By Zhang Zhixu’s usual standards of taste, these pieces were honestly nothing out of the ordinary.
But Chen Baoxiang said they were called Qingqing, Baofeng, and Youxu.
He couldn’t help taking a more careful look.
The lines were graceful, the materials rare, the forms singular — and the more he looked, the more beautiful they became.
“Wear Baofeng first.”
“With pleasure.”
Chen Baoxiang grinned as she fastened it on him, then stepped back two paces and studied him with satisfaction. “Put against you it just looks aristocratic. Right — don’t you have somewhere to be? Go to the palace.”
Though her confinement had ended, she still could not enter the palace without a summons.
Zhang Zhixu instinctively wanted to say something comforting.
But when he turned to look, Chen Baoxiang didn’t care in the slightest — on the contrary, her face was bright with anticipation as she began calling out: “Hengyu, Manyue, come and lend a hand.”
The people below poured in and began arranging everything.
Zhang Zhixu watched for a while, left Jiuquan behind to help, and headed out to his carriage.
A full month had passed, yet His Majesty’s anger seemed not yet to have subsided. There was still no movement on the Ye family’s old case, and the petition he had recently submitted regarding examination reform had received no reply either.
The one piece of good news was that a number of people in the Three Departments had submitted memorials condemning Chen Baoxiang, hoping to pile on while she was down — and His Majesty had ignored all of them.
Zhang Zhixu could not guess what His Majesty was thinking. He only regretted that this year’s examinations could no longer be caught in time for any reform, and he did not know how many more people would be forced to tread the same weary path their predecessors had.
His footsteps were heavy and slow, and his figure was solitary and subdued — he felt the road ahead was murky, and his heart was full of melancholy.
But to the eyes of those around him, it was an entirely different picture.
— Wide sleeves, long robes, an air of effortless grace. Zhang Zhixu truly was a scion of an aristocratic family — he somehow managed to make even such a rigid formal court robe look unhurried and elegant.
And looking more closely — heavens, he was even wearing a waist ornament.
There was no written rule forbidding officials from wearing accessories when entering the palace to attend court, but as a matter of prudence most officials dressed as simply as possible, so the sudden appearance of this nonconformist drew quiet, scrutinizing glances from everyone.
Li Bingsheng, in the midst of all her business, somehow noticed it too.
She looked twice, gave a small nod, as though she found it pleasing.
Several of the senior officials standing at the front — those most adept at reading their sovereign’s expressions — immediately intercepted Zhang Zhixu after the session had dispersed and politely inquired which craftsman had produced the piece.
Zhang Zhixu replied with casual indifference: “Xiangshe Tower.”
·
In the last breath of winter turning to the first breath of spring, Xiangshe Tower opened its doors on Zhuque Street — right at the heart of Shangjing.
Even before the opening, stories about the shop had been spreading all over Shangjing. It was said that the proprietor was a person from a distant foreign land who had fallen in love with a woman in Shangjing, only to miss the chance to be with her — and so had spent lavishly to lease this shopfront, waiting in quiet for their reunion.
It was also said that the shop’s floor tiles were inlaid with gold, its gauze curtains woven with silver, and that inside were rare treasures passed down since ancient times, along with the finest jadeite that was nearly impossible to find on the open market.
It was further said that everything sold in this shop had been designed by an immortal in a dream, and that every item was destined for a particular owner.
Once these rumors spread, a great many people in Shangjing came on opening day to see what all the fuss was about.
“Heavens — even the complimentary refreshments for guests use premium snow-blossom tea? Outside, a single tael of this costs ten taels of silver.”
“What an imposing shop — those floor tiles really do seem to shimmer with gold.”
“What are these hairpins made of? They look like gold but not quite — how remarkably distinctive.”
The crowd chattered and buzzed, with surprise and curiosity prevailing at first.
But then someone took a liking to a cosmetic case and asked its price.
“Five hundred taels,” the attendant answered with a smile.
The moment that figure was spoken, the awe and admiration instantly turned to a tide of contempt: “Five hundred taels for an ordinary cosmetic case — what, have you never seen money?”
“Truly, opening your mouth wide as a lion — look at this ring, it’s not even gold, and you dare ask two hundred taels.”
“Absolute madness. The proprietor must be a lunatic.”
People departed in a stream of muttering and cursing, only to be replaced by another stream of curious onlookers who departed in their own stream of muttering and cursing.
By half a day’s end, Xiangshe Tower had already become notorious throughout Shangjing for its outrageous prices.
Chen Baoxiang watched from upstairs, judged that the moment was ripe, and immediately had Xue Hengyu go and invite guests.
Prominent wealthy merchants in Shangjing, the most celebrated performers of the day, scholars with far-reaching reputations, and court-appointed musicians — all arrived with great fanfare and proceeded to purchase several extravagantly priced items.
The voices of mockery in the surroundings instantly dropped by half, and people began to wonder curiously why these items were so expensive.
The attendants standing nearby then slowly began to recount the story behind each piece — whether true or not hardly mattered, as long as the story was moving enough and the symbolism auspicious enough.
Chen Baoxiang had spent half a month composing these stories.
Looking at the reception now, it seemed to be working well — even those who weren’t swayed by the stories remembered the pieces because of them.
She leaned against the railing, smiling to herself. She truly had never let any experience go to waste — all that time she had spent in Shangjing performing grandeur and mingling in aristocratic circles, and no one understood better than she did how to satisfy a person’s vanity.
Exclusivity. Prestige. An envy that others could see at a glance.
Xiangshe Tower didn’t only have the most distinctive merchandise and the most attentive staff — it also had one ritual that appeared useless but was in fact the most useful of all: