Ye Qinglan was always the most rule-abiding at these banquets — she would certainly be one of the last to leave, never disappearing in a blink like her younger sister. So Su Jingrong had fully expected that the Grand Princess was preparing to reward her, since she had, after all, already adopted her counsel.
After accepting honest advice, there was generally a generous reward to follow — this was something even a bookish scholar would know. Not even speaking of books: in the palace, even a bold young eunuch or palace maid who covered for a small unintentional slip by their master would receive a reward. Whether they would be beaten by their superior upon returning was a separate matter — in any case, the master was always wise and generous.
So when the Grand Princess sent for her to summon Ye Qinglan, Su Jingrong was fully expecting a reward, and had worn a smile the whole way. Being young, and genuinely admiring Ye Qinglan, she held the curtain aside for her as she entered. Ye Qinglan, ever proper, quickly composed herself and bowed: “Honored Lady is too kind.”
Su Jingrong could not help but joke with Ye Qinglan: “Never mind — Miss Ye need only remember to tip generously.”
It was common practice in the palace for attendants to court officials this way — lifting the curtain was normally a junior eunuch’s duty, and a perceptive official would know that if one of the Emperor’s close personal attendants proactively held the curtain for them on their way to the imperial presence, it most likely meant good news — a promotion, or imperial praise — and they should prepare a tip.
Ye Qinglan certainly understood, and gave a slight nod and a quiet smile — but showed none of the self-satisfied spring breezes one might expect. Su Jingrong still thought it was her being composed, not letting joy or disappointment show — having won the Grand Princess’s favor, and still unwilling to appear frivolous. It was only upon entering that she understood.
The night banquet had been long and truly tiring. The Grand Princess was already preparing to rest, having changed her outer robe and removed her crown. Her high coiled hair, like clouds, divested of its grandeur, made her beauty all the more striking. She sat reading a gift list in the lamplight, with Nanny Song holding the lamp herself beside her.
Qinglan entered, bowed and announced herself, and knelt on the carpet. A long time passed without the Grand Princess calling her to rise.
“Your Highness — the eldest Miss Ye has arrived,” Su Jingrong could not help but prompt.
“I know,” said the Grand Princess.
Still the Grand Princess said nothing for a long while. Hearing the second watch being struck outside, Qinglan, mindful of her younger sisters, took the initiative to speak: “It is late — I ask Your Highness to take care of your health.”
Truly impeccably measured — knowing what to say in every situation, at all times. Su Jingrong thought to herself with admiration.
The Grand Princess obviously saw it the same way — otherwise she would not have set down the gift list to look at her.
Qinglan remained quietly kneeling on the carpet, and even Su Jingrong now began to vaguely sense something was off. This was not at all the manner of someone being favored or rewarded — it felt more like being put in one’s place.
And sure enough, the Grand Princess said: “Summoning you — there is actually nothing particular. Only to ask a few idle questions.”
Ye Qinglan answered respectfully: “To be of service to Your Highness is this subject’s honor.”
Su Jingrong had only seen this kind of resilience in the officials at court — different from the palace servants. Literary men were something a little harder than that — like bamboo: press it down here and it springs back up there, but it was not rebellious; within that compliance was still a thread of self-possession, neither servile nor overbearing.
And sure enough, the Grand Princess smiled.
“It is nothing significant,” she said, speaking to Qinglan as an ordinary elder would: “Only, I noticed you are wearing Buddhist prayer beads on your wrist, so I thought to ask — which temple is efficacious?”
For a person schooled in the classics, to be asked about matters of gods and spirits by someone in an imperial setting would normally invite a round of earnest remonstrance grounded in principle.
But Ye Qinglan still only bowed her head gently.
“I do not know what the matter concerns Your Highness — is it a Daoist ritual or a prayer?”
Truly sharp as ice and snow, Su Jingrong could not help but feel admiration in her heart. If it were a Daoist ritual, that would be a ceremony for the late Empress Dowager, which would have to be performed at an imperial temple — she already knew it was most likely a prayer, yet still she asked.
“A prayer,” the Grand Princess answered.
She was candid, and Qinglan was equally candid.
“In reply to Your Highness — this subject lit a long-burning incense stick at a small temple outside the city, offered lamp oil, and prayed for peace and long life.”
She knew what the Grand Princess wished to pray for, what she sought.
The Grand Princess was visibly moved.
“Was it efficacious?”
“It was,” Qinglan answered calmly.
At least the person she wished to protect had returned to the capital safely, been enfeoffed as a marquis, and had a bright future ahead — the enfeoffment banquet he was hosting would draw every noble lady in the capital, all clamoring to attend.
In the end, the Grand Princess did not reward Ye Qinglan. She asked a few unremarkable questions, then sent her away.
Ye Qinglan accepted this with equanimity. It was Su Jingrong who felt unsettled — waiting until she had gone, wanting to speak yet hesitating, and when a young palace maid brought tea, she looked at it and could not help saying: “She wasn’t even offered a single sip of tea.”
Female officials came from noble families and had a certain fastidiousness about them — unlike the pragmatic palace servants. Before someone they did not look upon favorably, they were harder to please than anyone, but once they took to someone, there was a kind of kindred-spirit sympathy.
The Grand Princess heard it and laughed.
“To test jade requires three days in the fire — why has Jingrong suddenly grown impatient today?”
Su Jingrong knew she had overstepped, but also knew the Grand Princess was only joking, and that the Grand Princess had always been somewhat indulgent toward her — so she was not afraid, and even countered: “Your Highness is naturally right, but Ye Qinglan is nearly twenty-four — how can she afford to wait seven years…”
“To test jade requires three days in the fire, to judge timber requires seven years of watching” — it was a couplet, and she naturally knew the Grand Princess did not mean to test Ye Qinglan for a full seven years.
And sure enough the Grand Princess then asked: “Why can she not afford to wait? Who thinks her too old?”
“I have heard some unflattering whispers. There is some favoritism and condescension at the Flower Festival banquets, and since Your Highness admires her, why not openly give her some dignity before everyone? It would be a way of honoring talent.” Su Jingrong urged.
Nanny Song, who had said nothing all along beside them, laughed at this.
“Now I understand why this young lady has been speaking up for Miss Ye at every turn today — so it was for this.” She smiled and poured a cup of tea for Su Jingrong, urging: “Miss, think carefully — that Ye family eldest daughter is still unmarried at twenty-four, and there is most likely a reason. Your Highness is now presiding over the Flower Festival banquets, and it is precisely the time to establish authority and win the respect of all. With so many young ladies and matrons of upright standing who have not yet been elevated, how can the very first person elevated be her? How would that do?”
Seeing Su Jingrong about to protest, she smiled again: “I know that Miss Ye of the Ye family has fine learning, good character, and conducts herself with propriety — that manner of composure of hers, I love it too when I see it. But public opinion is a fearful thing — even if Your Highness loves talent, she cannot act entirely as her heart dictates. Miss Ye has managed all these years already. Another two months of observation will not matter. Miss, is that not the right principle?”
Nanny Song appeared to be advising Su Jingrong, but was in fact advising the Grand Princess. She had been the Grand Princess’s wet nurse, and among all the nannies in the princess’s household, held the highest position and the greatest prestige — she had even received a personal charge from the late Empress Dowager. Su Jingrong herself had grown up under her watch, which is why she called her “Miss,” as one would a younger member of the household.
Su Jingrong knew she spoke with reason, and seeing the Grand Princess watching her in the lamplight with a half-smile, she could only bow her head: “Nanny’s teaching is right.”
“You.” The Grand Princess knew she was a little proud — her heart might submit while her mouth would not. She smiled: “The hour is late, rest early — Second Daughter is still waiting for you to give her morning lessons tomorrow.”
“Yes.”