my face here to be slapped.

But as soon as she was doused in tea, the maid pressed on, pointing and berating, “What right do you have to sit in this place? This is for my mistress and young lady!”

Lady Lu rose sharply and came over. Weishao Qianyu was of the Lu family, after all; she had to protect her. “She is—”

Before she could finish, the maid’s hand landed hard across Weishao Qianyu’s face...

The room fell silent. Lady Lu’s eyes widened, unable to believe Weishao Qianyu had been treated so.

Fury flared in Lady Lu’s heart; this slap was not just for Weishao Qianyu—it disgraced the Lu Marquisate and the Prince of War’s household as well.

“When did a mere servant gain the right to speak in Changle Palace?” Lady Lu rebuked, her voice fierce. “Even if she were not the Princess Consort, no servant could lay a hand on a marquis’s legitimate daughter!”

As her words fell, there was a sharp smack as her hand struck the maid’s face.

Weishao Qianyu was surprised—she hadn’t expected Lady Lu to defend her so fiercely.

A trace of warmth kindled in her heart.

Maintaining her composure and dignity, Weishao Qianyu beckoned Dongnuan and said quietly, “Strike back.”

The maid assumed Lady Lu’s slap had settled the matter and was unprepared when Weishao Qianyu ordered another. She braced herself, expecting a single blow.

But as Dongnuan began, the slaps came one after another, relentless. The women arriving later had no idea what had happened until Luo Yanqing spoke up, “Is the Princess Consort’s face injured? Should we summon the imperial physician?”

With that, all the noblewomen had assembled. Luo Yanqing’s mention of “Princess Consort” revealed Weishao Qianyu’s identity, and not a word was spoken—her status commanded respect from all present.

“Dongnuan,” Weishao Qianyu called, and only then did Dongnuan stop. Weishao Qianyu parted her lips and continued, “Go to Changming Palace and request Physician Leng.”

Luo Yanqing, supporting the Marchioness of Dingyuan, was about to take the seat below Weishao Qianyu, but Lady Lu sat down first, leaving Luo Yanqing and her mother awkwardly standing.

Lady Lu was not at fault: in previous years, the noblewomen sat according to rank, with the Marchioness of Dingyuan on the left below the main seat and Lady Lu on the right. Now, as Princess Consort, Weishao Qianyu naturally took the seat of honor, and Lady Lu sat directly below her.

On the eighth of the twelfth month, Weishao Qianyu and Luo Yanqing had planned for her ruined appearance to provoke someone into exposing the Prince of War’s household to ridicule at the banquet, with Luo Yanqing using a little trick to unveil her face among the ladies. But Luo Yanqing’s indulgence of her maid went beyond what they had agreed; still, Weishao Qianyu had no complaint—after all, she had brought her face to be slapped.

Luo Yanqing’s suggestion to summon the imperial physician served as a timely reminder; this was all part of their plan.

Weishao Qianyu had taken this affront, but there would not be a second time. She would not always be seen as a gentle soul to be bullied!

Dongnuan went to Changming Palace, explained the situation, and soon returned with Physician Leng.

As soon as Dongnuan left, the temperature in Changming Palace seemed to drop. Some even glanced at the door, wondering if a blizzard had struck. Feng Jinye’s expression was darker than the coming of a storm, and with a sweep of his hand, he smashed a teacup before the Marquis of Dingyuan.

The Marquis’s face went ashen, but he dared not utter a word.

When Physician Leng arrived at Changle Palace, Weishao Qianyu had already changed her clothes. In full view, she removed her veil for Physician Leng’s examination.

She cared little for others’ opinions of her—her only concern was Feng Jinye.

Near noon, Noble Consort Liu finally appeared and led the noblewomen to Changming Palace for the banquet.

The incident with Feng Jinye’s smashed cup was quickly forgotten, and the atmosphere soon grew harmonious again.

At the banquet, ministers and generals toasted one another, the scene filled with camaraderie. Weishao Qianyu found herself growing drowsy.

But after several rounds of toasts, something most unusual occurred—Weishao Qianyu was instantly alert.

Prince Huanfu Xi, heir to the Marquis of Qinbo, knelt and begged the Empress Dowager to dissolve his engagement to Luo Yanqing.

Just a few days prior, Weishao Qianyu had seen clearly that Huanfu Xi was deeply in love with Luo Yanqing—yet here he was, publicly seeking to break off the engagement. Luo Yanqing was clearly not to be underestimated!

To request a dissolution at New Year’s was an ominous move, and everyone present wondered what could prompt the heir to the Marquis of Qinbo to act so.

Weishao Qianyu was curious how the Empress Dowager would respond, and she glanced at the seat of honor. The Empress Dowager, resplendent in red and gold, her hair adorned with dozens of golden hairpins, looked every inch the picture of majesty—her silence only intensified her commanding presence.