Li Jia Qi noticed the attention she’d drawn and quickly sat down, her face flushing red as she glared daggers at Han Yan. The other young ladies now dared not utter a word.
Shu Hong stood beside Han Yan, carefully adjusting her collar. Han Yan remained unhurried, her expression unchanged, her smile seemingly painted on her face as she spoke leisurely: “With so many witnesses, Miss Li, are you trying to deny your words? I thought a lady raised in the Chancellor’s household would surely own up to her actions. After all, Chancellor Li is a pillar of the state.” She finished with a sigh, as if deeply regretful.
The implications were clear—if the Right Chancellor’s daughter wouldn’t take responsibility for her careless words, it called into question the Chancellor’s own character. The Emperor particularly valued his officials’ moral cultivation, making the deeper meaning unmistakable.
Li Jia Qi sneered, “Han Yan, don’t try to intimidate me. I only said this pastry was what my dog eats because it’s my beloved pet and I choose to give it such treats. What business is it of an outsider like you what I feed in my household?”
Han Yan rested her chin on her hand, her face the picture of innocence as she smiled, “Oh, I see. Miss Li’s family is wealthy, and her father is the current Right Chancellor, to whom even the Emperor must show deference. Naturally, you can disregard palace-bestowed pastries. I was shortsighted—my apologies.”
Her tone was warm and cheerful, but her words carried a subtle chill.
Li Jia Qi sensed something odd about these words but couldn’t pinpoint why. Seeing Han Yan apologize so readily, she wanted to press the issue further. However, her earlier sharp retort had already drawn attention, so she swallowed her anger and grudgingly replied, “No need for such courtesy, Miss Zhuang. It’s fine.”
Han Yan lowered her head nonchalantly to continue drinking her tea, inwardly sneering.
Palace evening banquets were naturally full of the Emperor’s informants—such arrangements were common even in noble houses. In her previous life, anything that happened in her quarters would be known in Gong Tong Yuan within a quarter-hour. Sometimes when she felt unwell, Zhou Shi would send medicine before she could even mention it. She’d once been grateful for Zhou Shi’s apparent concern, but now realized her Clear Autumn Courtyard must have been filled with Zhou Shi’s spies.
The palace was no different—perhaps even more so. Any seemingly ordinary palace maid or eunuch could be the Emperor’s secret confidant. Her earlier words weren’t meant for Li Jia Qi or the other young ladies but for these hidden eyes and ears.
Chancellor Li wielded great power—if he dismissed imperial pastries today, might he dismiss the Emperor himself tomorrow?
The hidden informants would surely relay this to the Emperor, and his interpretation would be his affair. Emperors were historically suspicious, especially regarding their supreme position and dignity. One thing was certain—difficult days lay ahead for the Right Chancellor.
While she exercised restraint and careful planning within the Zhuang household, outside it, she had no mercy for those who wished her harm—she would repay them tenfold.
As Han Yan chatted and smiled with Deng Chan, she didn’t notice her every move being watched by a pair of sinister eyes from the men’s section.
The banquet dishes were truly exceptional. Despite living in the Zhuang household for many years, Han Yan had never seen such an extravagant feast. However, preoccupied with her thoughts, she could barely eat, only nibbling on a few peony pastries. The surrounding young ladies maintained even more proper behavior, speaking softly about their recent experiences—what sachets they’d embroidered, what beautiful clothes they’d made. Their conversations were more about showing off than genuine sharing. Deng Chan, less concerned with such pretense and genuinely hungry, focused on eating. Han Yan held her teacup, discreetly observing the gathering.
The Emperor and Empress maintained their dignified bearing on their high seats. The court officials were divided into two factions—something Han Yan had heard Zhuang Yu Shan mention in her previous life. One faction supported Prince Wei and the Seventh Prince, while the other backed the Crown Prince and Prince Xuan Qing. The Emperor, though in his prime at just over forty, had surprisingly named a Crown Prince early. The Crown Prince, born to the Empress, was only ten years old.
While it was natural for the Empress’s son to become Crown Prince, the Seventh Prince, born to Noble Consort Chen, complicated matters. Noble Consort Chen currently held the Emperor’s favor, and the Seventh Prince had recently distinguished himself in court, earning much praise. The Emperor showed particular warmth toward the Seventh Prince while seeming indifferent to the Crown Prince, making his true intentions mysterious.
The Crown Prince, as future ruler, would naturally face scrutiny. The Seventh Prince’s exceptional talent had earned him supporting officials. Some secretly wondered if the Emperor intended to change the succession, given the current Crown Prince’s youth.
Prince Wei’s friendship with the Seventh Prince stemmed from Noble Consort Chen being Prince Wei’s wife’s sister, creating aligned interests. In her previous life, the Zhuang family had allied with the Seventh Prince’s faction, leading to Han Yan’s marriage into their circle. She’d believed Prince Wei’s proposal meant Wei Ru Feng truly wanted her as his wife. Now she realized he’d only wanted the Zhuang family’s influence—any Zhuang daughter would have served his purpose—before finally giving her that poisoned cup.
Han Yan’s eyes darkened. Given Prince Wei’s high position and the numerous powerful officials in the Seventh Prince’s faction, why choose the Zhuang family? The Zhuangs were merely a third-rank official family, and Zhuang Shi Yang had no notable achievements. Could there be some hidden meaning?
In this life, the court situation remained unchanged. Han Yan remembered that in the year of her wedding, the conflict between the Crown Prince’s and Seventh Prince’s factions had reached its peak, though she didn’t know its outcome.
Watching that cold figure among the lively male guests, Han Yan furrowed her brow. Given Prince Xuan Qing’s bearing, he was extraordinary—opposing him would bring no benefit.
In turbulent times, a woman’s fate was inextricably linked to her family’s. As a Zhuang daughter, Han Yan would suffer if the Seventh Prince fell. She couldn’t possibly persuade Zhuang Shi Yang to change course—nor did she want to. The only solution was to separate herself and Brother Ming from the Zhuang family entirely. But how?
Royal intentions were impossible to fathom. Regarding the Crown Prince and Seventh Prince, Han Yan didn’t want to guess their place in the Emperor’s heart, but in this life, if only for that poisoned cup, she could never support the Seventh Prince’s faction.
Lost in these thoughts, she smiled again.
As the wine flowed and spirits rose, the atmosphere grew warmer. The ladies chatted cheerfully, officials exchanged cups, and young ladies and gentlemen exchanged glances, reminiscent of the flirtatious riddle-guessing at the Lantern Festival.