Chuxiu Pavilion.

Tomorrow would be the grand day when the palace ladies would meet the Emperor and the ladies of each palace. To allow the palace ladies to display their best spirits and wash away the monotony and fatigue of a full month of continuous instruction, Nanny Fang gave the remaining fifty palace ladies a day off.

Though it was a day off, the palace ladies could only move about within Chuxiu Pavilion and were not permitted to play or make noise.

The most magnificent structures in the Imperial City were the Three Great Halls. Chuxiu Pavilion occupied only a small corner of the Western Palace—a square courtyard compound with an open space in the middle for the palace ladies to practice their gait and deportment. Only beneath the eaves of the main building and the east and west wing rooms were narrow strips of flower beds left, planted with peonies commonly seen in the palace.

In late March, some peonies had already bloomed while others remained as verdant buds, round and tight, as if complaining that the breeze was not yet warm enough.

Yao Huang shared the southern room of the west wing with four other palace ladies.

At such a flower-like, jade-like age, the young ladies all loved cleanliness. However, five people were still too many—after one night, the room felt stuffy.

Yao Huang rose the latest. After dressing, seeing that only one other palace lady remained in the room combing her hair, she tentatively asked, “Shall I open the window?”

Chen Ying smiled into the mirror while inserting a jade hairpin, “Go ahead. The water in the pot must be cold by now—hurry and wash up.”

Each morning, palace maids would bring a large pot of hot water for the five to divide among themselves as they wished.

The palace ladies who had made it this far all understood the importance of temperament and virtue. They would never quarrel over such trivial matters as water distribution. Their daily interactions were even more harmonious and congenial than biological sisters born of the same mother.

Yao Huang lifted the closed window panels. Brilliant spring light immediately flooded in, making her lower her eyelids from the glare while warming her face.

A row of seven or eight beauties stood beside the flower bed under the eaves. Drawn by the sound of the window opening, the beauties looked up in unison.

Inside the window, Yao Huang’s long hair hung disheveled over her shoulders—clearly just awakened.

Rising early was a basic quality expected of official families’ young ladies. Even on a day off, they should maintain self-discipline and propriety—what more in the imperial palace?

At this encounter, several palace ladies immediately exchanged glances, revealing their knowing disdain for Yao Huang.

But there were also palace ladies attracted by Yao Huang’s complexion of white tinged with pink, by the languid and tender charm of someone just awakened from good sleep, completely forgetting to criticize Yao Huang’s late rising.

After all, in this Chuxiu Pavilion that gathered beauties of every description, Yao Huang had still become well-known early on for her memorable peony-flower name and her full, soft figure.

Having eaten and lodged together for a month, Yao Huang also recognized each palace lady in that row. She smiled at everyone, secured the window, turned to sit at the edge of the heated platform to put on her shoes—the lower window lattice naturally blocked the view from outside.

Chen Ying turned from her dressing stool, watching as Yao Huang naturally lifted the pot to pour water, relaxed as if living in her own home. She couldn’t help but ask in a low voice, “Aren’t you afraid that Nanny Fang is only pretending to give us a day off while secretly observing our every move? At this point, being sent out of the palace over such a small matter wouldn’t be worth it.”

Yao Huang: “…If only it were truly that simple.”

The palace selection was news suddenly released from the palace last year. Officials far from the capital might have had the chance to arrange marriages for their daughters before the court documents arrived. The Yao family was right in the capital with no connections to high officials. They only learned of this matter when all capital officials received notice, and the documents explicitly forbade officials from marrying off their daughters before the preliminary selection ended.

Yao Huang had quite a reputation for beauty in her neighborhood and unavoidably entered the preliminary selection.

The nannies and imperial physicians in charge of the selection had sharp eyes—feigning illness or ugliness wouldn’t work, and deliberately making major mistakes was unwise. First, it would ruin one’s own reputation; second, it would implicate one’s parents, causing them to be mocked for failing to properly educate their daughter.

Yao Huang entered the palace alone, lacking the courage to cause trouble in this place of strict rules. During the month-long period of instruction and moral observation, Yao Huang racked her brains and made three harmless attempts, striving to be flawless in conduct while unsuitable to become any prince’s primary or secondary consort.

The first time, she bravely told Nanny Fang that one bowl of rice wasn’t enough and hoped to have an extra bowl at each meal.

Of the three hundred palace ladies initially kept in the palace, she was the only one to request more rice.

Yao Huang still remembered the quiet laughter of the surrounding palace ladies. Yet Nanny Fang merely looked her over from head to toe and actually agreed!

The second time, feeling irritable from days resembling house arrest, Yao Huang seized this restless energy and started practicing martial arts in the courtyard.

Her father was a military man skilled in saber and spear techniques. When father taught her older brother, the active Yao Huang learned alongside them and actually learned quite well. Unfortunately, Chuxiu Pavilion had neither sabers nor staffs, so Yao Huang could only practice empty-handed.

The palace ladies were startled by her, and palace maids immediately summoned Nanny Fang.

Nanny Fang: “What are you doing?”

Yao Huang looked innocent: “I seem to have gained a little weight recently. Exerting more energy will help me slim down.”

Nanny Fang examined her figure and nodded approvingly: “Your current size is just right. Indeed, you shouldn’t gain more weight. However, martial arts practice might hurt others—better to reduce your rice by one bowl instead.”

Yao Huang: “…”

Whenever other palace ladies did anything that didn’t please Nanny Fang, she would directly send them out of the palace without giving them any chance to explain or correct themselves. How was it that with her, Nanny Fang was so tolerant?

When the number of palace ladies had shrunk to one hundred, Yao Huang began rising late, being the last to arrive every day.

Nanny Fang called her aside separately and gently reminded her: “Being able to eat and sleep well are both blessings. Arriving late doesn’t matter, but you absolutely must not be tardy. If you truly break even this rule, others will suspect you of disdaining the imperial family and deliberately tormenting yourself to seek elimination. If word reaches the ears of noble personages, your entire family will bear the crime of disrespect.”

Yao Huang was a promising candidate in her eyes. While she could mercilessly send others out of the palace for improper words or actions, with Yao Huang, she would find ways to make exceptions.

Nanny Fang didn’t want to invite gossip—getting Yao Huang to behave was the most convenient method.

Understanding Nanny Fang’s deeper meaning, Yao Huang completely abandoned her plan to leave the palace by exploiting minor flaws.

The palace ladies of Chuxiu Pavilion lived almost constantly under the scrutiny of Nanny Fang, palace servants, and other palace ladies. Perhaps one unintentional gesture or careless remark could become the reason for their expulsion from the palace and loss of opportunity for wealth and honor.

Thus, during every conversation, the palace ladies were on edge—introducing themselves as humbly as possible, commenting on others only with flattery.

Yao Huang neither liked speaking nor hearing those endlessly repeated pleasantries. Most of the time, she preferred staying alone in her room. When tired of sitting, she would walk a few circles in the small courtyard to move her limbs. The only palace lady she could be called close to was Chen Ying.

Chen Ying was the daughter of a county magistrate from a small county in the southwest—timid and shy. When first assigned to share a room with Yao Huang, she didn’t even dare initiate conversation with her. But after Yao Huang requested extra meals and started rising late, Chen Ying somehow felt Yao Huang was approachable. Occasionally she would sidle up to Yao Huang to share a sentence or two from her heart—either missing her hometown or worrying about her future.

At dusk, after the evening meal, the palace ladies returned to their rooms one after another. Yao Huang remained in the courtyard, walking to aid digestion.

After three circuits, Chen Ying approached with a heavily burdened expression.

Yao Huang cooperatively chose a spot least likely to be overheard and, after Chen Ying stopped beside her, took the initiative to ask with concern, “What’s wrong?”

Chen Ying spoke in a very soft voice: “During the day, I heard someone mention the three princes.”

As the daughter of a remote county magistrate of her background, she normally had no opportunity to hear of the princes’ affairs. After arriving in the capital, the nannies strictly forbade the palace ladies from discussing noble personages improperly. Only on this final day did a few young ladies from renowned capital families grow bold enough to chat briefly.

Yao Huang was born in the capital. Though her father was only a sixth-rank Captain commanding a hundred men—there were fully two thousand such low-ranking military officers across the four military camps in the capital suburbs—still, having the advantage of proximity, she understood the general situation of the imperial princes.

The eldest prince, Prince Kang, was the only son of Consort Liu. His princess consort had died of illness, and this selection was to choose a successor princess consort.

The second prince, Prince Hui, was the adopted son of Consort Du. He had gained fame through martial prowess and distinguished himself in battle repeatedly, but unfortunately suffered severe injuries on the battlefield last year, crippling both legs.

The third prince, Prince Qing, was the son of Consort Shen. Twenty years old this year, he was said to be accomplished in both civil and military arts and quite favored by Emperor Yongchang.

Consort Du also had a biological fourth prince under her care, only twelve or thirteen years old—not yet of age to take a wife.

In Yao Huang’s view, marrying Prince Qing, accomplished in both civil and military arts, as his primary consort would be best. As for the other two—one would make you a stepmother, the other was disabled, making life very inconvenient.

Yet even a successor princess consort or the princess consort of a disabled prince would likely be chosen from renowned young ladies. Palace ladies of low status like Yao Huang were merely the green leaves setting off the red flowers—either eliminated or made a secondary consort for some prince. In the very worst case, after the princes finished selecting their primary and secondary consorts, they might catch the eye of the fifty-some-year-old Emperor Yongchang and be kept in the palace as low-ranking concubines.

“Yao Yao, I’m afraid.” Chen Ying grasped Yao Huang’s hand, her face pale.

She truly hadn’t expected that of only three adult princes, two households were actually undesirable destinations. Being a primary consort would be difficult—what more a secondary consort?

Yao Huang knew Chen Ying also wanted to be eliminated and return to familiar loved ones, but she couldn’t comfort her according to Chen Ying’s wishes, nor could she comment on the three princes or offer Chen Ying any suggestions. The only thing she could do was pat Chen Ying’s hand and say in a low voice, “Don’t think too much about matters beyond your control. Apart from giving yourself a headache, it’s completely useless.”

Chen Ying glanced toward the doorway and obediently swallowed down those anxious feelings.

As night fell, Yao Huang lay on the heated platform, hearing the four others sharing her sleeping platform tossing and turning one after another.

Yao Huang wrapped herself tightly in her quilt, thinking of her parents and older brother whom she hadn’t seen for over a month, thinking of the large heated platform in her west wing room at home that belonged to her alone. At some point, she fell asleep.

The red sun rose in the east, its bright rays penetrating the glazed windows.

The momentous day that would almost determine the palace ladies’ entire lives was, to Emperor Yongchang, just an ordinary day.

He first attended morning court. After court dismissed, he went to the imperial study to review memorials, then held separate discussions with several ministers on political matters. Having finished these tasks, Emperor Yongchang walked to the window, stretched his arms and rotated his waist. Glancing at the water clock, he asked Eunuch Wang, who stood bent at his side, “Has Prince Hui entered the palace?”

Eunuch Wang smiled and said, “He has. The prince arrived half a period ago and has been in the Central Palace keeping the ladies company in conversation.”

Emperor Yongchang shook his head: “He never had much idle chatter to begin with. Now with his legs in that state, how could he have the mood to keep anyone company? Even in front of me, he can’t manage a smile.”

Eunuch Wang’s expression showed sadness. The Emperor had delayed establishing a crown prince for so long that no one knew whom the Emperor truly favored. Even if Prince Hui couldn’t become crown prince, with his martial skills he could serve as a great general assisting the future new emperor. Who would have thought…

When Prince Hui was injured, aside from himself, Emperor Yongchang was the one who felt the most heartache.

Privately, a father pitying his ill son was perfectly natural. Publicly, when a general was injured resisting the enemy on the battlefield, the emperor should naturally provide some compensation.

Therefore, while other sons had their respective mothers help them select primary and secondary consorts, for Prince Hui, Emperor Yongchang exceptionally granted him permission to choose his own princess consort!

With his legs immobile, he should at least choose a wife pleasing to the eye to spend his life with!