On the tenth day of the twelfth month, Grand Princess Minghua arrived by imperial decree to attend the Camellia Banquet.

In truth, the news that the Emperor had issued a decree this year appointing Grand Princess Minghua to preside over the Flower Announcement Banquet had already spread throughout the capital long before. Everyone had been saying she would make her appearance at the Camellia Banquet — and it was no wonder the capital’s ladies were so anxious, for the identity of Grand Princess Minghua was truly singular.

Grand Princess Minghua was a legitimate daughter of the Late Emperor. Her noble status went without saying. When the current Emperor was still Crown Prince, the two of them had been raised together at the knee of the Late Empress, and were as close as full siblings. But her singular position stemmed from something else entirely.

With the exception of the Old Duke Yong — the maternal grandfather of Shen Biwei — the present dynasty had no dukes. And that was precisely because the families enfeoffed as dukes at the founding of the dynasty had all died out. The one that had carried the greatest merit and the highest prestige among them — the founding general who held the first place among military men on the Lingyan Pavilion roster, the Duke of Yingguo — was the family into which Grand Princess Minghua had married.

Grand Princess Minghua’s marriage to the heir of the Duke of Yingguo had been the most glorious moment in that noble house’s history. Within ten years, the glory had scattered like smoke and clouds — the entire family was put to death, though the heir’s branch had been spared a single line of descendants, a gesture attributed to the Late Emperor’s regard for his daughter and grandchild. Yet popular opinion lingered, inevitably invoking the tale of the hound slain once the hare was caught, the bow discarded once the birds were gone. Moreover, the investigation and execution of that great treason case had been handled by the Crown Prince of the time — the present Emperor — and between imperial brother and sister, there was yet another layer to the story.

Within the capital’s great families, there circulated private whispers that this was precisely why the Emperor’s feelings toward his sister were so impossibly complex — there was reverence and there was guilt. The sibling bond forged together in the inner palace during childhood remained, alongside an inability to face what the present circumstances had become. Beneath the weight of these tangled emotions, Grand Princess Minghua had become a singular figure in the capital. In terms of honor, no princess or imperial daughter in the capital could surpass her.

When the Emperor ascended the throne, he first gave a posthumous title to the Late Empress — and the second decree he issued was for Grand Princess Minghua. The title for the Empress had not even been decided yet. In every subsequent year, whether it was tribute from foreign kingdoms or the great New Year’s imperial gifts, only the Empress Dowager and the Emperor himself stood above her — and all manner of rare treasures flowed into her household in an endless stream.

At one time, the western kingdoms had offered as tribute a seven-jeweled pagoda fashioned entirely from precious stones. The Emperor’s most beloved daughter, Princess Wenzhen, had fallen in love with it on sight and could not bear to put it down. She used the Empress Dowager’s voice to petition the Emperor for it — declaring she wished to place it in Yongshou Palace to accompany the Empress Dowager in her devotions, though in truth it was intended to be bestowed as an addition to Princess Wenzhen’s own dowry when she married. The Empress’s only legitimate daughter was naturally treasured beyond measure, and the Empress added her own plea on the princess’s behalf — in effect, all three of the most powerful figures in the inner palace had spoken. And yet it still could not be obtained. The Emperor sent it nonetheless to the Grand Princess Minghua’s household. And Grand Princess Minghua lived in profound seclusion — she did not even practice Buddhism.

After the Duke of Yingguo’s family was executed, the Late Emperor had issued a decree recalling Grand Princess Minghua to the palace to accompany the Empress Dowager. The Princess refused and remained in the Duke of Yingguo’s residence. The Emperor who succeeded him could not persuade her either — all he could do was build a Grand Princess’s mansion and bestow it on her. From that point on, the Grand Princess lived in ever-deeper seclusion and appeared before others only rarely. Even among the younger generation, someone with a family background like Han Yueqi’s had never had the opportunity to meet her — only Shen Biwei recalled, from childhood, following the Old Duke Yong into the palace for a banquet, when she had caught a distant glimpse of her. She had said the Grand Princess was an exceptionally striking beauty, plainly dressed with minimal adornment, yet with a presence that commanded the room. She did not speak a word — like an iceberg standing amid a sea of flowers in bloom.

Now the Emperor had devised this new scheme. The Northern Garrison Army had returned to the capital — a Flower Announcement Banquet on a scale not seen in a decade. Anyone with eyes could see that the Emperor wished to control the marriages of this generation of young military officers. He could not allow them to freely form alliances with the great families through marriage — that would risk their influence growing too large. But he also needed to use marriage to bind them to him, ideally attaching them to trusted and loyal subjects like the Shen Family who could keep a watch over them, tame them properly, and ensure that when war broke out again, there would be a capable generation of young military commanders ready to serve.

In Shen Biwei’s words, this was the same logic as a great family matching its trusted maids with its most capable manservants — governing the realm as one governs a household, managing officials as one manages household servants. The emperor’s art of rulership, when stripped to its essence, was no more than this. It was a rather outrageous way of putting it, yet it was apt.

But for work of such importance, the Emperor had still entrusted it to Grand Princess Minghua — which made one almost suspect that his arrangements were less about using the Flower Announcement Banquet to direct the marriages of the Northern Garrison Army’s generals, and more about coaxing a Grand Princess who had lived in seclusion for so many years to step once more into the world.

Among all the capital’s elder princesses, aged Commandery Princess consorts, Old Dowager Consorts, and the enfeoffed princesses and imperial relatives living in their own residences — the presiding presence at the Flower Announcement Banquet had been given to a widowed Grand Princess who had lived in seclusion for years. It was truly baffling.

But no matter how baffling, it had to be sorted out. The Ye Family was a middle-tier distinguished family, and the relationship between the current Madam Ye and the Qinglan sisters was one of mutual non-interference — so they did not occupy themselves with this puzzle. But someone like Han Yueqi had turned it over and over in her mind, until even a simple change in the order of the Flower Announcement Banquets prompted speculation about whether it signaled the Grand Princess’s intention to appear early. The Flower Announcement Banquet was traditionally meant to assess the young ladies and noble sons of the various families — but with the Grand Princess condescending to attend in person, it would be the hosting ladies of the great families who would find themselves on trial. The Shen Family, as the leader of one faction among the civil officials, was naturally no exception.

The family hosting the Camellia Banquet was a branch of the imperial clan related to Prince Pingjun — the Ruyang Zhao line, which no longer held a princely title and now served in the Ministry of Finance. Among those imperial relatives who could not even manage their own households, they were considered capable enough, which was presumably why they had been called on at short notice to host the Camellia Banquet. The capital’s great families generally referred to them as the Ruyang Zhao, and regarded them with due respect. Though the banquet itself was the same as those at other imperial households — elaborate but unpractical — a full half of the dishes were visually impressive but unpleasant to eat. By their custom, these were served “according to established precedent”: even if they were expensive and tasteless, so long as the old rules called for them, they had to be set out. Otherwise it would not count as a proper banquet.

Compared to the inventive spread put on by the great families’ managing wives these days — new dishes going out of fashion within half a year, everyone competing to outdo each other, willing to come to blows over securing a talented cook — this banquet was, in truth, rather ordinary. It was presentable enough, to be sure, following all the old palace ceremonies: six types of livestock on display, five grains represented, the opening of the feast announced by great bells and cauldrons, dishes sent out on cloud-pattern boards, and the ladies all dressed in their formal grand attire for a major banquet. Some of the less discerning guests — like Madam He and a few of the newly-elevated families — wore their ceremonial court robes, which, while no one said anything too pointed to their faces, were quietly mocked behind their backs. Madam He herself looked a little uncomfortable.

“Look at He Qingyi,” Lingbo murmured to Qinglan from her place at the table. “What a pity — she’s a sharp girl too.”

A’Cuo immediately looked over, and sure enough — He Qingyi was seated at the young ladies’ table, but she kept her eyes on the ladies’ table, watching what was happening there. She could see that her mother had been teased, and her eyes were reddening — the meal in front of her untouched.

And at that very moment Lu Wenyin chose to move through the young ladies’ table dispensing compliments about the food, saying: “This black-boned chicken — it’s from our estate. Originally a gift from the palace, brought as tribute from the South Seas, raised entirely on medicinal herbs. If it weren’t for the friendship between Madam Zhao and our family’s Madam, I could hardly have parted with it… Young ladies, do try some — this chicken broth is the very best thing for one’s health.”

The hostess, Madam Zhao, smiled and said: “I knew you’d say that — even with the soup all cooked, you can’t bear to part with it.”

“Now listen to that — isn’t that a needle in every word? The soup is cooked and she’s still asking me if I can bear to give it up!” Lu Wenyin laughed and took Madam Zhao by the hand to sit down: “Madam Zhao, stop bustling about — let me see to things for you. You sit down and eat a few bites. Otherwise my mother-in-law will see and say I’m unfilial.”

The ladies all laughed, making remarks like “Of course — Madam Zhao and Madam Lu are bosom friends, no wonder the bond is so warm” and “Once Madam Zhao drinks this soup, she’ll have eaten the Lu Family’s food and won’t be able to say anything unkind about the Young Madam Lu anymore.” Lu Wenyin bustled about among the ladies, then came to urge the young ladies as well. He Qingyi endured it admirably — even when Lu Wenyin let slip “Actually, it was Madam Zhao, out of all of them — when Madam He asked our family for some, my mother-in-law only sent one table’s worth,” He Qingyi remained composed, drank the soup, and even thanked her. Lu Wenyin immediately made her an example, patting her shoulder and saying: “Since Qingyi likes it, we still have more at home — there wasn’t enough left for the Flower Announcement Banquet anyway, so we might as well distribute it.”

Lu Wenyin now had Yang Qiaozhen and Sun Minwen and a whole following behind her. After her small test of strength against the He Family, she had the He Family firmly in her grip — and at the young ladies’ table, no one dared to openly challenge her.

Only Shen Biwei stood apart. When Lu Wenyin brought her portion to the table, Shen Biwei simply frowned and said with distaste: “I can’t stand the smell of medicine.”

Lu Wenyin’s expression didn’t falter; she was just beginning to say something about how tribute chickens were fed on medicinal herbs when Madam Zhao immediately stepped in: “Biwei’s palate is just particularly sensitive. I remember once at a palace flower-viewing banquet, the pastry chef had swapped the osmanthus from ‘champion red’ to vermilion osmanthus, and out of all those distinguished guests, only Biwei tasted it with one bite and knew. Even Her Majesty the Empress was astonished — she asked, and sure enough it had been changed. Truly born to the gilded halls of the Old Duke’s mansion…”

Lingbo, listening, only smiled. She glanced at the attending Niangzi Lin and murmured a lesson for A’Cuo: “See? When you’re a person of distinction, even being a little headstrong becomes a virtue — there will always be someone there to reframe it for you.”

But Han Yueqi was not about to let Shen Biwei be made into a symbol of arrogance. She was the elder sister-in-law; Madam Shen was too eminent to speak up herself, but she and Lu Wenyin were of the same generation, so she stepped in with a smile: “It wasn’t quite like that — I was at the palace banquet too. Biwei was still small then. She took one bite and set it down, and only told the Empress when the Empress pressed her for an answer — and even then she asked that Her Majesty not blame the palace kitchen staff. The Empress praised Biwei for her kind heart; the sensitive palate was the lesser of it.”

Madam Zhao and Lu Wenyin’s exchange was their own affair — but using Shen Biwei as a prop for it was something she would not allow.

The party resumed, and the banquet continued. With this volley of thrust and parry, the contrast made He Qingyi’s solitary vulnerability all the more apparent. It was a pity that Madam He was also no gift with words — she was teased two more times during the meal and grew increasingly awkward.

In truth, it was only when the banquet broke up and everyone moved to the warm pavilion to drink tea and admire flowers that the real opportunities for pointed commentary would begin. Fortunately, the Zhao Family was lucky that day — the banquet had only just ended, the ladies had barely washed their hands and rinsed their mouths and had a cup of tea, and were stepping into the side chambers next door to each touch up their powder and change their clothes, when they heard a wave of cloud-board signals from outside. The Zhao Family’s steward’s wife came flying in with news, and the announcement broke like a thunderclap: Grand Princess Minghua’s carriage had entered Wangyue Street.

Madam Zhao immediately changed her clothes, put on her ceremonial phoenix crown and embroidered cape — the full formal attire of a titled consort — and hurried out to receive the procession. She was the hostess, so naturally full ceremonial dress was required. The ladies, as guests, were not expected to receive in ceremonial attire, merely in their various formal grand dress — it was not improper. Madam He’s ceremonial robe was more respectful, admittedly, but it also read as overly eager — somewhat suggestive of presuming upon the imperial intent, which was a bit of a misstep.

Fortunately, most of the ladies present held imperial titles, and the younger ones — apart from a few like Han Yueqi who held their own official recognition — were all daughters of distinguished families and accustomed to grand occasions. Led by the elder ladies, none of them showed the slightest trace of panic. They lined up at the inner gate to receive the procession; the young misses waited in the inner courtyard to be summoned. The Ruyang Zhao’s residence was, after all, a former princely estate — it could accommodate the arrangement.

This was A’Cuo’s first time witnessing such a spectacle. She could only hear the bells and drums, solemn and resonant, sounding from far away, and then the court music, the crack of ceremonial whips, and the inner attendants’ calls to clear the road — and then, from a distance, she could see the honor guard and the grand carriage. It was said that the Emperor’s feelings toward his sister were a mixture of reverence and guilt, and that even her carriage was appointed according to the ceremonial of the Central Palace. It was indeed magnificent.

“Grand Princess Minghua arrives by imperial decree — commanding the outer command lady of the third rank, Zhao Shuren, to receive the procession,” the eunuch herald called out in a carrying voice.

The ladies all knelt to receive the procession; the young misses knelt with them. From a distance, they watched Madam Zhao rise, bow respectfully, and step forward to receive the handwritten decree from a female palace official — just as she was about to kneel again, the palace official’s unhurried voice said: “Rise.”

The gold-thread and kingfisher-feather canopy swayed gently. The honor guard in the palace ladies’ hands spread apart like the wings of a goose — and then a palace official could be seen supporting a richly-dressed woman in palace attire down from the carriage, placing her hand into Madam Zhao’s.

Madam Zhao’s expression was that of someone not holding a hand, but cradling an incomparably precious and fragile piece of glass — even the tone of her voice was careful beyond measure.

“Your Highness honors our humble dwelling with your radiant presence. Your servant is overwhelmed with awe. Please allow your servant and the assembled ladies to pay their respects to Your Highness in the main hall.”

The Grand Princess did not speak. She only glanced at the palace official.

“Granted,” the palace official relayed.

Only then did Madam Zhao escort the Grand Princess into the Zhao Family’s main hall. The Grand Princess took her seat at the head, a pearl curtain lowered before her. The titled ladies paid their respects in order of rank. Then the palace official relayed the Grand Princess’s oral decree, summoning the young misses attending the Camellia Banquet to come and pay their respects.

Shen Biwei led the first group of young misses — and A’Cuo was surprised at first that the Ye sisters were not among them, since Master Ye held a rank of senior third grade and they were daughters by the principal wife. But then Lingbo, smiling, reached out and pulled her hand, Qinglan walking ahead and Yanyan beside her, and A’Cuo understood — the Ye sisters had deliberately placed themselves in the second group to stay with her.

A’Cuo was moved. She followed the Ye sisters forward. The red carpet on the steps was fresh and new, pressed with golden auspicious roundel patterns — clearly the Zhao Family had prepared in advance. Otherwise the main hall would not have been arranged with such solemnity. At the center, the primary seat was furnished with a yellow brocade cushioned chair set out by the palace officials, embroidered with a pattern of a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix.

A’Cuo followed behind Lingbo and Qinglan, side by side with Yanyan, and bowed down, hands pressed to her forehead in the full kowtow — only then did she hear the palace official’s even voice say: “Rise.”

A’Cuo understood that this was the command to stand. Sure enough, Qinglan rose — and A’Cuo had noticed that many of the young misses had been quietly watching Ye Qinglan’s cue; only once she rose did they feel confident to rise themselves and step back to the sides.

But A’Cuo still did not dare to stare at the Grand Princess — knowing it would be rude. She didn’t even dare to look freely at the palace officials. She only heard the Grand Princess’s voice: “How is it I don’t see the nieces?”

Prince Pingjun’s consort and two other commandery princess consorts immediately understood she was speaking as a gesture of warmth and familiarity. Princess Pingjun’s consort stepped forward at once: “Your servant the Pingjun Consort Gao, replying to Your Highness — not wishing to disturb Your Highness, I have had my daughters attend with the other young misses. Wenxian, Wenyu — come pay your respects to Your Highness.”

The Grand Princess had only spoken offhandedly to show cordiality. Seeing the two commandery princesses step forward and pay their respects, she glanced at the palace official again. The palace official transmitted the order for a gift: each received a pair of gold bracelets — the gift itself was ordinary enough, but to have been the first summoned by the Grand Princess was an honor that needed no further elaboration.

“And the Wei Marquis’s daughter, and the Shen Family’s young miss?” the Grand Princess asked again.

The ladies understood that the Grand Princess was getting to know people. Commandery Princess Pingjun had already shown them how it was done — the Grand Princess had just taken charge of the Flower Announcement Banquet and naturally wished to put everyone at ease. She did not want to summon the titled ladies one by one to present themselves to her: among them were second-rank titled ladies like Madam Shen, as well as elder dowagers of advanced age. Summoning them each individually to introduce themselves would come across as presumptuous. So she was asking only where the young misses were.

Commandery Princess Pingjun, a woman of exceptional perceptiveness, had seen through this in an instant. The Grand Princess recognized her and she had offered her own introduction as a model for everyone else — with such brilliance, it was no wonder she had presided over the Flower Announcement Banquet herself for a year.

With so fine an example set, how could any of the ladies fail to understand? Madam Wei was not the quickest, but Madam Shen was the most perceptive. She immediately came forward with Han Yueqi and Shen Biwei and Shen Luowei to pay their respects. Commandery Princess Pingjun had just been acknowledged by the Grand Princess with a nod, and caught the signal at once — she stepped in to make introductions: “Your Highness, this is Madam Shen, wife of Minister Shen; this is the Young Madam Shen; and these are the First and Second Miss Shen.”

“Your servant Madam Shen of the Lu family, together with daughter-in-law of the Han family, and daughters Biwei and Luowei, pays respects to Your Highness.”

Madam Shen paid her obeisance. The Grand Princess, unexpectedly, smiled — the palace official responded accordingly: “Rise.”

“Is the Old Duke keeping well?” the Grand Princess asked warmly.

“In reply to Your Highness — by the grace of the Emperor and Your Highness’s blessing, Father is in excellent health, and is daily filled with gratitude for imperial favor,” Madam Shen replied.

“Biwei — have you been keeping well since we met at Baode Temple?” the Grand Princess asked Shen Biwei with a smile.

Even someone like Shen Biwei rarely showed a hint of bashfulness, yet here was one of those rare moments — she smiled a little shyly and replied: “Thank you for Your Highness’s kind inquiry. By Your Highness’s grace, Biwei is very well.”

The palace official was offering commentary at the front, while Lingbo quietly provided her own commentary for A’Cuo below, saying under her breath: “Shen Biwei’s maternal grandfather is the Old Duke Yong. Reckoned properly, even Master Shen has to step aside — he alone is worth the Grand Princess asking after.”

Qinglan gave her a stern look — a warning. Lingbo fell silent. But her observation had been perfectly accurate, for the Grand Princess indeed did not ask after Master Shen — instead, her gaze moved to Madam Wei.

Lingbo let out a quiet, contemptuous laugh, at Madam Wei’s slowness.

Commandery Princess Pingjun, seeing Madam Wei so slow, promptly said: “Madam Wei — why is Leshui not to be seen?”

In fact, Wei Leshui was right there at Madam Wei’s side. Commandery Princess Pingjun had been so forthright about it that Madam Wei finally understood, and hurriedly brought Wei Leshui forward to pay her respects — but before she could even introduce herself, the palace official said: “Rise.”

Madam Wei quickly said: “Your servant Madam Miao, thanking Your Highness for the grace.”

“No need for formalities,” the Grand Princess said, still with a faint smile. “The Marquis of Pingyang pacified the northern frontier and rendered great service — it is I who should be thanking Madam Wei.”

Madam Wei was still in the midst of her startled pause when Commandery Princess Pingjun had already grasped the meaning.

“Madam Wei — do hurry and express your gratitude,” she immediately stepped forward, taking Madam Wei’s arm and guiding her to kneel before the Grand Princess: “The Marquis’s title has finally been decided — the Marquis of Pingyang. The imperial decree has surely already arrived at your residence. Your Highness is congratulating you — do hurry and thank Her Highness.”

Only then did Madam Wei’s face bloom with understanding and joy. She knelt with Wei Leshui to express her gratitude, was helped up by the palace official, and instantly the ladies surged toward her in a tide of congratulations. Lu Wenyin was the fastest to react — she squeezed to the very front, and together with Commandery Princess Pingjun, each took one of Madam Wei’s arms, intimate as could be, trading jokes and laughing, urging Madam Wei to take on one of the Flower Announcement Banquet’s rounds of hosting — a double celebration for the receipt of the marquisate, a treat for the officers of the army.

“Truly a master of tending the hot fire,” Lingbo said, her grudge against Lu Wenyin clearly not forgotten.

“And why don’t you go over and congratulate her?” Shen Biwei appeared from somewhere without warning and asked the question with perfect innocence.

Lingbo shot her a glare, but had no time to say anything to her — she lowered her voice and said urgently: “Don’t stand here laughing about it. Now is not the time to play — the Grand Princess has shown you such regard, and you haven’t gone to wait on her properly? Don’t let someone with their eye on the prize get there before you.”

Her words now were laced with caution throughout, and that stripped them of some of their force — so much so that Shen Biwei paid no heed whatsoever, and kept on happily teasing Yanyan from the side.

A’Cuo watched it all and felt even more anxious on Lingbo’s behalf. In her mind, no one was quite reliable. Qinglan Elder Sister was wonderful, but far too serene — not the slightest hint of ambition in her. Yanyan, needless to say, was a little muddle-head. Han Elder Sister’s rank was high, but she was genuinely too busy, and besides, the Young Madam of the Shen Family could hardly be expected to pour all her energy into scheming for the Ye Family. As for Shen Biwei — her standing was high and she had plenty of free time, but she was thoroughly unambitious. Even more infuriating than Yanyan.

Not that Shen Biwei was unkind — she often teased both Yanyan and A’Cuo alike, never leaving A’Cuo out. But A’Cuo’s heart was full of urgency, leaving no room to be amused.

Over by the main seats, the Grand Princess was listening to a few of the commandery princess consorts help Madam Wei brainstorm ideas for the marquisate celebration banquet. Only the capital’s very finest distinguished family ladies and young misses remained in attendance near the Grand Princess; those of slightly lower standing — at least as prominent as Madam He’s household — remained nearby, while everyone else had tactfully withdrawn. By rights, Shen Biwei was the very one who should have been up at the front — after all, of the young misses present, the Grand Princess had spoken to only her and Wei Leshui. But she had stepped away anyway, bringing Yanyan and A’Cuo to the side pavilion. She had vacated her place at the Grand Princess’s side entirely — giving Lu Wenyin an opening to bring Lu Wanyang forward. Lu Wanyang wore the look of someone refined and accomplished, and stepped forward to pay her respects, saying first: “Wanyang pays respects to the Grand Princess. May Your Highness enjoy happiness and peace, and may Your Highness’s good karma endure without end.”

Commandery Princess Pingjun heard this and laughed: “Wanyang — how did you know the Grand Princess practices devotion?”

Lu Wanyang only smiled and said nothing — the picture of someone who kept their counsel. A’Cuo saw it at once and knew: she was currying favor with the Grand Princess. Qinglan Elder Sister had taught her — those who dwelt in the inner palace were most particular about holding their tongue and choosing their words with care. Whatever one knew, it was best left unsaid. If Lu Wanyang had mentioned that she had met the Grand Princess at Baode Temple, she would have come across as careless and presumptuous.

Sure enough, the Grand Princess heard this, gave her a slight nod, and smiled faintly: “Wanyang and I have had the occasion to meet at Baode Temple.”

Commandery Princess Pingjun, of course, followed this with further questions — what day had it been, what had brought Lu Wanyang to Baode Temple — and Lu Wanyang, in perfectly natural fashion, brought up the matter of praying for her mother’s health. Lu Wenyin on the side added a great many supporting details about how filially devoted she was in her daily life. The ladies all praised her devoted heart warmly, and the whole room was filled with harmony and goodwill.

A’Cuo, watching, understood completely why Lingbo Elder Sister had been so frustrated with Shen Biwei — she had stepped aside and left the space free, and now it was Lu Wanyang’s good fortune to fill it. She had specifically been the one to create this opening for Lu Wenyin. And at a moment like this, she was still out here, casually keeping A’Cuo and Yanyan company, not even willing to make a token appearance before the Grand Princess.

A’Cuo entered the side pavilion and still kept stealing glances back, feeling it was a tremendous loss. Shen Biwei teased her: “Alright — both your elder sisters have gone off somewhere. Come along with me. Yanyan, I gave you a little horse last time — do you still have it? You two just play here.”

Yanyan immediately produced several, and offered them to A’Cuo. A’Cuo didn’t take them — she went to one side on her own and sat, quietly stewing.

She was frustrated with herself, unable to help the Ye sisters, unable to say a word that would matter. But Yanyan kept at her and even tried to pull her along: “Let’s go outside for a bit?”

“Go outside for what? Didn’t Second Elder Sister say that the Flower Announcement Banquet is serious business — no wandering off,” A’Cuo said, her tone almost an exact copy of Lingbo’s.

Yanyan just grinned: “Well, Second Elder Sister herself has gone wandering off, hasn’t she? Alright, stop being upset — I’ll take you out to buy some snacks.”

She said this while reaching for A’Cuo’s hand. A’Cuo shook her off.

“Who’s craving snacks — we’re not three-year-olds.” A’Cuo looked at her in exasperation: “I’m not Wei Leshui, you know. Besides, you do know Wei Leshui — why didn’t you talk to her when we were right in front of her?”

“Weren’t we not playing with the Wei Family anymore?” Yanyan said, very reasonably.

A’Cuo’s head was beginning to hurt.

“Are you being dense on purpose?” she said, genuinely trying to teach her: “Not playing with the Wei Family is because the Wei Family treated Elder Sister rudely — we need to show them where we stand. But the Wei Family is incredibly sought-after right now. Lu Wenyin has no real relationship with them, and even she is rushing to get close to them. We actually have a history with them — so why wouldn’t we play with them?”

“But you drove Wei Yushan off, didn’t you,” Yanyan shot back quickly.

“What do you know about that? I have my own plan,” A’Cuo said, urging her: “If you have any sense, go and play with Wei Leshui now — even just making your face familiar before the Grand Princess would be something worthwhile.”

“I don’t want to go,” Yanyan said, digging in her heels.

A’Cuo’s brow knitted together. She stared at her.

“All the kindness the elder sisters show you is wasted.” She was properly cross now. “All you care about is eating and playing — you never think about the elder sisters for even a moment…”

Before she could finish, a round of applause came from behind her. She turned to find Shen Biwei watching her with a look of mischievous amusement.

“Well, well. Quite the force of nature — truly Lingbo’s most devoted student.”

A’Cuo was a child at heart, and the reason she had picked a fight with Yanyan was itself a child’s impulse — she was upset that Yanyan didn’t appreciate how hard the elder sisters worked. But Shen Biwei was still an elder sister, and being caught by her was a different matter. So A’Cuo simply turned her head to the side and gave no reply.

Shen Biwei looked at her expression and laughed.

“What — are you cross with me too?”

A’Cuo held her chin high — even that posture was exactly like Lingbo — and said coldly: “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not dare?” Shen Biwei settled into a chair, smiling as she teased her.

The private side pavilion that the host family had set aside for her — Lingbo had needed to maneuver to secure something like that. Shen Biwei had it without a word. The “familiar face” that A’Cuo had been trying so hard to teach Yanyan to get before the Grand Princess — Shen Biwei already had it by the birthright of who she was. A distinguished family background, fate’s favoritism, and a beautiful face — she possessed all of it.

And yet she sat here, languid and unambitious, playing with children.

A’Cuo had a fire in her, and so she forgot to treat this woman as an elder sister to be deferred to, looked at her squarely, and said outright: “The Grand Princess knows Sister Shen. For Sister Shen to be here keeping us company is already a waste. I would not dare to be cross with Sister Shen.”

Shen Biwei laughed at once.

She was sharp — she simply chose not to apply herself. Of course she understood exactly what A’Cuo meant. Besides, this way of delivering a barbed point in an indirect phrase was the exact same craft as Ye Lingbo’s — she’d had it said to her until her ears had grown calluses.

“So according to you, I should be at the Grand Princess’s side right now — only then would I not be wasting myself?” Shen Biwei didn’t take offense, only asked with a smile.

But A’Cuo was no fool either — she knew perfectly well that someone like Shen Biwei, a heaven-favored daughter, would not take a scolding and still come away happy. Besides, she was learning quickly: after failing to manage Wei Yushan last time, she had done some reflection and understood that some people respond to gentleness rather than force.

So she didn’t dare to truly lecture Shen Biwei — afraid of genuinely offending her. And she didn’t know why, but under the gaze of those dark star-bright eyes of Shen Biwei’s, she felt a sudden pang of conscience. Her tone softened: “They say Sister Shen and Lingbo Elder Sister are the closest of friends. I only feel that — being generous with possessions is good, of course, and hard enough in itself — but a true friend is someone who is anxious about what the other is anxious about, the way Han Elder Sister is with Qinglan Elder Sister. Lingbo Elder Sister cares so much about the Flower Announcement Banquet — even if Sister Shen doesn’t wish to compete for anything, surely she would keep a little more watchful eye on things for her sake.”

Shen Biwei listened to this, gave A’Cuo a long, careful look, and then laughed again.

“Truly Lingbo’s good student.” She spoke with some meaning to her words: “I understand.”

She said nothing more, and turned to Yanyan: “You two stay here and play. I’m going on ahead. If you need anything, send someone to find me.”

The moment she walked out, A’Cuo immediately followed, glancing back to see Yanyan smiling knowingly at her with a look that said she could see exactly what A’Cuo was up to. A’Cuo’s conscience pricked her a little.

“You don’t know anything — I’m just going to see how Sister Shen does before the Grand Princess, in case she needs my help to respond…” She realized partway through that explanation how absurd it was. Yanyan was thoroughly clueless about any of this — why bother explaining? So she adopted the tone of someone much older, gave Yanyan a final directive: “You stay here and behave yourself and don’t go wandering off. I’ll be back to find you shortly. Did you hear me?”

Having issued her instructions to Yanyan, she hurried after Shen Biwei, terrified of being left behind.