In the men’s section, besides Prince Fu, there were only two other princes—Prince Zhou Fu Xiu’an and Prince Jing Fu Xiuxuan. The Crown Prince’s health was poor, so he would not attend such occasions. Prince Zhou and Prince Jing were born to Concubine Xian Xu. Both were outstanding in talent; Prince Zhou had an outgoing and arrogant personality, while Prince Jing was reserved but calculating. These two also coveted the throne. Everyone knew the Crown Prince was frail, and one day the Emperor would appoint a new heir. Concubine Xian Xu was deeply favored by the Emperor, whereas in comparison, Prince Fu’s mother, Concubine Shu Dong, kept a much lower profile. If Prince Fu weren’t so outstanding, she might not even have secured a position among the four imperial concubines.
In her previous life, Prince Zhou and Prince Jing were caught up in the succession struggle but lowered their guard against Prince Fu. Firstly, Fu Xiuyi was on good terms with the Crown Prince, always aligning with him and personally searching for precious medicinal ingredients for him. Even the Empress was quite satisfied with Fu Xiuyi. Therefore, others thought Prince Fu was merely the Crown Prince’s follower. Secondly, Fu Xiuyi usually appeared aloof and disdained participating in court affairs. Furthermore, Concubine Shu Dong was cautious by nature, spending her days reciting sutras and cultivating Buddhism, and without powerful family support, people assumed Prince Fu couldn’t make any significant waves.
But in fact, the one who ultimately sat on the dragon throne was Fu Xiuyi—the one they thought couldn’t make any waves.
Shen Miao picked up a playing card and toyed with it. Just like these cards, Fu Xiuyi’s hand from birth was terrible, and everyone thought he was out of the game from the start. Yet they didn’t know that he never intended to play with the cards in his hand. His cards were in others’ hands, and what he needed to do was seize them.
“How can you not react?” Seeing her silent, with no sign of affection for Fu Xiuyi in her eyes, Feng Anning found it strange: “Don’t you like him?”
Shen Miao raised her head and looked at her.
Feng Anning was startled. The sharpness in that glance made her heart grow cold, with an almost irresistible urge to kneel. She didn’t know where this feeling came from, only instinctively realizing that what she had just said had displeased Shen Miao. She paused, then said: “Actually, I don’t like him much either. How could there be such a perfect person in the world? He doesn’t seem real.”
This time, Shen Miao gave Feng Anning a genuinely earnest look. She hadn’t expected this spoiled young lady from a prestigious family to see through this layer. How many people were infatuated with Fu Xiuyi’s appearance? If Fu Xiuyi were willing, probably not a single young lady in this hall wouldn’t fall for him. How strange that there was still one who stood apart?
She said languidly: “Seems like you already have someone in your heart.”
“W-what nonsense are you talking about?” Feng Anning’s small face instantly turned bright red: “Don’t slander innocent people.”
Shen Miao stopped talking to her. The matters of a young girl’s heart—she had no interest in prying.
She certainly had her affairs to attend to.
Coming and going, most of the invitations for the Chrysanthemum Banquet had been received, and people should all be present.
At the chrysanthemum field in Yan Bei Hall, a huge platform had been set up. This stage-like arrangement didn’t appear vulgar because the late Emperor had once performed the heaven worship ceremony here. It was a platform imbued with the essence of the true dragon. On both sides stood ceremonial soldiers with red headbands, loudly beating drums.
The drumbeats thundered to the sky, and musicians played the zithers. It was a piece called “The Scholar’s Song,” symbolizing the imperial family’s eagerness to seek talented individuals. Today’s examination was to select the truly worthy talents for the Ming Qi kingdom, those who would become future pillars of the state.
The music and drumbeats entered the ears powerfully, carrying a unique, majestic quality that stirred one’s emotions uncontrollably. Most present were young men in their passionate years, almost drawn into the music’s realm, wishing only to display all their talents before everyone, to make their mark in Ming Qi, and to leave a brilliant stroke in the imperial history.
Even the young women couldn’t help but reveal excited expressions. Though they couldn’t enter the court as officials like the boys, their fathers and brothers were pillars of the nation. Their families stood tall and proud, and bathing in the imperial favor, their hearts were filled with gratitude.
While the entire gathering was enveloped in excitement and reverence under the vast imperial grace, only one person’s gaze remained cold, showing not the slightest bit of emotion.
Shen Miao’s gaze fell on the central musician. This was what the Ming Qi imperial family loved most—arousing the patriotic hearts of young men, using them to serve the decaying imperial court. Yet in the end, once the kingdom was stabilized, these men who had shed blood for the nation rarely met good endings.
When the crafty hare dies, the hunting dog goes into the cooking pot. With each new emperor’s ascension, the old people would be eliminated. Especially those officials who had witnessed the darkness during the succession struggles, who had seen the imperial family’s dirty dealings and bloodshed—how could the imperial family feel at ease letting them continue to rise?
These stirring musical pieces would one day become funeral dirges. And these youths, currently immersed in patriotic fervor, would eventually die under the imperial court’s treacherous machinations, becoming innocent sacrifices.
She couldn’t save everyone in the world, but she could save her people.
Shen Miao lightly raised her hand, her right sleeve instantly brushing past the table edge. The bowl of clear tea was swept to the ground with the motion. With a crisp “crack,” the sound rang out in the hall. It should have been inaudible, but compared to those rhythmic musical pieces, it was like someone pulling one string out of a well-arranged set of silk strings, disrupting all the others.
With a “twang,” it broke the rhythm of the music.
As if awakening from a dream, Feng Anning suddenly came to her senses. She saw Shen Miao calmly picking up the fallen teacup, smiling slightly: “I’m sorry, my hand slipped.”
The musician on stage, who had been intensely keeping the rhythm and plucking the strings, felt his mind explode, almost fainting from pain.
This type of music had been learned from a Westerner by Ming Qi. It had some bewitching qualities, slightly stirring the emotions in people’s hearts. This piece was a war tune, greatly amplifying the fighting spirit and loyalty in people’s hearts. If played to completion, some loyalty might turn into blind obedience.
The terrifying nature of this music was something Shen Miao only came to understand after becoming Empress in her previous life. The Ming Qi imperial family used such music to bewitch the youth, making them shed blood for the royals. When the Huns invaded, the imperial family ordered large numbers of imperial guards to protect the capital and recruited new soldiers for the frontier. They had these musicians play and drum on stage, causing waves of young men to join the army without looking back, some not even having reached adulthood.
With Shen Miao’s interruption, the musicians’ momentum increasingly weakened. The final notes no longer carried the previous passionate fervor but were just ordinary playing. And the trance-like patriotic enthusiasm in the audience gradually dissipated, everything returning to calm.
But Shen Miao’s earlier action had indeed caught the attention of some people. From the men’s section, Fu Xiuyi and Pei Lang both looked over.