This remonstrance should have been directed at the Grand Princess, but Her Highness had her own considerations. That she had not left on the spot was already her show of support for the Shen Family.

This was precisely where Lu Wanyang’s move was so underhanded. She had said it herself — a person of noble standing must guard their dignity and protect their reputation. So whenever such disorder broke out, not only had the host household failed in its duty, but the noble guest’s dignity had also been affronted. Thus the Grand Princess had no choice but to leave.

Once the Grand Princess departed, the rest naturally followed suit. Leaving was the normal thing to do; only those with genuine goodwill toward the Shen Family would have reason to stay. Qinglan had done everything she could to keep Madam Wei behind, precisely for this reason. With her as a standard-bearer, more of the guests would remain, and the evening banquet would look better for it.

Among the four princely households in the capital, the wife of Pingjun Wang had already left, though the Elder Princess Consort of Liang Wang had stayed — out of regard for Madam Shen’s face, nothing more. The arrival of the Duke of Yongguo was an affair for the male guests outside and had nothing to do with the Flower Season Banquet. Where else could one find a noble of equal standing to the Grand Princess, someone who could steady this situation? Keeping Madam Wei was already a remarkable feat.

Qinglan’s heart was heavy with worry as she returned to the warm chamber, only to find Lingbo absent. She asked around and was told that Lingbo had gone to the rear courtyard.

“I heard that Master Shen has had Young Master Shen made to kneel in the ancestral hall — and that he’s already been given a beating,” Lin Niangzi said. “Miss Shen really is admirable, standing entirely by the Young Mistress’s side. They say she’s now scouring the capital for people to come to the banquet.”

“Burning incense only when trouble comes.” Lingbo’s voice drifted in from behind as she entered, removing her cloak as she spoke. “Shen Biwei has never been one to mingle with those noble ladies and royal daughters. Now that she wants to find them, how difficult that must be. As things stand, there are still a few princely residences in the capital — if even one or two elder princesses or dowager marchionesses would come, the Shen Family’s standing would be restored.”

Qinglan went to brush the snow from Lingbo’s shoulders. They were mid-conversation when Yang Niangzi rushed in and said something, and Lingbo’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” She raised her head and looked at Qinglan, breaking into a radiant smile. “Sister really is formidable — Madam Wei has agreed to stay.”

Qinglan herself was rather surprised.

“Truly?”

“Of course it’s true. I heard that Lu Wanyang even got into a quarrel with Madam Wei over this — which means Madam Wei really did step back from the edge. What good could come of following someone like Lu Wanyang? Though I must say, Lu Wanyang really distinguished herself today. The last time I cornered her like that, forcing Madam Wei to vouch for me, she didn’t dare cross Madam Wei then. But today she was truly desperate — she actually dared give Madam Wei a cold look.” Lingbo took a sip of the hot tea Lin Niangzi had passed her.

“A pity that the Wei Family’s foundation is still a bit shallow. Even with her staying, it won’t be enough to turn the tide.” Lingbo sighed. “Today’s situation is beyond saving.”

“I’ll go look in on Yueqi, see if there’s anything I can help with.” Qinglan could not help but lower her eyes as she spoke.

But Lingbo had already moved on to the next topic.

“Never mind. Save her if we can, and if we can’t — she did her part, and we’ll do ours. Mending porcelain is no easy task, but smashing it isn’t either. Sister Han is no one to trifle with — wasn’t her own Flower Season Banquet also left undone? Let them all fight to the bitter end and see who begs for mercy first!”

Shen Biwei rarely felt so agitated as she did today.

As for the Flower Season Banquet itself — she truly didn’t care. The Shen Family’s reputation meant little to her. Everyone called her the most exalted among noble daughters, untouchable and beyond reach. But she had long seen through the games played in this capital: a woman exhausts herself maintaining the inner household, yet cannot match what a man squanders in a single night.

Just as today — Shen Yunze had done something disgraceful, and the one who suffered for it was Han Yueqi.

They called her cold, and she was indeed cold. She was weary of the capital’s game of chasing after distinguished husbands. What was the point of winning that chase? Had Shen Yunze not been hailed as the finest catch at the Flower Season Banquet back then? And what of him now?

Nothing but a rotten rat that had been scrambled over and seized.

Seized and swallowed, the victor self-satisfied — yet in the end, no one can stomach a rotten rat. Sooner or later, the belly will ache.

She had seen through it all, and yet she hadn’t fully seen through it. She disdained the game, yet when its cost fell upon a specific person, she still could not help but stir herself for her sake. This was Han Yueqi — called her sister-in-law, though Shen Biwei thought of her as a true elder sister. She had witnessed her intelligence and grace, her painstaking efforts — banquet after banquet prepared through great winter nights, until she was dizzy with exhaustion, until the child she had been carrying was lost — and still she had kept going, holding everything together, striving to be a worthy matriarch of a great household…

Just like her mother.

Yes. Just like her mother.

This capital was a vast whirlpool. Generation after generation of highborn daughters threw themselves — flesh and blood — into its depths. They were required to be beautiful as blossoms, gentle and virtuous, perceptive to moods, yet chaste and faithful unto death. Required to be filial and obedient, yet also to keep the entire household of servants in order — and even after fulfilling all of this, they still were not guaranteed a dignified end. Their husbands could still humiliate them like this, at banquets built from their every last ounce of effort.

Shen Biwei rode out from Chang’an Street. The air of the first lunar month was biting cold; drawing it into her lungs, she felt as though she had been chilled from the inside out. Yet somewhere in her chest, a flame still burned. The capital’s towers and pavilions stretched in layered rows, and she felt like letting out a great cry.

In the end, she was powerless.

She knew, of course, how one became powerful — doing as Lingbo said, walking the “proper path,” like Sister Qinglan, like her own mother, like Sister Yueqi: pouring out every last ounce of energy, becoming the finest noble daughter of the great clans, the finest matriarch of a great household. She would have her circle, her faction. With her singular standing among the capital’s noble daughters, she could even slip easily into the ranks of the imperial kinswomen — just as she could walk into the Temple of Bountiful Virtue that Lu Wanyang could only reach through scheming — and perhaps then, today, she might have been able to invite a self-enfeoffed princess or princess consort to lend Han Yueqi her backing.

But then what?

She would have her own Shen Yunze, her own “Yanliu,” her own inescapable predicament, her own humiliation. And when that day came, she too would be trapped, as Han Yueqi was now — caught in the ruins of years of devotion — and would still have to endure the shame and clean up the wreckage in order to preserve the standing she had worked so hard to build.

Sister Qinglan read the words of sages and philosophers, who spoke of how freedom from desire brings an unyielding strength. But Shen Biwei was a little more eccentric than that — she read Zhuangzi. The standing tree invites the axe; the flowing spring draws the thirsty. The clever are burdened; the wise are troubled; only the one who is without ability has nothing to seek. She wanted nothing, cared for nothing — and so the capital’s rules had no hold on her. That was why she could move through the capital’s storms of blood and scheming with a cold face, unbothered.

Lingbo called her arrogant, said she was deliberately contrary. But she wasn’t nearly as formidable as that. If she had actually strived upward as Lingbo suggested, she would no longer be Shen Biwei — she would have become one of the indistinct young mistresses of this capital, losing her own name and identity in the daily grind of inner-household intrigue and factional warfare. Only by remaining as she was could she still preserve herself, still be Shen Biwei.

She was no ethereal noble daughter above all earthly things. She was only a solitary figure standing at the edge of an abyss — and because she had seen through the mist to the truth of the depths below, she stubbornly clung to a tree and refused to fall in.

But there were always moments like this, watching those she loved suffering at the bottom of the abyss, and blaming herself for being unable to reach out her hand — even knowing that if she did reach out, she would only be one more person falling in.

Was that not how all of them had ended up there? Who was born to be a matriarch? Were they not all bewildered, lovable little girls once, who gradually grew up — wanting their parents’ approval, wanting their mothers to be proud of them, wanting acceptance from their in-laws, wanting praise from their husbands, wanting to protect their children — and gradually arrived at today.

Shen Biwei did not believe in Buddhism. Yet that day, standing in the Temple of Bountiful Virtue — an imperial temple, soaring and majestic, the great Buddha towering four or five stories high, gilded and painted, gazing down at her with serene stillness — she felt it somehow knew everything, understood everything. She suddenly understood why the matriarchs of the capital all turned to Buddhism, and not to Daoism for release.

Because they had never been seen.

The Buddha taught that all sentient beings suffer, and every time she thought of it, it made her want to weep.

Shen Biwei led her horse and walked slowly back to the side gate of her own home, sensing something unusual.

“Why are they laying out red satin again? Has Her Highness the Grand Princess returned?” she asked one of the servants bustling about.

The Shen Family’s gatekeepers had long grown accustomed to this unconventional young miss of their household — after all, with the Duke of Yongguo backing her, the word around the capital was that she had “been raised as a son from childhood, accomplished in both literature and martial arts.” All of it was said in admiration. So the head steward hurried forward and bowed respectfully: “A noble personage has arrived.”

Who would be received with the same ceremony as the Grand Princess? And besides — the Grand Princess had already left. Whoever arrived now would be placing themselves in direct opposition to Her Highness.

Shen Biwei frowned and walked inward. A name flashed suddenly through her mind.

“Is it Huo Yingzhen?”

The news sent tremors through the inner quarters of the Shen household as well.

The first thought, of course, was also that it must be Huo Yingzhen — because the Grand Princess’s attendants had arrived first, and not only Stewardess Su but even Nanny Song had come along with her, bearing gracious words: “Her Highness is feeling unwell and has returned home ahead of time. She was worried Madam Shen might be troubled, so she sent this servant to accompany Stewardess Su back. Madam Shen and the Young Mistress may set their minds at ease and carry on with the banquet.”

Once those words were spoken, anyone with eyes to see understood their meaning perfectly. Just then, news came in from outside — prepare to receive an imperial procession — though who exactly it was remained unclear, only that the Master had already led the officials to the head of the street to welcome the guest. At that point, Han Yueqi guessed it was Huo Yingzhen.

Speaking truthfully of the matter concerning the Duke of Yongguo’s household — the imperial family had wronged the Huo Family. No matter how proud and overbearing the Duke of Yongguo might have been, no matter how his achievements overshadowed the throne, those were merits earned in blood and fire at the founding of the dynasty. This dynasty had no princes of different surnames; being enfeoffed as a duke or marquis was already the highest honor, and the Duke of Yongguo had made no complaint. The marriage of the imperial princess was a gesture by the late Emperor to appease the Duke of Yongguo’s household — yet less than three years after the death of Duke of Yongguo Huo Anguo, the late Emperor had ordered the Huo Family’s estate confiscated and destroyed. From that day, of the Huo Clan — who had earned the greatest merit at the founding of the Great Zhou — only Huo Yingzhen remained of the main line. Even though this was the craft of imperial power, the great families of the capital, in their private conversations, could not help but feel a chill at such coldness.

So Huo Yingzhen lived in deep seclusion, the Grand Princess remained confined in her residence outside the palace, and His Majesty carried a weight of guilt — all of this was well understood among the great families. Now that Master Shen had gone out to the head of the street to welcome the guest, not only Madam Shen and Han Yueqi, but even the ladies who had stayed behind, all guessed it must be Huo Yingzhen. After all, luck had truly favored Shen Biwei — among the highborn daughters of her age, whether among the imperial kinswomen or the nobility, none could match her in looks, bearing, intelligence, or talent. Those younger, though gifted, like Lu Wanyang or He Qingyi, were of families far beneath the Shen Family in standing. Everyone speculated that in an awkward affair such as today’s — with the Grand Princess herself having not immediately withdrawn — it was a sign that she too favored Shen Biwei.

But beneath all the speculation, the truth still had to land.

The Shen Family’s chief steward came personally to deliver the message to Han Niangzi, who was managing things in his stead. Han Niangzi entered with a joyful expression on her face and knelt to report: “In reply to Madam — His Royal Highness’s carriage procession has entered the estate. The Master requests that Madam prepare to receive the royal procession.”

Even Madam Shen was taken aback. “His Royal Highness? A Wang?”

“Yes.” Han Niangzi exchanged a meaningful glance with Han Yueqi, smiling. “It is His Royal Highness the Rui Prince. After meeting with the Master, he wishes to come to the inner quarters to pay his respects to Madam.”