In the capital’s sunny March, Liaodong’s spring had yet to arrive.
A winter’s worth of accumulated snow had not completely melted. On the roads, poorly dressed people stepped on broken ice with soft, shuffling sounds. Occasionally kicking against hard objects protruding from wall corners, they knew these were frozen corpses, but no one bothered to look—just muttering “unlucky” before hurrying away. At street corners, pointed snow piles had frozen solid as boards, gleaming with cold light under the moonlight. Only at their peaks did faint warm red hues flow—reflections from the gauze curtains of the Yunlai Restaurant ahead.
Separated by one street: on the left side, snowy streets and cold roads with huddled pedestrians; on the right side, vermillion gates and embroidered doors with flickering candlelight.
In Yunlai Restaurant’s largest and most expensive private room, lights twinkled brilliantly. Expensive South Sea shell lamps purchased with gold illuminated deep-sea luminous pearls, casting soft, bright light without any smoky atmosphere. This further enhanced the room full of beauties, each with powdered faces and snowy bosoms, eyes rippling like spring water.
The room was filled with beautiful women—some performing graceful celestial dances, others singing clear, sweet melodies like orioles. Some had even learned the seductive arts of South Sea dancing girls, their gauze falling away as they spun and gestured, revealing snow-white skin glowing like jade, using every trick at their disposal.
But the gazes of the gentlemen in the seats of honor were still focused on the woman in the center holding a pipa and playing languidly.
This woman was the most detached person in the entire room, appearing absent-minded, with her face slightly lowered. Only occasionally would her long fingers pluck the strings, and when her clear, crystalline gaze glanced from the edge of her semi-transparent face veil, the eyes of all the gentlemen present would stick fast, unable to look away.
When the song ended, more than half of the silk flowers thrown by the applauding gentlemen landed in her skirts.
The silk flowers were decorated with gold thread—valuable items. Ordinary singing girls would beam with joy to receive even one, but though her skirts were full to bursting with them, she didn’t spare them a glance. She only frowned slightly and brushed them away, willow eyebrows lightly knitted, cherry lips barely parted.
Everyone listened intently as she said: “Too heavy.”
Everyone immediately expressed regret, all saying they had been too presumptuous with the beauty. The host quickly ordered maidservants to bring wicker baskets to help collect them all. Only then did the beauty smile, and the entire room was instantly enchanted.
The singing girls ceased their songs and dances and retreated, inevitably casting envious and jealous glances at her, though their hearts held little resentment.
Some people are born enchantresses—every frown and smile radiates charm. Even if they sat there picking their feet, they could pick out a field of lotus flowers.
This new courtesan from Liuxiang House was such a person—an absolute beauty blessed by heaven and earth’s spiritual essence. Even if she knew nothing, simply sitting there made her a masterpiece painted by a national artist. Young Master Sun, the leading playboy among Liaodong’s frivolous youth, had once spent a fortune just to catch one glimpse of her.
Truly just one glance—the beauty appeared at the tower’s head with cloud-like hair, while the young rake offered a thousand gold coins below.
Afterward, Young Master Sun declared it worth it!
Now everyone at the banquet revolved around her. She showed neither arrogance nor false aloofness, simply sitting there lazily, her long fingers picking favorite fruits from the plate to eat. People rushed to peel various rare fruits to offer her, but she paid no attention. Yet those people didn’t feel snubbed—they felt that simply gazing at a beauty in the lamplight made life worthwhile.
Tonight’s banquet celebrated a changing of commanders among Prince Da’an’s eighteen guard units. Meng Decheng, who belonged to the eldest prince’s faction, had maneuvered extensively and successfully obtained command of Yanshan Guard—the strongest in military power and finest in horses and equipment. He had ousted Liu Bao, the original Yanshan Guard commander from the most favored second prince’s faction. Hence this victory celebration.
Prince Da’an had never requested the court to designate an heir apparent, so the princely position remained like fat meat, tempting a whole pack of adult sons to tear at each other like venomous insects. The eldest prince, already thirty-five, was growing increasingly impatient, fighting especially fiercely with his second brother. Having finally won this round, he wanted all of Ru Province to know he could urinate higher than anyone else.
The banquet had begun, but the eldest prince was still in the palace fawning over his father. He sent word not to wait for him. With the guest of honor absent, everyone relaxed. Meng Decheng quickly became drunk and staggered up, wanting to relieve himself.
His attendant followed. When Meng Decheng passed the beauty’s table, he suddenly stumbled, looked down and saw a section of her skirt trailing across the carpet, with hands white as snow resting on the hem. His heart stirred, and he bent down to pinch those scallion-like fingertips, laughing: “Miss Feiyu, would you like to go outside with this general for some fresh air?”
The languid beauty raised her eyes, and all the lights in the room seemed to dim under her gaze. She smiled: “Very well.”
She gently placed her hand in Meng Decheng’s palm. He pulled smoothly, and the beauty leaned into his embrace.
Everyone smiled with envy, though their laughter was somewhat strange—when the beauty stood up, they realized she was unusually tall. Short, fat Meng Decheng claiming to embrace her looked more like being tucked under her arm, creating an indescribably comical sight.
Someone’s heart stirred, but looking again at the woman—she was full of allure with natural seductiveness, a woman among women, an enchantress among enchantresses—he couldn’t help but laugh at his own ridiculous thoughts.
Meng Decheng waved his hand backward, and his attendant tactfully withdrew further. The two staggered toward the back.
Leaving the main hall and turning through the corridor, the privy provided for honored guests was quite elaborate—a sizeable building with carved window panels in a row, containing several private stalls, each with individual curtains.
Meng Decheng entered behind a curtain. Miss Feiyu giggled and stopped outside. Suddenly Meng Decheng pulled back the curtain and reached out—Miss Feiyu cried out coquettishly and was pulled inside.
The attendant who had followed to the privy silently withdrew.
Meng Decheng leaned against the chamber pot, one arm around the beauty, the other hand unfastening his trousers, laughing drunkenly: “Baby, I hear you’re still a pure courtesan who only sells her art, not her body. So you’ve never seen this treasure, have you? Today I’ll give you some education.”
The beauty covered her mouth and laughed: “I’ve seen it before.”
“Seen it before?” Meng Decheng grew angry. “Whose have you seen?!”
The beauty suddenly lifted her skirt and laughed:
“My own!”
In front of Ruixiang Hall, Tie Ci’s robes fluttered as she went out to meet Xiao Chang.
Tie Yan stood at the window watching her leave, just as he had for the past ten-plus years—from watching a short-legged little one to now. The figure before his eyes overlapped in layers, like buds blooming into flowers, painting the scene with imperial beauty.
Setting aside her Crown Princess identity and looking at Tie Ci purely from a man’s perspective, she truly deserved the term “absolutely beautiful.”
In her strange words, it was called “fair skin, beautiful face, and long legs.” Her face could be called flawless, and even more rare was her level shoulders and straight neck, slender waist, and long, graceful legs. Her figure was so exquisitely beautiful it was dazzling—wearing long dresses, she moved with elegant grace; in long robes, she appeared dashingly tall.
Moreover, her temperament was both noble and gentle, like beautiful jade accompanying the moon, bright pearls tinted by clouds. People called her: “Beautiful in essence and gentle in spirit, naturally radiant.”
Her brilliant status didn’t make her radiance aggressively overwhelming. Her smile and bearing, along with the dawn moon over Lang Palace, jade belt floating on waves, layered red of sandalwood mountains, and snow pines of mirror pond, were called the “Five Beauties of the Capital.”
Regarding her beauty, every corner of the capital was filled with related legends.
At age five, accompanying her father on inspection tours, the entire street competed to throw flowers that filled her carriage.
At age six, worshipping Buddha at Qingjing Temple—the moment she stepped down from her carriage, the gala iron tree at the temple entrance that hadn’t bloomed in a hundred years suddenly burst forth with golden flowers covering the entire tree.
At age ten, participating in governance with many insights—from that time on, numerous noble and official young men in the capital matured overnight, and bed sheets in their homes were subsequently changed with unusual frequency.
By age twelve, legend had it that someone risked death climbing palace walls just to glimpse the lights of Ruixiang Hall from afar.
Then the Crown Princess, standing on a high platform stargazing, shot an arrow across several palace halls that sent him tumbling from the high wall, nearly breaking his middle leg.
Later, it was her rightful fiancé who caused a scene and fell seriously ill. Only then, unable to bear the moral pressure, did those romantic young nobles finally quiet down considerably.
Of course, perhaps there was another reason…
Tie Yan sighed deeply in his heart, hurriedly left through the back door to gather his group of supporters, discussing how to issue a marriage decree before the Empress Dowager could act, how to bargain with Prince Da’an, and if the Empress Dowager became displeased, how to deal with her subsequent “bone-melting palm technique.”
Empress Dowager Xiao was a particular person—the type who, having done something, must also establish the proper reputation for it. She loved to say that these old bones really shouldn’t continue laboring over state affairs, lest officials always hint darkly about “hens crowing at dawn” and such.