In the sunny March weather, during the prime season for flowers.
In front of Ruixiang Hall, vast expanses of white magnolias bloomed with noble magnificence and luxuriant splendor. The clusters of snow-white petals and leaves pushed through the deep red palace gates adorned with black gold studs, their thick, pristine petals radiating an elegant fragrance that wafted through the entrance.
Under the sunlight, the eighteen black gold studs gleamed with a restrained yet noble luster, embodying their traditional symbolic meaning—in the Iron Dynasty, only the Emperor and the heir apparent could have eighteen black gold studs adorning their palace gates.
Because of these eighteen noble and flamboyant studs, the master of Ruixiang Hall had acquired a nickname that circulated quietly among the imperial family: Iron Eighteen.
Nicknames, no matter how hidden or concealed, inevitably reach someone’s ears when people get too cocky about using them. When the person in question heard it, being broad-minded, she grinned and said it sounded good—certainly better than “Iron Tortoise.”
Then she added: “Since I’ve earned this reputation, I might as well live up to it.”
With a grand wave of her hand, from that day forward, everything in Ruixiang Hall—people and objects alike—revolved around the number eighteen.
It’s a lucky number, after all.
For example: eighteen beautiful maidservants, eighteen handsome eunuchs, eighteen chamber pots paired with eighteen incense burners. Even the eighteen noble black gold studs on the palace gate were hung with eighteen decorative items, each of the eighteen beautiful maidservants responsible for hanging one—from sachets to menstrual cloths, everything orderly and harmonious.
At this moment, Iron Eighteen—Tie Ci—lifted aside a menstrual cloth, straightened a fragrant sweat towel, smoothly flattened the water-red silk undergarment embroidered with flat gold thread, and had barely stepped one toe inside the palace gate when the interior exploded like firecrackers.
“Your Highness has returned!”
“Your Highness must be tired from touring the gardens! The golden orange and elsholtzia drink is ready!”
“Your Highness, come smell this—this servant changed to new fragrant powder today!”
Only one voice stood out distinctly among the chorus of melodious calls, particularly rough and heroic, earth-shaking in its vigor.
“Child—”
Tie Ci was passing through this garden of beauties, hearing sweet voices everywhere, when she caught that call. She raised an eyebrow, turned on her heel, and before she could complete half a turn, someone had grabbed her sleeve.
“Child, your father came straight here after court and has been waiting for you for over an hour, pitiful enough to grow white hair!”
Tie Ci casually plucked two black hairs and handed them over. “Indeed pitiful. Here’s double compensation for your loss.”
Tie Yan held the two black hairs, his hands trembling with distress. “Child, didn’t it hurt to pluck those? Shall we have a bowl of deer antler supreme tonic soup to recover? Someone—”
Tie Ci sighed.
“Alright, Father, just tell me directly what new tricks those old men have come up with.”
Tie Yan straightened his back, put away his fawning smile, tossed aside the hair, and pulled Tie Ci toward the study.
Along the way through the flowers, Tie Ci’s arms were successively stuffed with various snacks. She accepted them all with smiles, casually pinching those smooth, fragrant peach-like cheeks one by one, earning a chorus of laughing protests.
Upon entering the room and looking up, Tie Ci exclaimed “Whoa!” and nearly thought she had wandered into a male escort competition.
On the desk, on the bed, on the walls—wherever objects could be placed—were now covered with portraits. Each painting featured a beautiful young man with sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, red lips and white teeth, elegant as jade trees, stylishly tilted caps, slender waists and handsome temples, faces powdered like He Lang.
Tie Ci stepped back and settled into a wide armchair, lazily propping up her chin as she examined the display from top to bottom with wonder.
“Spectacular! What a display! This must be the complete collection of all the fine young men in our Great Qian Dynasty, right?”
“Naturally—how else would it be worthy of the most noble Crown Princess of our Great Qian Dynasty?”
“But I recall that the most noble Crown Princess of Great Qian has had a betrothed arranged in infancy since childhood?” Tie Ci said with surprise. “What happened? Has my pure, untainted, elegantly planted, fragrantly distant, sweetly memorable male daughter-in-law finally withered away?”
“Not exactly.” Tie Yan coughed, rubbed his hands, and smiled awkwardly. “It’s just that one you mentioned—that boy from the Qi family—he’s effeminate and sickly. How could he be worthy of our most precious child?”
“Worthy or not, we’ve been matched for sixteen years.” Tie Ci smiled.
Father and daughter looked at each other. Eventually, Tie Yan was defeated by his daughter’s clear, profound gaze that seemed to encompass everything. His expression immediately changed to one of indifference as he said lightly: “Qi Shu submitted a memorial today, admitting that his younger son has a weak disposition, unsuitable to be the nation’s father, and unworthy of being the Crown Princess’s consort… The Empress Dowager approved it.”
“So I’ve been rejected.” Tie Ci chuckled. “What a stale plot device.”
“What did you say?”
“I said thank the Empress Dowager—from now on, I won’t have to face all that tea-ceremony prattle and lotus-like affectation.”
Tie Ci smiled with genuine ease. The Qi family’s little male daughter-in-law could be betrothed to her originally only as one of the Empress Dowager’s tactics to win over Qi Shu, who was then the Grand Secretary. At that time, although the Empress Dowager’s maternal Xiao family was influential, it hadn’t reached today’s enormous wealth and honor, so some political maneuvering was inevitable. Now the Xiao family had practically stepped on the imperial family’s head, and Qi Shu had requested to step down from Grand Secretary last year to become a non-administrative Grand Academician. This engagement being in jeopardy was only natural.
But was this broken engagement the Qi family seeing the changing winds and unwilling to continue involvement in imperial affairs, or was it the Empress Dowager’s instruction with ulterior motives?
“Ever since you started learning meditation at Qingjing Temple annually from age six, you haven’t learned much Buddhist wisdom, but your strange remarks have become increasingly frequent.” Tie Yan didn’t pursue those incomprehensible words—Tie Ci wouldn’t explain them anyway. He turned around, and His Imperial Majesty perked up, producing a small pointer as if by magic, and personally pointed out the landscape of portraits to his daughter.
“It’s good that Qi Muxiao requested his own dismissal—with such an ugly face, how could he be a worthy son-in-law for my child? Look here—which one isn’t better than him? Come, come, let’s choose!”
That tone was like selecting cabbages.
Tie Ci’s gaze drifted across those portraits of various shapes and sizes. The paintings were well done, but as tribute portraits for selection, they seemed somewhat crude.
She suddenly asked: “Why the rush?”
Tie Yan paused again.
But his face showed shocked amazement as he said: “Child, you’re becoming more and more clever. What can your father hide from you anymore?”
Tie Ci smiled without speaking.
There are many things you want to hide from me.
Not breaking through what she could see was her final kindness to her father.
Tie Yan’s face didn’t even redden as he said: “You’re sixteen this year. You must marry within two years at the latest. This is our Great Qian Dynasty’s rule—otherwise, you’ll lose your Crown Princess qualification. So the Empress Dowager plans to arrange a new engagement for you.”
“The candidate?”
“Her grand-nephew, Zhuque Camp Commander Xiao Chang.”