(1) Hua Yan
I always feel like I can clearly recall everything that happened on the day I first entered the palace—the weather, the scenery along the way, the crowds I saw, and every word they spoke. Yet I know this is unrealistic; what I remember is merely a story later recounted to me by my aunts. In that story, there was a woman—my mother. They told me she was a peerless beauty, more beautiful than the Qinghai Royal Consort, and I firmly believed it.
It was many years ago, in autumn, when Biantang endured fourteen consecutive days of rain. Crops rotted in the fields, impossible to harvest, and the people wore grim expressions, anticipating a winter of potential starvation. Seizing the opportunity, the Emperor of Daxia dispatched his trusted general to declare war on Biantang once more. Beyond Baizhi Pass, blood flowed like rivers, and my father also fell on the battlefield, his young, fervent blood spilling upon the ravaged land.
With the rain washing away the mountain paths, reinforcements were delayed. As the pass crumbled, the remaining officers and soldiers at Baizhi Pass surrendered to the Daxia Army, only to be buried alive by the commanding general.
This is a tragic tale. Whenever my aunts reached this part, they would emphasize the brutality of the Daxia Army. From their accounts, I learned that the Daxia soldiers were monstrous beings with three heads, six arms, standing over ten feet tall, with green faces and fangs, who feasted on human flesh. This perception once dominated my consciousness, so much so that even years later, as an adult, the first image that sprang to mind upon encountering anyone from Daxia was this grotesque form. For someone like me, raised in the Biantang palace and well-versed in literature, this was truly disheartening.
However, yes—when a story reaches a certain level of tragedy, there is often a twist, much like how a handsome hunter always appears just before the big bad wolf devours the little beauty. The over-sixty-year-old Old Madam Murong, along with her four widowed daughters-in-law, staged a grand drama of loyalty and patriotism. Leading the city’s elderly, weak, women, and children, they engaged the fifty-thousand-strong Daxia Army in street battles within Baizhi Pass. Ultimately, they bought enough time for the imperial reinforcements to arrive, securing Biantang’s final northern barrier.
Legend has it that after his defeat, the Daxia general Meng Tian, enraged and humiliated, captured the severely wounded Madam Murong. He threatened to rape and then kill her before the gates of Baizhi Pass. Displaying unwavering chastity and courage, Madam Murong let out a cold laugh and impaled herself on Meng Tian’s blade. Even a beast like Meng Tian was moved; after a moment of silence, he bowed three times to her corpse before leading his army away in dejection.
I believe this is entirely a fabricated tale, crafted by the romantically inclined people of Biantang to glorify Madam Murong’s virtue. Leaving aside whether Meng Tian could have coincidentally captured her amidst the chaotic retreat, their ages alone make such an event implausible. After all, Meng Tian was in his prime, while Madam Murong was already over sixty. Even if Meng Tian were utterly deranged and harbored complex feelings of hatred and admiration for her, he would not have made such a bold declaration in full view of everyone, disregarding international decorum.
This goes to show that, for the sake of a compelling story, storytellers are willing to deceive the well-meaning public by shamelessly ignoring the laws of nature.However absurd the story's ending may seem, the illustrious Murong family of generations of high officials was indeed wiped out in this battle. Of the hundred elite clansmen escorting eleven young masters out of Baizhi Pass, only my mother survived to reach Tang Capital City—due to warfare, ambushes, drowning, startled horses, getting lost, and some weather-related mishaps. She collapsed at the city gate, clutching Princess Fu'er, who was not yet four years old, and by the time the guards rushed over, she had already stopped breathing.
Thus, Princess Fu survived. As the last remnant of the Murong bloodline, she entered Jinwu Palace and was enfeoffed as Princess Zhangyi. And I, accompanied by the first rays of light after days of continuous rain, came into this world.
Few knew my mother was pregnant. Beneath her loose cloak, I had already grown for seven months. After my father died in battle, my mother raced a thousand miles to deliver the last descendant of a loyal martyr. After her death, the physicians extracted me from her womb, making me another orphan of that war.
Both children of loyal officials, she became a princess, while I became a maid.
There’s no point discussing fairness or unfairness, for fate enjoys looking down on us from varying heights. What you lose today may be compensated tomorrow; likewise, an overly happy childhood greatly diminishes your ability to withstand setbacks and pain, causing you to fall harder in the future. In this light, the saying "poor children mature early" is hardly nonsense. Of course, I only realized this after growing up. Back then, I never pondered such things—I was too young to understand what thinking meant.
Time is like a bird flapping its wings—sooner or later, it will flap no more and turn to bones. So heartless, so cruel.
And then, I grew up. I have a name: Hua Yan.
(2)
When I say "grew up," I wasn’t very old—just three or four years old. Please don’t doubt my exceptional memory, for I’ve long proclaimed to the world that I am, in fact, a child prodigy. Though most didn’t acknowledge it—in their eyes, I was just an ugly little cripple, utterly incapable of profound wisdom. It must be said, people can be so shallow at times.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention—I am a cripple. Not entirely lame, just half-lame, walking with a slight limp. However, the physician warned that my condition might worsen with age. I was furious at his cruelty in revealing such a harsh truth to a child. So I decided to ignore his words, treating everything he said as mere flatulence, and went on living my life happily.Life in the palace wasn't as miserable as those novelists outside made it out to be. All that talk about fighting for favor, palace intrigues, poisonings, and miscarriages—those were just irresponsible rumors spread by jealous outsiders who couldn't have what we had. In reality, aside from the occasional squabbles or scuffles between palace maids, eunuchs, or senior servants over a few harsh words, life in the palace was quite peaceful and comfortable. I had food and drink every day, no work to do, and lived an easy, truly happy life. Since the palace staff couldn't have children of their own, they were especially kind to me, the only child from the common folk within the palace walls. Because of this, I gained many "aunties" and "uncles"—First Aunt, Second Aunt, Third Uncle, Fifth Uncle, and so on.
In this regard, I was much more popular than Princess Fu. Perhaps because she had witnessed war firsthand, she was particularly sensitive. She would often wake up in the middle of the night, crying and saying she had dreamed of her mother, father, grandparents, and so on. She always felt that someone looked down on her or served her carelessly because she had no powerful backing. I remember one time when Ninth Uncle and Twelfth Uncle came to Mihe Residence to clean the pond. Seeing me limping along beside them, Ninth Uncle shooed me away, saying, "Stay away from the pond, child. The banks are very slippery."
Princess Fu happened to be passing by just then and her eyes reddened at his words. I trotted after her and found her standing under a dense phoenix tree, wearing a light green dress, her head bowed with tears in her eyes. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that the eunuch cleaning the pond said the banks were too slippery, which she took to mean he was complaining about the overgrown weeds. She said those weeds were lowly things that shouldn't be growing in the imperial palace, just like her—neither legitimate nor rightful, and thus deserving to be cleared away.
I was too young at the time to understand how she could make such a leap from a single comment, so I humbly asked my Twelfth Uncle about it. He became very angry upon hearing this and declared he would never clean her pond again.
But in the end, he was just venting. Princess Fu always claimed she had no backing, but in truth, her supporters were incredibly powerful—one was Prince Luo, and the other was the Crown Prince. These two represented the Empress and the Emperor, respectively. Anyone who dared say her backing wasn't solid would likely be fooling themselves—though she was the only one who ever said it.
There were only three children of similar age in the palace, so naturally, they were very close. Of course, I wasn't included in that group.
From a child's perspective, I never really believed that Prince Luo and the Crown Prince were as friendly as they appeared in public. Even the palace dogs knew the Empress disliked the Crown Prince, and everyone was aware of the underlying tensions among them. The Crown Prince had been clever since childhood—Second Aunt said that when he was just learning to crawl, he already knew to put stones in the shoes of Prince Luo, who had just started walking. I admired that greatly; it wasn't until I could walk myself that I thought of placing nails on the stool of my Twelfth Uncle when he hit me.My first encounter with the Crown Prince happened when I was four years old, while he was seven and Li Luo was eight. I was playing in the imperial garden with a little rabbit given to me by my twelfth father when the Crown Prince and Li Luo, accompanied by a group of young eunuchs playing horse-riding battles, passed by and tried to snatch my rabbit. At four years old, I was still fair and just, completely unwilling to yield to Li Luo's tyranny just because the Empress managed the rear palace. Seeing how the Crown Prince had rosy lips, pearly teeth, and smiling eyes that curved like crescent moons—truly handsome—I decided to give the rabbit to him instead. Enraged, Li Luo grabbed the rabbit and slammed it onto a stone, instantly splitting its skin and splattering blood everywhere. The Crown Prince's pride was wounded, and he stepped forward ready to fight. Since it was almost time for morning lessons, the two agreed to settle the score that evening, right there in the same spot.
That night, I was invited to watch the fight, and Princess Fu also came incognito with the Crown Prince and Li Luo. Under the bright moonlight, we prepared to witness the brutal brawl about to unfold. But before my emotions could even build, the confrontation was abruptly cut short. The Empress, dressed in a wine-red ceremonial gown and followed by a retinue of palace attendants, stood there with a frosty expression, glaring at Li Luo and saying in a low voice, "Have you taken my words as nothing but empty air?"
Li Luo hung his head in silence, his palms red and swollen with traces of blood seeping out. The Empress, unable to bear it any longer, took his hand and gently wiped it with a silk handkerchief drawn from her collar, asking, "Does it hurt?"
Pursing his lips, Li Luo shook his head. Seeing this, the Empress could no longer bring herself to scold him and instead took his hand, saying, "Come back to the palace with me."
After a few steps, she paused and instructed a nearby palace maid, "Escort the Crown Prince back to his quarters. All the palace staff on duty in the Crown Prince's residence tonight shall receive twenty heavy strikes."
Her voice was icy, and from start to finish, she never even glanced at the Crown Prince. After saying this, she led Li Luo away. Princess Fu hesitated for a moment before chasing after Li Luo, while the palace maid scurried over to the Crown Prince, looking as if she were about to faint from fright, and exclaimed, "Ah! Your Highness, your knee is injured—it's bleeding! This servant will fetch a physician at once."
The Crown Prince, then dressed in a pine-green robe and still shorter than the flowers in the garden, had a grimy little face, but his eyes shone like stars. Sitting crookedly on the ground, he stared blankly for a long time at the retreating figures of the Empress and Li Luo. Then, with an air of indifference, he pushed away the palace maid trying to assist him, got up on his own, dusted off his clothes, and said with a raised eyebrow, "Look how scared you are. This is just red medicine—I dripped it on myself."
He wiped his knee harshly with his sleeve and paid it no further mind. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced like a little adult, muttering as he went, "That scoundrel Li Luo always runs to a woman when it's time to fight. I hate playing with him."
He walked with a limp, his posture oddly similar to mine, which instantly gave me a sense of kinship, as if we were both kindred spirits adrift in the world. I hurried forward to support him. He glanced at me sideways, frowned, and asked, "Who are you?"
His question truly saddened me. He had probably forgotten that it was I who gave him a rabbit that very morning—the very rabbit that had sparked tonight's bloody incident. But I couldn't say any of this aloud, so I swallowed my frustration and replied, "I'll escort Your Highness back to your palace."
He sneered and asked me, "Aren't you afraid of being beaten?"I also got angry, stiffening my neck as I retorted, "What the hell is there to be afraid of?"
He was taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter and said, "I like you. Come with me!"
It was that sentence—yes, that very sentence—that I would recall over and over again in countless days and nights to come. Every time I thought of it, it felt sweet. Even though we were both just kids back then, and he hadn’t even figured out whether I was a boy or a girl.
So that night, I helped him along like this: he limped on the left, I limped on the right, and we walked together, walking in perfect harmony.
I think I will always remember that night.
(3) Fu’s Tragedy
To be honest, Princess Fu was truly something else. Specifically, she and Prince Luo had been in sync for so many years, yet not a single person had found out about it. After all, given the Empress’s absolute authority in the imperial harem back then, if Prince Luo had been unwilling, I really don’t think the Emperor would have gone against the Empress’s wishes to hold this wedding for the Crown Prince. Besides, Princess Fu no longer had any impressive family background; aside from her title as a princess, her social connections weren’t even as solid as mine. Even if she married Li Luo, it wouldn’t be a big deal. And from what I knew of the Crown Prince, although he could be a bit unreliable at times, he was certainly not the type to smash a little white rabbit to death just because he couldn’t have it.
Unfortunately, Prince Luo did not fight for her with the Empress, and Princess Fu did not show any obvious dissatisfaction on the day of the marriage decree. The entire palace was filled with joy, and the Crown Prince was beaming with happiness. By then, I was already one of the Crown Prince’s followers, serving him diligently day and night. Coupled with the bond we had since childhood, I had effectively become the decision-maker in the Crown Prince’s residence. This wedding was crucial for the Crown Prince, and for me as well. I mobilized all my connections—the various "mothers" and "fathers" I had cultivated throughout the palace—to pool their wisdom and efforts, attempting to make the Crown Prince’s wedding flawless.
Yet the biggest flaw still emerged: Princess Fu was hanging from that phoenix tree, her tongue stretched long, her face already purple. It was as unsightly as it could possibly be. I thought that if she had known how ugly she would look after death, she definitely wouldn’t have died—or at least, she wouldn’t have chosen this method. But she still died, right in front of the Crown Prince, on the very day he came to marry her.
Prince Luo stood under the pomegranate tree in the courtyard, his gaze fixed intently on the scene. Strangely, I didn’t see much pain in his eyes, but rather a blazing hatred that surged out like an unending flood. It sent a chill down my spine, and I instinctively wanted to shield the Crown Prince.
Many years later, when Prince Luo was defeated and died, the Crown Prince decided to bury Princess Fu with him. Others might have thought the Crown Prince was deeply sentimental, but I still didn’t see it that way. It wasn’t for any particular reason; I just felt that after all these years, the Crown Prince still couldn’t see through it. Did Prince Luo truly love Princess Fu? Perhaps not. Given the Empress’s status, if he had pleaded with her, this marriage would never have happened. And if he had given Princess Fu a clear answer, then with Murong Fu’er’s stubborn and contrary nature—the kind that could even take offense at a eunuch cleaning a pond—she would probably have been the first to jump up and oppose it right when the marriage was decreed.Perhaps it was ultimately just Princess Fu's unrequited affection. From the arranged marriage to the wedding day, she had merely been waiting silently day after day. Waiting for a response, waiting for an answer, waiting for a reason to live courageously and resist. Yet in the end, what she waited for never came, so she cleanly ended her life with a rope, leaving behind so many filthy thoughts to tarnish what should have been a joyful and pure marriage for others.
I truly despise such stubborn people. If you can't have persimmons, can't you eat apples instead? Especially since apples are naturally sweeter than persimmons anyway.
I swore I would never become such a stubborn person in this lifetime.
But I forgot - I've made too many solemn vows in this life. Like when I swore off meat to lose weight, or when I promised not to read novels and journals at night, vowing to sleep early to avoid dark circles the next day. Yet I never kept any of those promises, and this current resolution is destined to meet the same fate.
Murong Fu'er died just like that, and everyone found it deeply regrettable. The kitchen had already prepared the wedding banquet, but now it all had to be discarded uneaten. I too felt profound sorrow in my heart.
That evening, the Crown Prince ate his meal as usual, took his customary stroll around the palace, then returned to his chambers to sleep.
I grabbed a handful of incense and scattered it into the twin-branch coiled-flower censer, watching it burn into pale ashes. Wisps of smoke drifted through the bronze holes, swirling delicately in the air like early autumn leaves - chaotic yet carrying a touch of desolate beauty.
The main hall was terrifyingly quiet, the entire Jinwu Palace seeming to have died along with its mistress. Even my breathing unconsciously softened. After closing the windows, I tiptoed toward the exit. Just as I reached the doorway, the Crown Prince called out to me: "Hua Yan, I should have known all along."
I stopped immediately, straightening my posture respectfully. After all, we were no longer children, and I didn't possess truly flower-like beauty that would allow me to be informal before my master. I responded softly: "What did Your Highness know?"
"The gifts I gave her, she never deigned to use. Yet when he gave her a mere broken wind chime, she treasured it like a precious jewel and hung it up immediately."
Though I usually presented myself as careless and frivolous, that couldn't conceal my inherently sharp wit. Still, in such a sudden and awkward situation, I struggled to find an appropriate response. I could only hum noncommittally and mumble: "Perhaps Princess Fu had peculiar taste and particularly favored shabby wind chimes."
The hall was so silent that the trailing notes of my voice floated aimlessly before scattering in the wind. After a long pause, the rustle of silk echoed as the Crown Prince seemed to turn over behind the heavy curtains, presenting his back to me. He said faintly: "Most likely. That girl's judgment has always been poor since childhood."
Then the Crown Prince presumably fell asleep. Without dismissing me or asking me to stay, I simply settled beside the incense burner. Layer upon layer of fragrance enveloped me until even my clothes and the corners of my lips seemed perfumed.I knew the Crown Prince was deeply distressed, but I didn't know what to say. Having lived in the palace for over a decade, I understood the importance of reading subtle social cues. If I possessed a pretty face, perhaps I'd be like those ignorant palace maids who don't know their place - offering gentle comfort while hoping to seize the opportunity to climb the social ladder. If I came from an illustrious family, I might also shamelessly beg my father, grandfather, uncles and elders to arrange my marriage into the imperial family for wealth and privilege. Unfortunately, I had nothing - no beauty, no fortune, no status. I was utterly devoid of all three attributes, and to make matters worse, I was a little cripple. Being allowed to serve in the Crown Prince's residence was already a stroke of luck - how dare I entertain any extravagant hopes?
I sighed with bitter frustration, noticing how eerily quiet the palace was - not even a bird could be heard. The Crown Prince lay behind multiple layers of curtains, his figure appearing somewhat thinner. Tomorrow I'd need to visit the Imperial Kitchen to instruct them to prepare some of the Crown Prince's favorite dishes. Hmm, I might as well have them make some of my favorites too. With this thought, I felt considerably more at ease.
(4)
Murong Fu'er had died, yet palace life continued as usual. No one was so grief-stricken that they lost their appetite. On the contrary, due to the exhaustion from wedding preparations, my parents generally had increased appetites. The eunuchs in the Imperial Kitchen were quite efficient - for several consecutive days, every meal included meat dishes. An outsider might mistakenly think some joyous occasion had occurred.
In the palace, the more misfortune one encounters, the more one must appear unruffled. If Murong Fu'er had chosen to hang herself quietly from a crooked tree, it would have been one thing. But had she made a grand spectacle by crashing into the palace gates to die, the matrons in charge would likely have had us sing and dance daily to demonstrate that the royal household remained undisturbed and everyone was in high spirits. Thinking of it this way, Murong Fu'er's death was rather pointless.
The Ministry of Rites officials quickly began planning the selection of consorts for the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince didn't seem particularly interested in the matter; he was still young at the time and couldn't yet appreciate the delights of certain activities between men and women. Truth be told, I didn't understand it either—this was something my Twelfth Father had said. Back then, I believed him wholeheartedly and greatly admired him, thinking how learned he was. It wasn't until I grew up that I realized my Twelfth Father didn't understand it either. He had been castrated and entered the palace at six years old, destined never to experience the joys of that particular activity in his lifetime.
People often say that our Biantang army is weak and our officials inefficient, but I think this is pure slander. In less than half a month, they managed to gather background information on over a hundred daughters of officials for the Crown Prince, along with assessments of their temperaments, portraits, knowledge, and talents—all compiled into volumes and delivered to the Crown Prince's residence. Since these weren't principal consorts, the requirements for family background weren't too strict, so many minor local officials volunteered eagerly, striving to establish some connection with the Crown Prince.
The Crown Prince tossed these materials to us junior palace maids to review and help him choose. So every day, we sat in the palace flipping through these dossiers like comic books, holding internal elections. Occasionally, the Crown Prince would offer his opinion. But everyone knows that the more people involved in a selection process, the harder it is to reach a consensus. Our aesthetic tastes varied too greatly, and after much discussion, we couldn't settle on a clear outcome. For a long time, this even threatened the harmony and unity among the maids in the Crown Prince's residence. Finally, the Crown Prince suggested, "Why don't we draw lots?" Everyone agreed, and the matter was thus satisfactorily resolved.
However, this indirectly led to the first batch of consorts being of uneven quality. There were even two who were more robust and athletic than the guard Tie You. It's truly baffling how their family painters managed to produce such flattering portraits of them—it's utterly perplexing.
Life in the palace was like this: time always slipped away in a muddle. When I was fourteen, my Twelfth Father passed away from hemorrhoids. It was a rather gruesome way to die, evoking a sense of desolation—one couldn't help but picture an elderly eunuch, frail and alone in his twilight years, with a rotting backside. In reality, the old man was just too stubborn and embarrassed to speak up about his condition. The pain made it impossible for him to eat, and he gradually weakened until he breathed his last.
In his final moments, as his only nominal relative in the palace, I was entrusted with the duty of seeing him off. Being young at the time, I burst into loud, desperate sobs upon learning he was dying. He seemed to want to say something to me but never got a chance to interject, growing increasingly agitated, flailing his hands and feet, until finally, he stretched out his legs and passed away.Thinking back now, it truly was a tragedy. After all, my Twelfth Father had worked in the palace for many years and later secured a rather high-ranking official position. Before his death, he probably wanted to tell me that he had buried his lifelong savings under a specific stone in a certain garden. And just like that, I sent off my Twelfth Father without inheriting a single penny, while beneath the soil of the Biantang Imperial Palace, another undiscovered secret treasure lay hidden.
For a long time, I was troubled by this matter. Whenever I thought about how my Twelfth Father had painstakingly saved up his entire life's earnings, only for me to never get to spend a single coin, I felt deeply saddened on his behalf. The Crown Prince, perhaps thinking that I must be grieving terribly over the loss of my father, invited me to go for a stroll outside the palace that evening. Before this, I had never once stepped foot outside the palace, so I immediately expressed genuine enthusiasm for the idea.
And so, I spent the entire day busily preparing—clothes, shoes, socks, snacks, fruits—gathering all the supplies one would supposedly need for an outing. Little did I expect that when evening came, the Crown Prince would shove me into a carriage, have Tie You take me for a spin around the palace, and then vanish without a trace himself. The entire night, the imperial guards chased after Tie You and me with all their might. To ensure His Highness the Crown Prince could enjoy himself to the fullest, we had to neither shake off our pursuers nor get caught—a task that required immense skill. In the end, I decided I would never believe another word the Crown Prince said. Even if he told me he was dying, I would turn around and walk away.
In the end, I still didn’t get to fulfill my wish of seeing the world outside the palace—I just rode around in circles in the carriage. Fortunately, the Empress never paid much attention to the Crown Prince’s antics. If we had encountered the kind of deranged, extreme empress often depicted in novels and stories, Tie You and I would have surely lost our lives that night.
When the Crown Prince returned the next day, he told me that he had heard rumors among the common folk about a fiercely loyal young slave girl by the side of the Heir of Yanbei from Daxia. Back when the entire Yan family was wiped out and the Young Master Yan was imprisoned in the Holy Gold Palace, this girl had followed him. At that time, the Young Master Yan had been utterly abandoned, with even relatives who had once received great kindness from Yanshicheng refusing to associate with him. Only that young girl stayed by his side—brave and resilient despite her tender age, and exceptionally beautiful to boot.
As the Crown Prince spoke, he wore a look of deep yearning, much like the expression he had when he talked about some nobleman’s daughter with captivating, soul-stirring eyes.
I wanted to say, "If you were ever abandoned by everyone, I would follow you too."
But I didn’t say it. After all, I had heard plenty of stories. Every fallen hero was accompanied by a peerless beauty—this was how one highlighted the beauty’s loyalty and the hero’s extraordinary charm. I had never once heard of a fallen hero sharing hardships with a lame maidservant and then… well, you know. That would be far too unsightly; even the most tolerant readers wouldn’t accept it. So, like a sycophant, I said, "What kind of person is that Young Master Yan anyway? If you, Your Highness, were to appear before that girl, she would surely weep with devotion and fall hopelessly in love with you."
The Crown Prince laughed triumphantly and said, "Hua Yan, you are truly gifted."From then on, I kept an eye on that Young Master Yan's little slave girl, but because we were too far apart and she wasn't anyone important, I still knew very little about her. I only heard her name was Chu Qiao, the same age as me, and deeply favored by Young Master Yan. I felt quite jealous about this - both being servants, she was so famous that even a palace girl like me who had never left the palace knew of her, while I remained completely unknown. But I soon consoled myself - after all, Young Master Yan only had one slave girl, while the Crown Prince had countless palace maids. Moreover, I was a palace maid while she was a slave, so in terms of status, I was slightly above her. Thinking this way made me feel better.
Several more years passed in this muddled way when suddenly Daxia proposed a marriage alliance with Biantang. Everyone knew that Daxia's ancestors were foreign tribes from beyond the passes who had raised armies to occupy Biantang's Hongchuan eighteen prefectures, making them mortal enemies with Biantang. But compared to Daxia, Huai Song's ancestors were even more detested - the Nalan family were originally Biantang's vassals who conspired to rebel and establish independence. So in terms of public sentiment, Huai Song was even less welcome than Daxia.
The Crown Princess position had been vacant for so many years - it was time for someone to fill it.
The Crown Prince set off half a year early with great fanfare and many elaborate arrangements. Outsiders thought him absurd, but I knew he was just using this as an excuse to travel and have fun. Due to the early education my aunts had given me, I held an excessive fear of the Xia people and couldn't help but show it. My name wasn't on the accompanying list for this trip. I assigned Xiao E and several others to go instead - they were overjoyed and gave me over a dozen agate hairpins as thanks. I had a young eunuch sell them for me, making quite a tidy sum.
If life could continue like this, it would actually be quite nice.
————Division————
On Baidu Tieba's 11th district, there's a side story called "Elegy for the Magnolia" written by a talented female author from Li Ce's first-person perspective. Several times afterward when I tried to write in first person, I felt like he had already said everything there was to say, leaving me with nothing to add. So I chose this different approach to write the Biantang side story. The writing style is quite different from the main text, which is why it wasn't included in the published version. If you like it, please take a look.
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