In an instant, her thoughts were pulled back to that lively night banquet.
Only on nights like the Mid-Autumn Festival, Winter Solstice, and Lantern Festival did night banquets provide opportunities for civil and military officials, imperial princes and princesses to gather together regardless of rank. That night, lanterns and decorations adorned everywhere. The clamor and laughter of arrow-throwing games, finger-guessing drinking games, and toasts were endless. Soup from a plate of fire-roasted lamb spilled on her skirt, and Qun Qing left her seat amid the chaos.
On both sides were people moving about toasting and watching singing and dancing. Qun Qing walked sideways when an arrow shaft from the throwing game shot past her nose. Qun Qing dodged backward and accidentally fell against a table, pushing it back a full foot with such force that soup splashed across the tabletop.
She should have struck the table corner, but a hand wrapped around that sharp corner in that instant, and she pressed down heavily on that person’s hand. Qun Qing turned her head to see a gentleman in white robes naturally withdraw his hand, flexing his fingers as he examined the red mark on the back of his hand.
This person’s finger joints were distinct and extremely beautiful, as were his features. The flickering lamplight illuminated his face, casting a nearly perverse glassy color.
Da Chen implemented a system of official dress colors to distinguish rank—only commoners and newly successful examination candidates wore black and white. She’d never seen this person before, yet his robes concealed hidden luxury. He was probably this year’s successful candidate.
As Qun Qing looked at him, he keenly raised his lashes and met her gaze. His pupils were intensely black, his features handsome, inspiring an impulse to shatter delicate objects, but then a smile slowly spread through those eyes like spring thaw on river ice.
Qun Qing thanked him. Since childhood, whenever she saw brilliant things, she had the instinct to avoid them. She casually righted the table when another stray arrow grazed past her temple toward that gentleman. Qun Qing grabbed it by his sleeve and threw it back into the pot.
The arrow-thrower was a friend of Princess Danyang—rather frivolous and dissolute. Seeing her throw it back with temper, he actually clapped and laughed, praising her excellent aim.
Amid the commotion and wine-fueled atmosphere, the soft touch of silk lingered on Qun Qing’s fingertips.
She was anxious to escape, but a man in cloth robes blocked her, his bearing upright, his expression stern: “What happened? You just sat on my table?”
The seated gentleman in white said: “It was an accident. Why say it so unpleasantly?”
The man in cloth robes glanced at the soup on the table and grew agitated: “A sixth-rank inner official who treats people as invisible is one thing, but I haven’t had a sip of this fish soup, and you’ve spilled it on my stool. Don’t you know to wipe it for me?”
The gentleman in white had already carelessly lifted the stool. As soup dripped down, he smiled: “What’s the dog barking about? Aren’t I wiping it?”
“I wasn’t talking to you!” This person glared coldly at Qun Qing.
Qun Qing didn’t recognize him, but seeing him dressed in cloth robes at the banquet, guessed he might be Lu Huating. Fearing he’d detect something amiss, she immediately took out her silk handkerchief to wipe the stool, settled him back down, then held up a cup to pour wine and respectfully offered Chief Administrator Lu a drink.
The surroundings were noisy. She didn’t know if Chief Administrator Lu heard her toast clearly, because he furrowed his brow with an expression suggesting he wanted to slam the table and erupt. The gentleman in white beside him moved swiftly to press down his wrist, stopping him.
The gentleman in white smiled faintly, his gaze sweeping over the stain on Qun Qing’s dress before pointing over his shoulder: “Need to change clothes? Go quickly. The east gate is locked, but the west gate is open—exit that way.”
Qun Qing felt grateful toward him, performed a courtesy and hurriedly departed. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him returning the courtesy.
She’d already walked away when that person called out lightly from behind: “Young lady—”
Qun Qing turned back. He spread his five fingers and casually grabbed a lantern sitting at the table corner like catching a ball, tossing it into her arms: “The snow is heavy and the sky dark outside. Take this lamp back with you.”
That night, heavy snow fell. The palace paths accumulated snow thick as a quilt.
Qun Qing walked through the snow with uneven steps when she suddenly discovered that the lantern the gentleman in white had given her was modified.
The lamp’s candle hung suspended at the center. No matter how its direction was turned, the candle inside stood steadily upright. The flame was large and stable, undisturbed by wind and snow, illuminating the path ahead and falling snow with exceptional brightness.
She carried the lantern all the way to her quarters, placing it on her cabinet. The screen clearly reflected her slow movements as she changed clothes.
Living next to her was an eighth-rank Mistress of Ceremonies. Seeing she couldn’t hold her wine, the woman urged her to rest. Qun Qing said: “I’ll lie down awhile before returning. Come wake me after half an hour.”
The Mistress of Ceremonies settled her in and helped close the door.
Once she left, Qun Qing climbed up, silently wrapped her hair, changed into a maid’s palace dress, climbed out the window, and took the fastest route through the palace city’s hidden passages back to the side hall beside Hanyuan Hall.
Inside the side hall, the lively night banquet continued. The eastern side hall kept ordinary clothes and maids available for intoxicated nobility to temporarily change clothes and sober up.
Earlier at the banquet, Qun Qing had seen Minister Wei unconscious with drink, supported by two people to the side hall. The moment his front foot left, her back foot departed on pretext, following him like a shadow.
Minister Wei had once been Chu State’s Palace Attendant. When the state fell, he’d led the officials in martyrdom. She didn’t know how Lu Huating had persuaded him—or perhaps this Wei Feng was fundamentally a great traitor disguised as loyal. Seeing Chu State’s situation hopeless, he actually surrendered to Prince Yan carrying military secrets from various palaces. Within a single year, he was appointed Minister.
Such a person made Crown Prince Zhao grind his teeth in hatred. The assassination mission for Nan Chu fell into Qun Qing’s hands.
Minister Wei lay face-up in a chair, snoring loudly. When Qun Qing prepared to approach, she discovered two false palace maids in the corner simultaneously making their move. She suddenly felt something was wrong.
That time, she fell into an ambush.
The “Minister Wei” sobering up in that rattan chair was impersonated by one of Prince Yan’s guards skilled at disguise. He leaped up, using a dagger to take the lives of those false palace maids. Outside, dozens more sworn guards rushed in carrying weapons, surrounding the side hall like an iron barrel.
The barbed blade—the tearing pain of flesh being ripped out almost split a person in two. Qun Qing first crashed against the wall, then fell among corpses, hands and feet soaking in cold sweat. Hot blood gushed out like a fountain, and with it flowed the warmth from her body.
Fortunately, when entering she’d placed a medicated ring on the lamp post. To prevent assassins from escaping, the sworn guards had sealed the doors tight. When the floor lamps burned to that spot, the firelight flickered and the room filled with smoke, rendering some people unconscious. Qun Qing crawled along the ground, chewed prepared ginseng slices for a bit of strength, wrapped cloth around herself several times and pressed hard against the wound, then slowly backed through corpses into the secret passage beneath the side hall’s floor.
As a child playing games, Mother had taught her bandaging and stopping bleeding, even specially dividing flour into small packets pretending to be medicine powder. With no one willing to be her patient, she’d wrap bands around her own belly. She’d played this game a thousand times, so at the critical moment she completed it in one smooth motion. Somehow, Mother had saved her once.
Returning to her quarters, Qun Qing let down her hair and wiped blood from her hair and hands when she suddenly saw the lantern the gentleman in white had given her, fallen on the table, forgotten and still unextinguished, warm and bright.
She gently righted it and pulled it closer, letting that warm light illuminate herself as she undid her clothes, gritting her teeth to rewrap the wound.
The half-hour had passed. The Mistress of Ceremonies pushed the door to call her, seeing Qun Qing already risen, standing behind the screen grooming herself. She wrinkled her nose and asked in surprise: “How does Siji’s new clothes also have such heavy wine smell?”
“Just now I momentarily forgot and folded the new clothes on top of the old ones,” Qun Qing answered.
“You’re this drunk—why not just stay? It’s snowing outside, so cold! Besides, something major seems to have happened at Hanyuan Hall. The banquet can’t continue anyway.”
Qun Qing applied lip rouge over her bloodless lips and turned her face. She rarely used such vivid colors—snow-white skin and vermillion lips looked almost eerily unnatural at night, leaving the Mistress of Ceremonies somewhat dazed. Qun Qing smiled slightly at her, her expression different from usual: “I’ll just return a lantern and come back.”
When Qun Qing returned to the banquet, that table was already empty, lamps extinguished, only leftover food remaining on the table.
Qun Qing returned the lantern to the lamp-tending palace maid, having wiped all blood traces from top to bottom: “Please return this lamp to Chief Administrator Lu and that other gentleman who shared his table.”
“That other gentleman at the table…” the palace maid said. “Oh, that was Xiao Er’lang.”
Qun Qing memorized Xiao Er’lang’s name and asked if the two would return.
The palace maid: “Lord Xiao returned to duty. But Chief Administrator Lu might not. He was in very good spirits today, saying he’d set a trap to catch assassins.”
The wound in Qun Qing’s abdomen still seeped blood. Every step brought piercing pain. That she could stand here calmly relied entirely on willpower. She raised her eyes slightly: “Did they catch them?”