Qin Chang Ge responded gracefully to the emperor’s sudden outburst of anger, bowing properly as she withdrew.
Xiao Jue… was truly moody and unpredictable.
Once outside the corridor, Wen Chang waited, holding the already bathed and cleaned Xiao Rong, worry flickering in her eyes.
Seeing Qin Chang Ge emerge, she turned to look at Xiao Rong, then back at Qin Chang Ge.
After a moment’s hesitation, Qin Chang Ge nodded, then said: “Princess, if you cannot keep secrets, what should disappear and what shouldn’t disappear will all disappear.”
“I know,” Wen Chang sighed softly. “Believe me, I’ve always thought that keeping this from A’Jue for now is the right thing to do. I’m not that kind of foolish sister who doesn’t know what’s important.”
“I naturally trust you,” Qin Chang Ge smiled. “Such a major incident as His Majesty being assassinated—the palace must have received news, right?”
“Yes,” Wen Chang said. “A’Chen happened to be in the palace. Upon hearing the news, he led the Imperial Guards here.”
“Xiao Chen?” Hearing this name, Qin Chang Ge rarely frowned.
Prince Zhao Xiao Chen was Xiao Jue’s younger brother. Frail since childhood with constitutional deficiencies, he had no interest in political affairs and was content being a wealthy prince. He had elegant tastes in painting and calligraphy, particularly excelling in poetry and literature. He loved associating with scholars and literati. Xiliang’s annual “Spring Contest Festival” on the third day of the third lunar month was his creation. At that time, orioles flew past willows, delicate swallows darted through flowers, the river and sky were clear and vast, the shores white with sand. At Lishan, where Xiliang’s capital suburbs had the most magnificent scenery, he would set up colorful silk pavilions, arrange wine and refreshment tables. Poetry guests and ladies would come singing and dancing. Women would enter the pavilions to play music and compose lyrics, each displaying their talents, and each would take a flower from the tables inside the pavilions. Each person used their flower as an identifier, and the poems passed outside the curtains all bore these flowers. The paper carried faint floral fragrance that stirred imagination, combined with the beauty’s personal touch and exquisite verses. The poetry guests and scholars would savor the poems while drinking wine in the breeze, selecting the top three winners. When the mood struck, they could also match poems, and if they caught a young lady’s favor, it might well become a beautiful marriage.
The three prize-winning talented beauties would thereafter become famous, becoming celebrated ladies of the capital, sought after by various young masters with ardent pursuit.
The gathering also featured elegant games like grass fighting, duck shooting, poetry riddles, couplet matching, and treasure hunting, all designed to ensure everyone returned satisfied.
All expenses for the festival were covered by Prince Zhao—fine wines, delicious foods, plus imperial palace delicacies and beautiful servants from Prince Zhao’s mansion to attend the guests. How could famous scholars and literati not flock to it like birds?
However, since there were indeed noble ladies and virtuous women at the festival, to prevent rogues from infiltrating, Xiao Chen established rules. On the festival day, there was only one water route into Lishan, and all orchid boats were controlled by Prince Zhao’s people. Literary men wishing to board had to request flower spheres from Prince Zhao’s mansion staff. Each sphere contained a random topic that had to be completed within one incense stick’s time to earn the right to board.
Once the poem was finished, they would come singing, the boat would break through waves, long robes flying. The orchid boat would head directly toward the pavilions where the ladies gathered at Lingyun Cliff. Blue sky and emerald water, light clouds and green mountains, wind sweeping through garments as they arrived gracefully—how dashing this appeared in the eyes of the various beauties? How could the literary men not be moved by such elegant and carefree refined pursuits?
Therefore, those who could enter Lishan were all renowned scholars of the time.
Xiliang’s customs were open, valuing both literary and martial arts. The emperor and empress greatly admired such activities that promoted literature, especially Empress Ruiyi, who declared “Literature can enlighten the people’s wisdom and is fundamental to the dynasty’s foundation.” She strongly supported it. Thus what originally was limited to the capital’s great households and nobility gradually expanded to wealthy merchants and even talented students from humble families could try their luck. Ever since it was said that Empress Ruiyi concealed her identity and participated in the Spring Contest Festival as an ordinary lady, every year scholars would travel thousands of miles just to try their luck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the empress.
Ruiyi’s disguised participation that time was passed down in the capital like legend. It was said that when the empress entered the pavilion, the other women mocked her shabby clothing. The empress did not become angry, only smiled coolly and said: “You all judge people by their clothing—how do you know that clothing has consciousness and doesn’t feel ashamed to be worn by you?” With these words the women were shocked. The empress didn’t even look at them, casually picked up some flowers from the table, didn’t sit down to contemplate, and immediately took up the brush at the table to compose. When the poem was passed outside the tent, it caused Wen Zhengting—the Longdong prodigy famous throughout the realm, arrogant and insufferably proud—to immediately change color, fall silent, and leave. Everyone tried to persuade him to stay, but he kept shaking his head, stuffed the poem into his sleeve, pressed his finger to his lips, and left without looking back.
Later, when the emperor personally attended the Spring Contest Festival, everyone learned that the humble woman whose single poem had silenced the supremely arrogant famous scholar was actually the renowned founding empress of the current dynasty.
Still later, busybodies went to ask Wen Zhengting why he acted thus that day. If he could have exchanged poems and wine with the empress, it would surely have become a beautiful tale, and he, Wen Zhengting, would have been immortalized.
Wen Zhengting smiled bitterly and said: How could one match such poetry? It was not of this mortal realm, not of a subject’s realm. He, a humble scholar, dared to match verses with such mastery—wouldn’t that be seeking death?
From then on, the empress was regarded even more like a divine being.
Now thinking back, Qin Chang Ge couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Only she herself knew that bursting into the Spring Contest Festival that day wasn’t due to any elegant interest—it was purely because she’d quarreled with Xiao Jue and, in her vexed mood, went looking for trouble.
When Xiao Jue couldn’t find her, in his panic he asked Xiao Chen, who was known for his cleverness. Xiao Chen said: “The empress is not one to sulk in corners. Even when there’s cause for tears, she would mask it with light songs. You might try looking where there are crowds.”
Thus came about that so-called elegant event of the emperor and empress personally attending the Spring Contest Festival, which by happy accident made the festival even more prosperous and flourishing.
Xiao Chen also became famous throughout the realm from this, called alongside Prince Jing’an Yu Zixi as Xiliang’s “Twin Paragons.” In the capital there was a saying: “Jing’an is charming, Prince Zhao is serene, water-blue cherry-red, lamplight and dancing songs”—the dancing songs referred to the Spring Contest Festival.
The lamplight naturally referred to Yu Zixi’s peculiar hobby.
Smiling slightly, Qin Chang Ge crouched down to pat her son’s big head: “Little beggar, hungry? Come, let’s go steal food from the kitchen.”
“Oh,” Young Master Xiao said very modestly, very elegantly, very politely, “Is there food? My requirements aren’t high—crystal pig knuckle, phoenix-tail three-silk soup, jade-green dumplings, golden bird’s nest, just bring a few of these casually.”
Qin Chang Ge smiled. “Those requirements really aren’t high… But I’ll tell you, those things you mentioned are actually not very interesting. I happen to know the cook here has a specialty called White Water Green Jade—it looks good and tastes good too. Would you like to try it?”
“Really really?” Xiao Baozi’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go let’s go, let’s try it.” He grabbed Qin Chang Ge and took off running.
Qin Chang Ge was pulled by her son past the corridor when she heard commotion from the front courtyard. Turning her head, she saw at the corridor’s end a sweep of color like heavenly water—blue, elegantly refined beyond compare.
She glimpsed Wen Chang going forward to greet them, and that person stood in the courtyard, lightly humming in acknowledgment.
The voice was extremely pleasant.
Wen Chang spoke a few words quietly, and that person nodded gently. The heavenly water-blue long robes rippled faintly, every fold elegant and beautiful.
He seemed to say something that caused the birds in the courtyard trees to sing unwillingly in clear, melodious notes, each one trying to be sweetly warbling.
As if sensing a distant gaze watching, he turned his head slightly. His skin was pale and pure as bright moonlight, like moonlight rising over mountain peaks, while his phoenix eyes were dark and bright, clear as mountain stream water.
That profile was refined and elegant, his bearing and movements revealing gentle scholarly refinement, yet without any pedantic air—just pure elegance and spiritual charm, like an exquisite scroll that needed no unrolling. Beside a rosewood desk, next to a Boshan incense burner, it would silently speak of eternal legends and beautiful verses.
His appearance was naturally very handsome without question, but even more beautiful was that poetic temperament like drifting clouds, flowing moon, dancing wind, and swirling snow. That temperament was like water and air—everywhere present yet unnoticed, but subtly transformative, causing people to unknowingly become intoxicated.
The noble and dazzling Xiao Jue, imposing to the point of aggression, was like a magnificent grand composition. The bewitchingly beautiful Yu Zixi, captivating to the point of stealing souls, was like a graceful melodic tune. But Xiao Chen was like a pure verse written by a peerless poet wandering among mountains, waters, and ethereal mists, suddenly inspired—with water as bones and jade as spirit, immortal bearing pure and wonderful, ethereally boundless.
Qin Chang Ge smiled silently, thinking of these men of peerless beauty and those past-life entanglements. She raised an eyebrow and turned to leave.