Without Lu Wenyin — confined to quarters for half a month — her followers were naturally led by Lu Wanyang. Upon hearing Qinglan’s words, a flicker of something moved across Wanyang’s expression. But Yang Qiaozhen, standing at her side, could not hold herself back. She was terrified Wanyang would actually listen to Ye Qinglan’s counsel. The moment she saw the outcome on the field was settled, she leaned against the railing and called out with a loud, bright laugh: “Miss Shen is truly extraordinary! A respectable female guest, actually holding her own in a match against the generals of the Northern Garrison — a true heroine among women!”

If it could be said that perhaps half the ladies in the gallery had failed to recognize Shen Biwei, then among the spectators below at the polo banquet, virtually no one — apart from Cui Jingyu, Pei Zhao, and Yuan Xiu — knew who Shen Biwei was. Yang Qiaozhen’s shout sent an immediate uproar rippling through the crowd.

Everyone knew Shen Biwei was arrogant and unconventional — the most cherished granddaughter of the Duke of Yongguo, which was exactly why she had been so thoroughly spoiled. But no one had imagined she would do something this shocking: every noble young lady in the capital dared do no more than watch the polo match from the gallery above, barely allowed to speak, at most permitted to join in the flower betting, relying on a Wang family maidservant to call out which team they were cheering for.

Who could have imagined she would don men’s clothing and walk right out onto the polo field? That alone was enough — but then she had gone and physically clashed with men, making a scene known to all of the capital.

Shen Biwei, for her part, was utterly unhurried, still standing in the field with her characteristic cool composure, gazing up at the gallery. She seemed wholly unsurprised by this outcome. When she spotted Ye Lingbo at the balcony railing, watching her with undisguised worry, she even had the presence of mind to smile.

However brilliant Ye Lingbo was, even she could not think of any way to salvage this. Shen Biwei’s standing might set her apart from ordinary constraints, but an incident like this, once it spread, could only harm her reputation. Never mind Huo Yingzhen — even respectable families of more modest rank would think differently of her after this.

Lingbo could only look to Han Yueqi for help, but she could see Han Yueqi’s brow tightly furrowed as well, evidently also at a loss — it was hardly possible to say that it had been she, as a sister-in-law, who had permitted it…

The gallery was all tension, and below it was even more so. Several of the senior officials had never witnessed a woman of such brazen audacity in their lives, and were all sputtering “This, this, this—” The Pingjun Prince, as host, was also at a loss, and instinctively looked toward the Prince of Rui.

The Prince of Rui smiled.

Though the sky was clear and bright, he had been out of doors for so long now that even with the warmth of his fox-fur handwarmer around him, his first word was a cough. Still, he had coughed, and the assembled guests had no choice but to wait until the coughing passed before he could speak.

“It was inconsiderate of this prince.” He smiled to the assembled company. “Seeing Yuan Xiu’s team on the verge of defeat, I grew genuinely anxious and went upstairs to find reinforcements. Knowing that the true teachings of the Duke of Yongguo rest entirely with Miss Shen, I asked her to come down and play a round on our behalf. In my concern for the honor of the capital’s nobles, I forgot to consider Miss Shen’s position. Whoever that lady was in the gallery just now spoke perfectly well — Miss Shen is indeed a true heroine among women. Bring out the jade qilin bestowed upon this prince by the imperial uncle. It was presented by the Northern Rong as tribute this year, the finest of warhorses, and it is a fitting match for Miss Shen. With martial skill like hers, if she were to take the battlefield, she would be worthy of the highest honors.”

Yuan Xiu also hurried over to smooth things over, saying: “It was entirely my own arrogance — I couldn’t beat them and had to beg Elder Sister Shen to come down. When Her Highness finds out tomorrow, she’ll be scolding me again.”

The two of them, trading lines, truly wielded the weight of power and position, and between them they managed to transform Shen Biwei’s cross-dressing on the polo field into something resembling Hua Mulan going to war — a genuinely heroic act. None of the officials present dared raise a single objection, and at once every one of them chimed in with praise: “Indeed, this is the true legacy of the Duke of Yongguo!” “If all the women of our dynasty had Miss Shen’s spirit, what would there be to fear from the Northern Rong!” “She is truly comparable to Mulan herself — it is a pity this old official lacks the literary talent, or I would write a long ode in her praise, as that alone would be worthy of Miss Shen’s gifts—” “Minister Shen is truly blessed — a son and a daughter, one civil and one martial, fully accomplished on both fronts. Unlike my own household, where son and daughter alike are utterly useless. Truly enviable…”

Under the collective flattery of the assembled guests, Master Shen — whose face had been dark as iron — gradually changed his expression and offered modest demurrals in return: “Not at all — it is entirely owing to my father-in-law’s excellent instruction…”

A potential disaster was dissolved into nothing with a few words. Shen Biwei only stood there coolly, seemingly long accustomed to the capital’s spectacle of climbing up on those with power and trampling those without. Zhao Yanze watched her like that, and though he found it somewhat amusing, all he could do was sigh.

He had been sickly since childhood and seldom went hunting. There was one occasion, though — he had gone along on a hunt with the imperial uncle, seated on the uncle’s horse, wrapped in a cloak lined with sea otter fur and sable, deliciously warm. The Duke of Yongguo had accompanied the hunt, and pointed out to him a deer standing on the ridge. That was the first time Zhao Yanze had ever seen a living elk — brownish all over, nothing like the dappled deer in the imperial gardens, and without antlers. It seemed quite young. It stood in the misty breath of the forest, sunlight flooding its whole body, and its eyes moved this way and that, like brown gemstones — so vivid and alive.

Then the wind shifted in the forest, and the deer noticed them immediately. Its ears flicked and it disappeared into the underbrush without a trace.

After they returned, during his convalescence, Zhao Yanze often thought about that deer. Where was it now? Was it grazing on dew-wet grass in the forest, drinking at a stream, or fleeing the pursuit of wolves?

He knew of course that it could not live much longer. In the imperial hunting grounds, how could a single deer survive for long? But he had never forgotten that moment. It had stood there — simply a living creature amid heaven and earth, standing right there, and no one could do a thing about it.

This world will not let her go, he knew. He had always known.

And he would not live to see the day this world came to settle accounts with her.

But while he was still here, while he still held boundless power, no one in this world could do anything to her — not even her own father.

“Attendant.” Zhao Yanze smiled and summoned an official of the royal household, giving instructions: “Convey this prince’s gifts to the winning team. The losing team shall also receive a hundred gold. The ladies in the gallery who lost their bets — this prince will cover them. Those who won their bets shall receive an additional portion from this prince as well, as this prince shares in the ladies’ good fortune. Both banquets are held together — it is a joyful occasion in itself. Let no one stand on ceremony. It ought to be festive. The Pingjun Prince has prepared many performances for the evening banquet.”

He had first established his authority, and then spoken these words in an approachable, magnanimous tone — gifts for everyone. The money itself was a small thing. What mattered was that it came from the Prince of Rui, which made it extraordinarily distinguished. And so everyone was pleased — not only did the officials at the banquet all praise the prince’s great generosity, but the young nobles burst into a collective cheer.

Word reached the ladies in the gallery, and they too broke into general delight. Just as Ye Lingbo had said before — the Flower Festival was a wonderful occasion. These ladies were worn thin from managing their households all year round, and rarely had any time to rest and enjoy themselves. The young misses were even more confined in their inner quarters, and it was only during this period that they could go out to appreciate the scenery and keep company with friends — it was a rare stretch of freedom before marriage, a precious season of youth. Unless one was born with a vicious nature like Lu Wenyin, who had spent so long scheming in household intrigues that one’s heart had gone crooked — who would want to make trouble for others for no reason, form factions and pit one group against another? Wasn’t it far better for everyone to attend the banquets in good cheer? Even in competition, there was such a thing as fair and open conduct. The capital’s young ladies numbered in the dozens of families — and marriage required both parties to find each other to their liking. What did killing off one rival accomplish when all the others still existed? It still depended on whether two people took to each other.

So today, with Lu Wenyin absent, even though the polo banquet had all the noble young men out on display — and the Northern Garrison had its generals present — it ought to have been Cui Jingyu and Wei Yushan’s occasion. But Pei Zhao had shown up without warning, making Wei Yushan look like a callow young sprout by comparison. The noble sons lacked his dragon-like horsemanship; the generals lacked his dashing, handsome bearing. He alone had picked the flower twice and drawn all the attention.

Yet no open or covert rivalry had broken out in the gallery over it. Of course, Lingbo also understood that this was partly because most of those who admired him were young misses — the married ladies had not yet entered the fray.

Still, the admiration of the young misses alone was enough to make quite a stir. Of late the capital had become infatuated with southern drama, full of stories of young ladies pledging their hearts in secret while their maids played matchmaker. The maids upstairs had absorbed a fair amount of this, and the older matrons and serving women all loved the sight of a handsome, dashing young man as well. Hearing the Prince of Rui’s decree that there should be no standing on ceremony and that things ought to liven up, they could no longer contain themselves. One of the more talkative matrons immediately said: “The prince says no standing on ceremony — then we’re going to speak up! I’ve heard that in past polo banquets, the player who won used to ride a victory circuit around the grounds and throw flowers up to the gallery. How come there’s been none of that today?”

The matrons and serving women immediately burst into clamor. A few bold-spirited maids joined in as well. The married ladies, though they didn’t know Pei Zhao’s background, could see that he was first-rate in looks, and a general of the Northern Garrison on top of that — not bad by any measure. They turned to the young Princess Wang: “Quite right — they’re not even doing the flower-tossing to the gallery, let alone the victory circuit?”

Wang Yuwei was by nature easygoing and uninhibited — she and Han Yueqi had been trading quips for years — and in any case, after the whole incident with Shen Biwei, a grand commotion was exactly what was needed to bury it. She immediately turned to the head housekeeper and laughed: “Go quickly and ask the Pingjun Prince whether this flower-tossing-to-the-gallery custom still counts today. Why isn’t the winning team moving?”

With the Prince of Rui’s decree already in force, when the message reached the lower level, the Pingjun Prince also smiled and said: “Indeed, this is a tradition of the capital. Marquis Cui, Marquis Jing — your team won the day. You should indulge the ladies’ refined wishes.”

Wei Yushan, from the moment Pei Zhao had picked the flower, had been strutting about with his tail in the clouds. He was dying to gloat triumphantly in front of Yuan Xiu. The main thing was that the exposure of Shen Biwei’s identity had given him a shock too — he hadn’t expected that the girl who had only dared to exchange a few blows with Lingbo and himself back then had grown even more audacious now. Once the Prince of Rui had sorted everything out and the ladies in the gallery relayed their request, Wei Yushan — his father being absent, with no one to thrash him — immediately led Luo Yong, Yin Hongxuan, and the rest of their group forward on horseback with a grin: “Who said anything about a victory circuit? Can’t circuit the grounds, but we can certainly do a circuit of the field. We’ll give the ladies a ride to watch.”

Not content with his own performance, he also went to provoke Yuan Xiu — deliberately riding up to him, executing a sharp rearing halt, feeling terribly dashing about himself, certain that A’Cuo watching from upstairs would admire him all the more for it. He was only eighteen or nineteen after all — what did he know about a girl’s heart.

Yuan Xiu, having spent time at court, understood ladies somewhat better than he did. Watching this display, he said with thinly veiled contempt: “Stop making a spectacle of yourself. The ladies don’t want to see you showing off. Stand to the side.”

Wei Yushan simply took this as wounded pride from a sore loser. Being the victorious party, he naturally ought to be magnanimous — and so he grinned and said: “If the ladies don’t want to see me, do they want to see you? You still haven’t admitted it — who’s better, the Northern Garrison or you noble sons?”

While those two traded barbs below, the ladies paid them no attention at all. They addressed themselves exclusively to Cui Jingyu and Pei Zhao. Young Princess Wang, as the female host, simply said outright: “Never mind about any victory circuit — the ladies don’t care about that. What they really want is the flower-tossing to the gallery. Why is there still nothing happening?”

The ladies saw her take the lead, and immediately all of them broke into lively chatter, every one of them speaking up. Since they were all married ladies, and standing in the gallery above, it wasn’t considered a breach of propriety. So they all began speaking at once, calling to Cui Jingyu: “Marquis Cui took first honors today — he ought to toss first,” and “This flower-tossing custom is tradition — there’s no getting out of it.”

Young Princess Wang, having been given some hint by Han Yueqi, knew that winning over Cui Jingyu was the aim, so she kept steering the conversation his way, pressing: “Marquis Cui, why haven’t we seen any flower-tossing?”

Cui Jingyu sat on horseback below the gallery, gazing up at it in calm silence.

Amid all the rouge and powder of the gallery, the one person missing was Ye Qinglan. He could well imagine — at moments like this, she always held herself back. It was the manner of a true noble young lady, and she respected herself. Joining in the clamor would have been harmless enough, but she never would. Not even for his sake.

And so he only replied lightly: “The lady teases. This general would not dare impose upon the young misses.”

In truth, he had never been the type most eagerly sought after by the ladies — he had always been too cold, with clear and distinct boundaries, neither subjected to the married ladies’ teasing nor drawn into teasing the young misses. In an atmosphere bursting with warmth and noise, he had only to plant himself there for the temperature to drop somewhat.

Young Princess Wang, seeing she could not budge him, sighed inwardly and was forced to change course, calling with a smile: “Marquis Cui is more serious by nature — no matter. We still have General Pei!”

The moment that name was called, the entire gallery erupted. Even when Young Princess Wang had directed the conversation toward Cui Jingyu, no small number of ladies and misses had been furtively watching Pei Zhao below. Though dusk was gathering, he was standing in the practice grounds directly beneath them, and the fading light pooled around him — a figure in blue, lean and effortlessly graceful, holding his reins with one hand in a posture of artless ease. Blue fabric set off a face that was like the image of the Second Prince God in a temple — boldly handsome and striking, yet the eyes soft and luminous with warmth, the corners of his lips curving upward, a smile in his gaze — dazzling enough to stop the heart.

And so even the ladies who had spent years immersed in the games of power could not help themselves at this moment. The moment Young Princess Wang blew the signal of assault, the gallery above exploded into noise. Every one of them had something to say.

“Quite right — General Pei won the day today, why hasn’t he tossed any flowers yet?” “He was quick enough picking the flowers, but slow about tossing them up — that isn’t right at all.” “General Pei — when you toss a flower up, whoever you toss it to is the one you’ve set your eyes on. No taking it back!”

Those were the respectable remarks. The less restrained ones came from families where decorum was somewhat more relaxed — ladies in their thirties and forties who had long grown accustomed to lively banter. Their children were grown, and playing a little with matters of romance was all the prerogative of an elder teasing a younger generation. Besides, they were not yet old, still clinging to the last of their bloom — fleeting youth, the rare pleasure of the Flower Festival Season, and a dashing general as handsome as the dream-prince of one’s girlhood even rarer still. So every one of them joined in the jokes.

“Exactly. General Pei picked two flowers all by himself today — let’s hope he’s not like that Wang Shaoshan in the plays, with a double celebration. That sort of fickle-hearted business isn’t to be encouraged!” The speaker was Madam Chen — the Chen family being newly risen with fewer rigid conventions, and accustomed to indulging their daughter. Chen Mengliu had been whispering in Madam Chen’s ear all along, and it was clear her mother was speaking on her behalf.

Wang Shaoshan was the protagonist of the southern drama Bracelets and Hairpins Reunited, who in the end married into two families in a single wedding day. The assembled ladies heard this and immediately dissolved into even louder laughter. Some said: “By his face alone, General Pei is clearly a devoted man — Madam Chen needn’t worry.” Others said: “I suspect it isn’t the madam asking, but Miss Chen herself?” Those whose own daughters had also taken a fancy to him, having held up a pretense of composure until Madam Chen entered the fray, finally couldn’t hold on any longer, and hurried to say: “Madam Chen can’t say things like that — General Pei is young and spirited, a little romance is only natural. Let him toss up two flowers — the Flower Festival Season is still long…”

The ladies dissolved into cheerful chaos; the young misses blushed and stole glances at Pei Zhao below; maids, serving women, and matrons all joined in the merriment. The gallery was awash in noise. Only Ye Lingbo sat alone in a corner, her expression growing darker by the moment.

No wonder Shen Biwei called him a fox — he was a wretched fox, fickle and flirtatious.

And yet the man below, Pei Zhao, was completely oblivious to his own peril — sitting on horseback in the gathering dusk, laughing a little self-deprecatingly and saying: “The ladies flatter me. I’m afraid there’s no one who’d want my flowers.”

When a man is very good-looking, the worst thing is for him to know it himself — and from that knowledge, to develop a kind of vain, self-satisfied preening that shows off his looks. That crosses from nobility into the perfumed air of a kept man. All the fine spirit drains away.

When one has already grown into the face of Pan An, modesty becomes him far better. To observe propriety, to let the eyes drift naturally downward in composure, while still carrying oneself with ease and openness — standing quietly below the gallery, the body lean and graceful — who could see that and not be moved?

Yet who could have anticipated Pei Zhao would say something like that.

The gallery was at some distance from the ground, so the ladies could not see the droop of his gaze, nor did they know why he spoke so desolately. But the words themselves were genuinely moving — and the person who said them had just demonstrated this very skill, defeated the capital’s noble sons on the polo field, and claimed the day’s highest honor.

Never mind the married ladies — even the young misses were visibly affected. Chen Mengliu was the most impulsive of temperaments; she was the first one who couldn’t hold it in, crying out: “Who said General Pei’s flowers have no takers? I’ll take them!”

Madam Chen had barely had time to worry that her daughter had gone too far before Lu Wanyang also smiled and said: “A hero need not speak of his origins. General Pei has such exceptional skill, and he is a merit-holder returned from the battlefield — why should he doubt himself?”

Once she said that, everyone assumed Pei Zhao’s low spirit came from his humble origins and background. It made sense — Yuan Xiu had been openly contemptuous of the Northern Garrison earlier, clearly looking down on military men from the border regions with the arrogance of a noble son, and all the ladies in the gallery had heard it. No wonder General Pei, even after winning the polo match, feared that no one would want his flowers.

At once everyone directed pointed looks at Yuan Xiu’s side of the field. The more quick-tempered young misses immediately cried out: “General Pei, don’t believe a word of what they said — His Majesty himself has said the Northern Garrison are the true heroes who protect our country and our homes. The capital’s noble sons should all be learning from you!” “Exactly — the only thing they have going for them is their birth, not a single thing of their own doing. And they dare to insult a merit-holder. Who do they think they are!” Once the topic had turned to justice, the young misses found their voice. At once every one of them was indignant and righteous, and they gave Yuan Xiu and his group a thorough tongue-lashing. “And you have the nerve to criticize General Pei — you lot spend your days galloping on Leyou Plain, trampling the flower meadows so badly they’re a complete ruin, and ruining the views for our flower-appreciation outings.” “Exactly, exactly — and after all that practice, you still couldn’t win. We all saw it just now — you were completely played by General Pei!” “Yes — General Pei, you’re brilliant at riding too. Come to the riding banquet as well? We all love watching you ride!”

Yuan Xiu’s group had it rough — not only had they lost the polo match, they now found themselves inexplicably on the receiving end of a thorough scolding from young misses who, moreover, could not be answered back. They could only stand there gritting their teeth in fury. Wei Yushan, ever one to press a victory, rode another circuit around them the moment he heard riding mentioned, grinning and mocking them to their faces.

Pei Zhao judged that things had gone about as far as they needed to, and let his magic rest. He raised his head and smiled up at the gallery.

Dusk had settled on all four sides, but the gallery blazed with lanterns — the royal household was wealthy, and they used only the finest sheep-horn palace lanterns and clear-tile palace lanterns, strung by the dozens along the eaves, lighting gallery and grounds alike as bright as midday. Pei Zhao was still standing in relative shadow, and when he tipped his face up to look at the gallery above, all the light fell on his features — peach-blossom eyes warm with a smile, lips curving gently upward, truly a face like polished jade.

They said the Flower Festival was about power and position. But in youth, with hearts just beginning to stir, who didn’t also look at faces? Women a thousand years ago already knew the art of choosing the best of both worlds. Power and wealth were all fleeting things, but the dashing brilliance of a young man like this — that was something carved into the heart.

“I thank the ladies for their kind regard.”

But who was listening to what he said? No one knew who started it — the gallery suddenly burst into a single great cheer. Then came the praise, the laughter, and the clamor all together, and really it was the married ladies who moved first, throwing down sprigs of apricot blossom from the banquet tables, calling it thanks for General Pei helping them win their flower bets — though it was merely an excuse. But once the first person started, everyone followed at once, and the young misses were swept up among them. Flowers rained down from the whole gallery — a shower of apricot blossoms. It was the very scene described in old stories: beauties pelting a handsome man with fruit until his carriage overflowed.

Pei Zhao only smiled and ducked away, using his hand to shield his head, and made no move to toss any flower ball upward. It was Wei Yushan who finally rode over with the others and gave the ladies a riding performance, rescuing him from the barrage.