Ming Huashang had no attention to spare for Zhao Cai’s chatter. She stared at the scene before her and lost the ability to speak.
In the dead of the first month’s winter, the courtyard held not a single trace of green — only one tree, bare and solitary, standing before the window. Although it looked nothing like what she had seen in midsummer, Ming Huashang had already recognized the familiar markings on the trunk.
Yes — this was the place. She remembered clearly: in the dream, while she had been shaking the osmanthus tree, she had noticed a bowl-sized scar on the trunk. The scar’s size and position matched the dream exactly, not a fraction different. And the arrangement of the courtyard, the layout of the rooms…
Ming Huashang’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She knew there was no more room for hope. Duke Zhenguo had always held her in the palm of his hand — she had never in all these years set foot in such a remote and cold courtyard. If the dream had been something she had fabricated out of thin air, how could she have known in advance every detail — the scar on the osmanthus tree, the orientation of the buildings — and dreamed it all precisely as it was?
That dream had not been idle fancy. It had been real — or rather, it had been a prophetic dream.
Behind her, Zhao Cai was still chattering about calling people to sweep the snow. Ming Huashang breathed out slowly and said quietly: “There’s no need.”
Zhao Cai did not hear clearly and leaned in: “What?”
“No need to call anyone. It would only cause a fuss.” Ming Huashang turned, picked up her cloak, and made her way unsteadily toward Yanshou Hall. “The hour must be late by now. Let’s go quickly to pay our respects to Grandmother.”
Zhao Cai hurried to Ming Huashang’s side, pulling her fur collar tight. “My lady, there is no need to rush. You are the Duke’s only daughter, the apple of the Ming family’s eye — what does it matter if you come to pay your respects a little early or a little late? Walk slowly and don’t catch a chill. If you like that osmanthus tree, I’ll have it transplanted to our courtyard right away.”
“Please don’t.” Ming Huashang quickly stopped Zhao Cai’s words and said quietly: “Zhao Cai, you ought to restrain yourself in the future — don’t go around all day saying things that amount to throwing your weight about.”
Zhao Cai was taken aback: “Throwing our weight about? It’s all ordinary matters — how is that throwing our weight about?”
Ming Huashang shook her head slightly and said no more. Right now she was the precious dragon-and-phoenix daughter of Duke Zhenguo’s household — coming a little late to pay respects, or speaking a little boldly, and no one would take notice. But once her true identity was exposed, ordinary matters would become instruments of death.
Ming Huashang still did not know how she had died in the dream — when, where, by what means, by whose hand — not a single clue. What divine figure had she offended to make someone want her dead?
Ah, right — she remembered that in the dream, Su Yuji had returned at seventeen. She and Su Yuji were the same age; she was sixteen this year. Which meant that in at most one year, she would lose her life.
Ming Huashang rubbed her own face in distress. She was nothing more than a plain, ordinary good-for-nothing who had lived on doing as little as possible for sixteen years. Her whole life she had always preferred lying down to standing up, and had never competed with anyone. The only people she might have offended were probably the teachers who had tried to teach her the lute, chess, calligraphy, painting, needlework, and embroidery. Was there really no way to talk things through rather than resorting to killing her?
Carrying this sorrowful bewilderment, Ming Huashang walked listlessly into Yanshou Hall. The maids waiting in the outer room saw Ming Huashang arrive and hurried out to lift the door curtain, greeting her warmly: “Second Young Miss, you’ve finally come! The Old Madam has mentioned you several times. Oh, why are your hands so red from the cold? Please, come inside.”
Inside the room, Ming Yu was kneeling at the edge of the sleeping platform helping the Old Madam knead her legs, and Ming Shuo was cuddled in the Third Madam’s arms, acting spoiled. When she saw Ming Huashang arrive, Ming Shuo let out a cold sniff and stood up reluctantly.
Ming Huashang removed her snow-dampened cloak. Once settled, she greeted each person in the room in turn: “I have come late. Greetings to Grandmother, Second Aunt, and Third Aunt. I hope Elder Sister and Third Sister are well.”
The Old Madam cast a brief, indifferent glance toward Ming Huashang, then withdrew her gaze, unruffled: “Sit down. How were the servants attending to you — why are the Second Miss’s hands so red from the cold?”
Although Ming Huashang was Duke Zhenguo’s only daughter, because the Ming household had not yet been divided, she was ranked together with the sisters of the Second and Third branches — and was counted second in order of age.
Zhao Cai immediately knelt to confess her fault. Ming Huashang said: “I must inform Grandmother, it is not their fault. On the way I noticed the snow and lingered to play for a while. This granddaughter’s unruliness is to blame — it has nothing to do with them.”
This was the only surviving daughter of the eldest son, and she had lost her mother the very day she was born — the Old Madam could not very well be too strict with her. She said: “Since you plead for them, we will let it pass. Bao Qin, fetch a hand warmer — bring it to warm the Second Miss’s hands.”
Bao Qin acknowledged the order, withdrew gracefully, and soon returned cradling a gilded hand warmer with a grape-and-bird motif. She knelt gently beside Ming Huashang: “Second Young Miss, please raise your hand.”
Ming Huashang looked at the most capable senior maid at her grandmother’s side, then thought of her own four maids’ names — Zhao Cai (Summon Wealth), Jin Bao (Embrace Treasure), Jixiang (Auspicious), Ruyi (As One Wishes) — and let out a deep sigh of regret for her own lack of refinement.
Ming Huashang raised her fingers, and Bao Qin, steadying the hand warmer, leaned forward and gently massaged Ming Huashang’s fingers, which had grown somewhat stiff from the cold. Ming Huashang truly wanted to say “don’t bother — just pour me a hot cup of tea,” but with Grandmother present she did not dare be so crude, and silently endured the maid’s graceful and painstaking service.
Before Ming Huashang had entered, the room had already been in the midst of conversation. Now that everyone was settled again, Second Branch Madam Zhao Shi eagerly picked up the earlier thread: “A’Niang, I have heard that Princess Taiping is hosting a banquet at Feihong Garden in a couple of days, and all the princes and noble young gentlemen will attend. Our family has three daughters yet to be married — A’Niang, what do you think of this Feihong Banquet…?”
When Second Madam Zhao Shi finished, not only did Second Branch’s legitimate daughter Ming Yu stop what she was doing — the Third Branch’s mother and daughter pair also raised their heads and fixed expectant gazes on the Old Madam. Everything unsaid was plain enough to see.
Princess Taiping was the most favored princess of the day. She was the Empress Regnant’s only daughter and also a daughter-in-law of the Wu family; she moved in and out of the palace freely, more resplendent than even the Crown Prince and Crown Princess. If she held a banquet, the Tang royal family’s people dared not fail to attend, and the princes and commandery princes of the Wu clan would also be present — it was, in short, the ideal occasion for Luoyang’s daughters to find a match.
Second Branch’s legitimate daughter Ming Yu was seventeen this year; Third Branch’s Ming Shuo was younger, but already thirteen — both were in the prime years for arranging marriage. If they could attend Princess Taiping’s Feihong Banquet and catch the eye of some prince or noble son, entering the imperial family in one step, the rest of their lives would be set.
Four pairs of eyes burned with urgency, waiting anxiously for the Old Madam to speak; even the maids pricked up their ears to eavesdrop. Among those present, it was probably only Ming Huashang who had no interest in this matchmaking banquet — oh, that is to say, the Feihong Banquet.
She was going to die within the year. What was the use of talking about marriage? Could marrying into the imperial family help protect her life?
It could not — and might even hasten her death. The Empress Regnant was aging, and at court the question of whether the Crown Prince would bear the surname Wu or the surname Li had never been definitively settled. The Empress Regnant had never made her position clear. If one accidentally chose the wrong side, never mind wealth and glory — the lives of an entire family might be forfeit.
Evidently the Old Madam had thought of this as well. She had lived through the bloodshed of the Chuigong era and still shuddered at the memory of those years when a wrong word meant beheading or exile. Now the Empress Regnant was aging, and the Great Zhou dynasty was again approaching a critical juncture — who could know which side fate would favor next?
Before the situation became clear, the Old Madam was not willing to stake her bet too early. Yet Princess Taiping’s invitation had been an honor — who dared not go?
The Old Madam looked somewhat troubled. Her gaze swept across Ming Huashang, who was studying her own fingernails with absolutely no ambition whatsoever — and in an instant, the Old Madam made up her mind: “We are honored that Princess Taiping has condescended to send the Ming family an invitation. However, the mountain paths to Feihong Garden are narrow and difficult for carriages and horses. For the young gentlemen it is one thing to ride — but it is truly inconvenient for the women.”
Both the Second and Third branches, hearing this, showed expressions of regret, understanding they would not be going to the Feihong Banquet. Then, unexpectedly, the Old Madam changed course and said: “The Second Young Master is skilled in riding and archery and has long held a fine reputation — this is a good opportunity for him to go and make a few friends at the banquet. Second Miss, you shall go together with your elder brother.”
Ming Huashang blinked, thinking she had misheard: “Me?”
As if by coincidence, the Old Madam had just mentioned the Second Young Master when a maid’s delighted announcement came from outside the door: “Old Madam, the Second Young Master has arrived.”
The door curtain was lifted, and a cold wind carrying flying snow surged in, scattering the warm and heavy fragrance of the room. Ming Huashang turned. Through the carved lattice screen she could see a tall, upright figure in crimson pass by, and a pair of slender, flawless hands lifting the glass-bead curtain — his fingertips more luminous than glass beads crackling with ice-crack patterns.
The five-colored glass beads chimed against one another, their clear sounds cascading, and the brilliant bead curtain made the face beyond it appear all the more radiant — like a white jade figurine edged with gold. Those deep black eyes swept the room once, and the entire hall was bathed in crystalline light and a radiance without end.
The young man paid no heed to the gaze that had frozen the room solid. He let the bead curtain fall and bowed to the Old Madam at the head of the room: “Your grandson Huazhang pays his respects to Grandmother.”
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