The Imperial Music Bureau was housed within the palace grounds — among the places the Emperor frequented. The female performers within the Bureau served exclusively to entertain the palace’s noble residents at banquets and musical gatherings.

Princess Baohua Xie Yuzhang had often come here in the past, growing so familiar with the dancers that she could speak to the strengths and weaknesses of each one’s footwork and bearing. But recently the princess had been unwell, and it had been well over half a month since she had last visited.

This was the first time in half a month that Princess Baohua had graced them with her presence, and with the rehearsal for the grand banquet three days away, the Imperial Music Bureau prepared itself from top to bottom to receive her.

Xie Yuzhang stepped down from her palanquin and looked over this place that had been so intimately familiar to her in her past life.

There was no smile on the princess’s face. Her gaze carried an indescribable coolness. Left Eunuch Fang had come forward with a full face of warm smiles to greet her, and that warmth lodged in his throat. Without quite realizing it, he bent his back and spine lower, and when he spoke, a note of careful deference crept into his voice.

Xie Yuzhang saw that everyone was prepared and said, “Run through it once for me to watch first. I’ve been idle for half a month — I’ve practically forgotten it.”

Princess Baohua was a natural dancer. No one truly believed she would forget a dance in half a month. But dance, like martial training, required daily practice — it was true enough that a few days without performing would make one’s hands and feet grow stiff.

At once the finest dancer took the lead position — the role of the main dancer — standing in for Princess Baohua. In a moment, drums, strings, and reed pipes rang out together, filling the hall with magnificent music.

Da Zhao had passed through centuries of rise, flourishing, and splendor to reach the present day, and the court music was saturated with a sense of wealth and indulgence, so much so that all who heard it felt themselves still living in a golden age of peace.

In her past life, Xie Yuzhang had always carried this same illusion.

When the dance concluded and the dancers and musicians had come to a rest, all eyes turned toward Xie Yuzhang.

Xie Yuzhang lingered in a brief reverie, then smiled once more. “Rest for a moment. I’ll work on the timing first.”

In the old days, the moment the princess came among them, she was no longer a princess — she was simply a pure dancer. Everyone sensed today’s princess was different from before: cool and distant. Even toward the dance she loved most, there was none of her former ardor.

Today, she remained always the princess.

The musicians drank water and retuned their strings. Xie Yuzhang rose and walked to the center of the rehearsal hall. She had dressed for dancing from the start — wearing light rehearsal clothes — and two dancers came forward to help her slip on an outer robe with long, flowing water sleeves.

Xie Yuzhang’s hands emerged from the sleeves, her fingers pinching the fabric. Shaped like an orchid in bloom, this became the opening pose.

The musicians held their breath, eyes fixed on those pale, slender fingers. When the delicate hand suddenly turned, the orchid blossomed, and the first note of music broke through the air — in a single instant, it drew back the curtain on a scene of gorgeous splendor.

The Princess Baohua they called the Pearl of Yunjing, this dancer born of heaven, unfurled herself like a butterfly emerging from a long sleep.

Yet after one passage of music, those watching exchanged glances, each seeing the bewilderment and confusion in the other’s eyes.

Even accounting for half a month’s rest, how could the princess’s footwork and movements be so… rusty?

Dancers certainly had room for personal expression, but Princess Baohua was not improvising — the stiffness and missteps were clearly from disuse. How could half a month have made her seem as though she hadn’t danced this piece in many years?

Xie Yuzhang executed a high kick, her body extending like a bird spreading its wings. This body of hers was supple and resilient, healthy and nimble, light as air.

This dance had gone unperformed for many years. Xie Yuzhang recalled the lead dancer who had just run through it, and her body slowly rediscovered its memory.

Her soul, arrived from the future, began to align itself with this still-young body. The memory held in her muscles made her movements increasingly fluid. She spun round and round, and she remembered what it had felt like to be a girl — how much she had loved to dance. And then, how joyful dancing had been for her.

When the music ended, Xie Yuzhang drew into her closing stance and held the pose suspended in the air. She drew a deep breath, and through her body coursed an indescribable exhilaration, as if every cell was rejoicing.

Left Eunuch Fang led the applause. “After all this time resting, Your Highness still remembers so much of it.”

This was a tactful way of telling her she was not up to standard yet. Performing like this might fool an untrained eye, but it would not pass before the Emperor, whose musical sensibility was refined and whose eye for performance was pitilessly sharp.

Xie Yuzhang understood, and said, “I’ve largely forgotten it. Let’s not run the full piece today — Yuxian’er, come work with me. Everyone else, go practice your own parts.”

The backing dancers moved to another space to rehearse on their own. The lead dancer who had performed — the one called Yuxian’er — went smilingly to Xie Yuzhang’s side to serve as her practice partner.

She led Xie Yuzhang through the complete sequence section by section. After a spinning turn and high kick coming back around, she looked up to find Xie Yuzhang watching her steadily, something different in her expression.

“Your Highness, this section has nine rotations, and the final high kick must land firm,” she said gently.

As she was speaking, Xie Yuzhang interrupted her, asking abruptly, “Yuxian’er, between you and me — who dances better?”

Yuxian’er’s expression did not change. She replied with mock reproach: “What is Your Highness saying? Your Highness dances for self-expression and joy. This servant dances for the pleasure of noble patrons. High and low are different — how can they be compared?”

Xie Yuzhang had also once danced for others’ pleasure. That truly had been different. From art reduced to craft — a descent to something lesser.

In others’ eyes, she had naturally been considered very beautiful. But she herself knew: the night of the banquet in Yunjing years ago, when the Khaganate’s envoys were received, had been the last time in her life she had danced at her very best.

Xie Yuzhang curved the corners of her mouth. “Let’s continue.”

The long water sleeves swept outward, her willow-slender waist arching back.

Xie Yuzhang could not help wondering: when that Emperor said “she cannot compare to Princess Baohua in years past,” what had he seen her as?

A princess? Or a performing girl?

For the Bureau these days, the greatest event was the palace banquet two days hence. Left Eunuch Fang and the dance instructors were not worried about the backing dancers — it was Princess Baohua who gave them greater concern. The dance Xie Yuzhang had performed earlier had been far below her usual standard.

Even if the princess danced like a toad, the Emperor would only be amused. But for them, it could mean losing their positions or even their heads.

Left Eunuch Fang and the instructors dared not disturb Xie Yuzhang, and only peeked furtively through the rehearsal hall doorway.

Fortunately, after a few more runs, Princess Baohua appeared to have found her footing. Her dancing grew smoother with each repetition.

Left Eunuch Fang finally let out a breath of relief.

Princess Baohua, once she set her mind to practicing, never feared fatigue. She practiced the entire day, and by evening her movements had become as fluid as flowing clouds, her former standard fully restored.

As he respectfully saw Xie Yuzhang off, Left Eunuch Fang repeatedly urged, “Tomorrow we run through it together. Tonight Your Highness must rest well — be sure to have the palace attendants work your muscles thoroughly. Otherwise, after such a long period without practice, this sudden exertion will leave you with sore muscles tomorrow.”

He could not help adding, “This is the first time Your Highness has gone this long without exercise.”

Xie Yuzhang gave a slight nod and departed in her palanquin.

Two or three days flew past quickly.

That afternoon, Li Weifeng came running into Li Gu’s room carrying several sets of clothes. “Come look — which do you want to wear tonight?”

Li Gu scanned the outfits spread across the bed. All of them were the finest light gauze fabric fashionable in Yunjing that summer.

“Yang Erh-lang’s borrowed tailor works fast — had these run up already. I told him to do yours first — hurry and look. Which set do you want to wear?” Li Weifeng prattled on.

Li Gu was not having it. “I’ll wear my official uniform.”

At a banquet of this kind, the senior officials naturally wore their official robes with jade-inlaid belts. The younger men they brought along to show their faces didn’t necessarily hold official posts, and weren’t obligated to wear them.

Li Weifeng rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I had it made for you for nothing!” I should have had my own done first!

He muttered on at Li Gu: “The only reason Commander brought you instead of me is because you’re better looking, isn’t it? You’re supposed to bring Commander honor — can’t you at least dress nicely?”

Li Gu replied, “For a man, nothing is more beautiful than what Commander wears — purple robes and a golden fish-badge.”

Li Gu had not yet reached the age of majority, yet he already wore the crimson official robe — which was truly quite distinguished in its own right.

Li Gu was usually a man of few words, but when he did speak, Li Weifeng could never get the better of him, because Li Gu always went straight to the point. And besides, Li Weifeng privately felt he was right.

“Fair enough.” He rubbed his hands together, yet couldn’t help adding, “But we still can’t manage a gold fish-badge right now. You could at least wear something decent. Hey — what about the jade pendant Princess Baohua gave you? Wear it, wear it! It’s so beautiful, why do I never see you wearing it?”

And he reached right out to rummage through Li Gu’s waist pouch. Li Gu slapped his hand away. “Stop fooling around.”

Li Weifeng said, “I heard today’s banquet will have Princess Baohua dancing for His Majesty. I’m telling you — you should wear it.”

He said with a note of regret, “We can’t aspire to the princess — she’s beyond us. But if you wear it, at least the princess will glance over, know that we received her kindness with gratitude.”

He also looked at Li Gu enviously. “You really are fortunate. Everyone in Yunjing says Princess Baohua is a celestial immortal who came down from the Jade Terrace where she danced for the Queen Mother of the West — and you, you’re going to get to feast your eyes tonight.”

Li Gu heard this and something shifted behind his eyes.

Just then a servant came in with food. “The Commander says the palace banquets are often insufficient, and told the Eleventh Young Master to have something first. We depart in half an hour.”

Li Weifeng’s eyes went wide. “The palace doesn’t feed you properly?”

Li Gu said, “When in front of the Son of Heaven, who eats their fill at leisure? And lacks for that one mouthful?”

The servant laughed and said, “Precisely — that is exactly what the Commander said. At a palace banquet, there are many constraints. Younger guests often can’t eat freely and end up leaving hungry — it happens often. So it’s common to have something beforehand. But one must not eat too much, for fear of needing to use the privy at a most inconvenient moment. The Commander advises about thirty to forty percent full.”

The food brought was a full meal’s worth for an ordinary person — but for a young man of Li Gu’s age, it was truly only about thirty to forty percent of what he could eat.

In no time at all it was cleared like a wind sweeping leaves. A servant poured water for him to wash up, then brought out his clothes.

That crimson official robe had been newly granted upon this trip to the capital. It came in both winter and summer versions. The summer fabric was smooth and light against the hand. The servant had pressed it early — not a single crease.

Li Gu was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. Once the belt was cinched, the lines of his shoulders and back were upright and imposing, and he cut a particularly striking figure.

Li Weifeng clicked his tongue in admiration: “You were right — even in official uniform, you leave those others far behind.”

And said again, “The jade pendant — put it on, put it on.”

The two of them, military men from the frontier, normally found it a nuisance to hang various trinkets and accessories on themselves. Only the jade pendants given by Xie Yuzhang were different — unadorned and powerful-looking, without any fussiness. They appealed to their taste entirely. Li Weifeng had hung his on his waist every day since the day he received it.

Since this was a banquet, they left the horses and took a carriage. Li Gu boarded, and Li Ming noticed the jade pendant, made a small sound of curiosity, and asked, “Is that the Old Seventh’s?”

Li Gu answered, “No — it’s mine. They are a pair: his tiger faces left, mine faces right.”

Li Ming picked it up and looked. The tiger’s head was indeed facing in the exact opposite direction from Li Weifeng’s. A matched pair. The jade was flawless white, the carving as though shaped by nature itself — clearly the work of a master craftsman, elevated in quality and spirit.

He set it down and smiled. “Where did you two pick up something this fine?”

Li Gu answered without hesitation, “Princess Baohua gave it to us.”

Li Ming was surprised.

He reflected that Princess Baohua had reached the age when a girl begins to transform into a young woman… and he could not help using the light in the carriage to take a glance at Li Gu.

Thick brows, a high nose, brimming with spirit and yet composed and steady, that quality of masculine vigor belonging to young men of the northwest impossible to conceal even if one tried. If only he were… his own flesh and blood.

Thinking of how his own biological son fell short of his adopted sons in every way except birth, Li Ming could not help an inward sigh, his interest dimming. “Princess Baohua is not bad…” he said. “What a pity.”

The carriage swayed along. Through the bamboo blind one could see the bustling residents of Yunjing. Ordinary people wore gauze, silk, and fine fabrics that technically exceeded their permitted station, yet their faces carried the smiles of people living in comfort, each and every one of them proudly calling themselves citizens of Yunjing.

Li Gu turned the jade pendant over in his hand, slowly, and wondered in his heart: why had Li Ming spoken of Princess Baohua and said — what a pity?