The side hall was already set with dining tables, its twelve wide windows fully open. The decor wasn't ostentatiously luxurious, but the octagonal floor-standing celadon vases from the Ru Kiln—half a person's height with blue patterns on white glaze—filled with fresh seasonal blooms, exuded rustic elegance while retaining lively charm.
The gentle May sunlight outside bathed the air in soothing warmth. From the lotus pond beside the hall drifted a refreshing breeze carrying the murmur of flowing water, along with pale gardenia petals and emerald leaves floating on its surface. The hall remained cool and moist, filled with subtle fragrance, leaving all the ladies feeling invigorated and full of praise.
With cold dishes and fresh fruits arranged, Minglan seated all the female guests before ordering hot dishes and warmed wine. For the young ladies, she had prepared lighter fruit wines and freshly squeezed fruit syrups. Servants then streamed in with platters and bowls, and everyone picked up their chopsticks.
For the Gu residence's first banquet, Chef Ge gave her all, showcasing her finest skills. Beyond standard dishes like chicken, duck, fish, and pork, there were numerous delicacies from land and sea. A stir-fried duck gizzard with mountain mushrooms and wood ear fungus, sweet-and-sour pineapple spare ribs, a steamed eel soup with sesame in bamboo tubes, and a soy-braised tenderloin with double mushrooms were particularly fresh and delicious, satisfying all present.
Unlike men who drank with rowdy games, and with external guests present, the Gu family ladies couldn't press Minglan to drink. With elder matriarchs nearby, the young girls also remained reserved, not proposing poetic drinking games. Everyone dined and conversed with refined manners.
After a while, Minglan had a performance arranged in the small octagonal pavilion before the hall. A troupe of musicians entered with drums, flutes, and three-stringed lutes, followed by costumed female storytellers. After the elder ladies selected tunes, music began, and the powdered actors started singing in melodious tones.
Between the hall and pavilion lay a shallow pool of clear water, connected only by a narrow bluestone bridge about two feet wide and five or six steps long. With rippling water, blurred by charming floral shadows and green trees, the view across the pool appeared misty and picturesque, complementing the exquisite music.
After listening awhile, the Grand Old Madam praised, "These storytellers are wonderfully chosen, their songs superb, and your arrangement perfect. We're treated to auditory and visual feasts."
Minglan rose with a smile to acknowledge the compliment. Second Wife of Gu Tingbing remarked softly, "It's all the Emperor's generous grace. Such rewards—sister-in-law is truly blessed."
Seated opposite, First Wife of Gu Tingxuan quickly interjected cheerfully, "But it takes clever ideas too! Even if I had such a lovely place, I'd never conceive such a wonderful plan. Sister-in-law truly comes from a scholarly family."
Madam Wang swelled with pride, unable to suppress a smile. Minglan's jade-like cheeks flushed slightly as she modestly replied, "Eldest Sister-in-law flatters me. This wasn't my idea—it followed layout plans left by former official Xiong Linshan. I merely copied the design."
First Wife of Gu Tingxuan exclaimed in mock complaint, "You! Too honest by half! Just as I'm praising you, you reveal the secret!"
The hall erupted in laughter. Minglan lowered her head in shyness. Second Wife of Gu Tingbing seized the moment to say, "I adore sister-in-law's garden so much I never want to leave! This vast residence seems rather empty—might I be fortunate enough to keep you company? Moving here would make things livelier, wouldn't it?"Minglan smiled faintly and glanced at the Gu family ladies present at the table. She noticed they appeared rather uncomfortable, most of them shooting reproachful looks at the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing. Yet the latter pretended not to notice and kept waiting eagerly for Minglan's reply.
The First Wife of Gu Tingxuan flushed the deepest with embarrassment. She resented bitterly how the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing, utterly shameless, was not only disgracing the Gu family in front of external guests but also humiliating their fourth branch before the entire clan.
She tugged hard at the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing's sleeve and forced a smile as she whispered sharply, "What nonsense are you spouting? With our parents-in-law still alive, where would you move to?" Whether truly foolish or feigning ignorance, the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing actually retorted directly, "Then why don't our entire branch move here together?"
Even the Grand Old Madam grew displeased at this. Just as the Fourth Old Madam was about to scold her with visible anger, Rulan—who was seated beside Yuan Wenying—suddenly leaned over and whispered in Yuan Wenying's ear, "Didn't they already divide the family property? Why are they still clinging together? Could it be to save on food expenses?" No sooner had she spoken than Yuan Wenying shoved her hard and glared fiercely to make her shut up.
Her words were neither too loud nor too soft, seemingly a "whisper" to Yuan Wenying yet audible to all. The external female guests were immediately amused, watching the Gu family's domestic drama with smiling interest. They thought to themselves: Even if someone were to move here, it should be Madam Shao and Madam Zhu from the main branch. What business does a separated cousin's wife have meddling?
Gu Tingyu, as the Marquis, naturally couldn't leave the Marquis' residence. Gu Tingwei, being the Grand Old Madam's own son, needed to serve his widowed mother and couldn't move either. With none from their own main branch making any moves, it was actually the fourth branch eyeing Clear Garden—how utterly shameless!
As soon as Rulan's words fell, all the Gu family ladies except the Grand Old Madam and Madam Zhu were struck with embarrassment, unable to resist glaring angrily at the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing. The Fourth Old Madam in particular felt intense humiliation. During earlier casual conversations, several noble ladies had been quite taken with Tingying's poised and articulate demeanor, and with their own families having promising sons and nephews, a good marriage prospect had seemed imminent. Now, the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing had thoroughly shamed them, and the Fourth Old Madam felt like she could devour her alive!
Under such concentrated stares, even the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing's thick skin couldn't withstand the pressure, and she had to lower her head.
Minglan turned away without speaking. Regarding the family division, she had only recently learned the hidden circumstances behind it.
Back when the treasury silver case erupted, the Old Master Gu, foreseeing imminent ruin and fearing complete family annihilation, hastily divided the family assets to salvage what he could. Unexpectedly, a few months later, Baishi entered the household, and the catastrophe dissipated without a trace. As the eldest son, the Old Marquis, was often stationed at the frontiers, the fourth and fifth branches continued residing in the Marquis' residence. When the Old Marquis returned to the capital, the matter of moving out to live separately was never brought up again.
Just then, Old Madam Lu, who had been listening to the opera with half-closed eyes, suddenly spoke up. She feebly muttered, "Ah... This old woman is hard of hearing. With all your talking, I can't even make out what's being sung anymore."
The Fourth Old Madam breathed a sigh of relief and quickly said, "We've disturbed you with our chatter." Then she shot a fierce glare at the Second Wife of Gu Tingbing, forcing a smile as she emphasized sternly, "Stop your loose talk now and listen to the music!"With that, the hall finally quieted down. Minglan shook her head imperceptibly, sighed, and turned to gaze at the pavilion resembling Penglai floating on water, no longer paying them any mind as she calmly settled her heart to properly enjoy the performance.
Since no stage had been erected, most of the female guests selected excerpts from civil operas.
Old Madam Lu chose "Admonishing the Son" from Meeting at the Single Sword Pass (rumor had it her fifty-year-old son hadn't been behaving lately), Grand Old Madam selected "Case Closed" from The Plot Uncovered (a story about misunderstandings and eventual reconciliation between mother-in-law, daughter-in-law, and sisters-in-law), while Madam Wang picked "Returning the Pearl" from The Tale of the Lute Platform (where a husband finally recognizes his wife's virtues after numerous affairs, reforms himself, and the couple grows old together in harmony). Others then successively chose their favorite selections.
The most frequently requested was undoubtedly The Legend of Liuyun Qiao, with several ladies each selecting different acts. Minglan calculated briefly and realized nearly the entire Legend of Liuyun Qiao had been requested.
This opera had remained continuously popular for nearly a century since the previous dynasty, particularly beloved by female audiences.
The plot summary is as follows: During the mid-period of a certain dynasty, a famous courtesan fortuitously met a young Tanhua (the third-ranked scholar in imperial examinations). Despite their vastly different social statuses, they became kindred spirits at first sight and fell deeply in love. Though the Tanhua redeemed her and restored her civilian status, his family wouldn't accept a woman from the pleasure quarters. The courtesan proved remarkably resolute - she left a farewell letter and departed, urging the Tanhua to marry a noble young lady instead.
After searching fruitlessly for his beloved, the Tanhua eventually obeyed his parents' arrangements. Years later, now widowed, he was appointed as a border inspection censor. While touring the frontier, the Jie Barbarians launched a massive invasion. The Tanhua led soldiers and civilians in desperate resistance, but being severely outnumbered with reinforcements delayed, the city faced imminent fall. As he placed his sword against his neck ready to die, chaos suddenly erupted in the Jie Barbarians' main camp. Seizing the opportunity, the Tanhua ordered the defenders to launch a swift assault, which succeeded in resolving the crisis.
After the battle, they discovered a woman had spent heavily to purchase five hundred cattle, sheep, and horses, then set fire to their tails in imitation of Tian Dan's "fire oxen formation," driving the stampeding animals through the unprepared Jie Barbarian rear. Suspicious, the Tanhua investigated and discovered the woman was none other than the courtesan.
The story naturally concludes with a happy ending - the talented scholar and beautiful lady living in perfect harmony, growing old together surrounded by children and grandchildren.
Though rather clichéd, the story remains deeply moving because it was based on actual events - a remarkable romance from the previous dynasty.
The Tanhua was named Gao Qin, scion of a prominent Jiangzuo family. Achieving early success, he topped the imperial examinations at sixteen and successively served three emperors. His life saw dramatic ups and downs, and he brought blessings to countless common people before being recorded in the official History's "Biographies of Eminent Ministers."
His wife's story was even more legendary because she truly had been a singing girl from the Qinhuai River banks, later generations calling her "Madam Liuli." Normally, such a questionable background would at least be glossed over in official records to deceive posterity, even if contemporaries knew the truth. But this Madam Gao was simply too famous, and their affairs had caused too great a sensation - even if official histories omitted details, unofficial histories were filled with accounts.Just then, a soft drumming sound suddenly rose from the octagonal pavilion, starting slow and gradually accelerating. Four musicians plucked the strings of their sanxians with increasing speed, their music mournful and expressive, like pearls scattering across the ground—both thrilling and heart-wrenching. Minglan glanced at Madam Zhu beside her, then at her sisters-in-law, and saw they were all flushed with excitement and enchantment. Minglan knew the most brilliant part was about to begin:
Gao Qin returned from the border town and pleaded earnestly with his parents, who finally agreed to let him take Lady Liuli as his concubine. Unexpectedly, Lady Liuli refused. Sighing at her lover, she uttered a famous line: "I love you deeply, but I also love myself deeply."
She explained that after enduring a lifetime of scorn and disdain, once freed from her lowly status, she had resolved to live the rest of her life with her head held high. Thus, she opened workshops, took on apprentices, and engaged in trade, already securing a dignified life for herself—and she was now quite content.
Gao Qin was determined to marry her, but the Gao family of Jiangzuo adamantly refused. The matter became known throughout the land, even sparking fervent discussions in the streets and alleys. In the end, Gao Qin resolutely abandoned his promising future, resigned from his post, relinquished his titles, was expelled from the Gao family ancestral hall, and driven out of his home.
Thereafter, the couple, scorned by the world, retreated to the wild mountains of Yongzhou, living in poverty but supporting each other through hardship. Gao Qin devoted himself to studying, writing books, refining his scholarship, and teaching disciples. Meanwhile, Lady Liuli led the impoverished local people in mining the mountains, diverting water to create fields.
A full ten years passed, and the emperor had changed. Gao Qin became renowned once more for his monumental works that critiqued and transcended Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism. Scholars from all corners of the land admired him and came to seek his guidance. The court issued three decrees, urging Gao Qin to resume his official duties and return to the capital. Thereafter, his career soared: he served as both a general and a minister, retired to the countryside three times, and returned to court three times, eventually rising to the position of Grand Preceptor. With countless disciples under his tutelage, he was finally recorded in the "Biographies of Eminent Ministers" and enshrined in the Hall of Loyalty and Virtue.
As for Lady Gao, her journey from a singing girl to a top-rank Imperial Mandate Lady made Lady Liuli’s life more legendary than any legend itself.
When Minglan had read this account (from both official histories and unofficial records), she once asked Zhuang Xiansheng, "Can mines be opened privately? Doesn’t the government regulate them?"
"Other mines cannot, but Lady Liuli could," Zhuang Xiansheng replied. "Because the mine contained not gold, silver, copper, iron, coal, or salt, but a peculiar 'quartz' that could be fired into glazed tiles and glass. The authorities didn’t even know what it was used for."
Glass! Yes, glass.
Minglan’s pupils contracted slightly as she glanced at the open windows around her, fitted with clear, bright glass panes. Some were large, transparent sheets; others were small, colored pieces arranged into floral and avian patterns, radiant and dazzling, illuminating the hall brightly.
In an era of low technological advancement, Lady Liuli, through repeated and precise experiments, first produced small glass trinkets to raise initial funds. Over a decade later, she created convex lenses for telescopes or magnifying glasses. Another decade on, she finally revolutionized the technique, producing large, flat, and sturdy thin glass.
This Lady Liuli must have been a transmigrator—Minglan gazed distractedly at the glass window—judging from her surviving experimental manuscripts, she had a background in science and engineering.
What a useful major, Minglan sighed inwardly, looking down with deep envy.
A soft chorus of appreciative murmurs rose in the hall. The female storyteller’s singing suddenly deepened and stretched, her eyes conveying a sense of timeless eternity. Even a pseudo-literary soul like Minglan had to admit—this was truly an excellent performance.This play was written by a great literary master of the previous dynasty, who happened to be a disciple of the Gao family. At the age of seventy, he awoke from a dream of his youthful student days, tears streaming down his face. In those days, they would often see the white-haired couple, Gao Qin and his wife, strolling hand in hand along the riverbank, still deeply in love.
Filled with gratitude and admiration, the old man picked up his brush and wrote this timeless masterpiece to commemorate his departed mentor and mentor’s wife. As expected of a great talent, The Tale of Liuyun Qiao stood out with its melodious and moving tunes, elegant and refined lyrics—many lines of which could almost be quoted directly as poetry. Truly, it was a rare gem.
Minglan glanced around at the women nearby. Some looked envious, others contemplative, all touched with emotion. Beside her, Madam Zhu sighed softly, "Ah... for a woman to achieve what Liuli Furen did, it’s truly worth it."
Liuli Furen had become a symbol, an emblem, showing women that such deeply devoted and virtuous men did exist in the world—it was just that they hadn’t been fortunate enough to meet one.
For Minglan, however, Liuli Furen was a signal—a sign that she was not alone, that there were others like her.
From her grandmother, Minglan had heard bits and pieces about Jing An Huanghou.
She knew that Jing An Huanghou came from a prominent family, was born with exceptional beauty, and was brilliant from a young age—composing poetry at three and painting at five (likely a case of soul transmigration). Her poetic talent was dazzling (drawing from Tang and Song classics), and at fifteen, she was selected as the principal wife of a prince. By twenty, she was crowned Empress. Old Mrs. Sheng had seen her in the palace during her own youth, but just two years later, Jing An Huanghou passed away at the age of thirty-seven.
"Why did she depart so early?" the young Minglan once asked.
"Because she never should have entered the palace as Empress," Old Mrs. Sheng replied with profound melancholy. "Her character was as pure and untainted as the snow lotus on a cliff. She wasn’t gullible—she was sincere. She wasn’t ignorant of cunning—she disdained it. And that shadowy, corrupt place they call the palace... it only soiled her. Hmph! Those vile schemers thought they had won? Every last one of them met a wretched end!"
It was the only time Minglan had ever seen her grandmother express such deep-seated resentment and hatred.
The official account stated that due to the machinations of a treacherous consort and petty individuals, the Emperor and Empress grew estranged. Afterward, the Empress became engrossed in the unusual craft of mirror-making, setting up a small workshop within the palace. She busied herself there day and night, no longer involving herself in palace affairs and refusing to see the Emperor again.
"Making mirrors?" Minglan exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes," Old Mrs. Sheng said with a faint smile. "Jing An Huanghou claimed to have found an ancient recipe for creating mirrors on glass, far superior to bronze mirrors. She was exceedingly clever and made significant progress within a year or two. But alas..." Old Mrs. Sheng’s expression darkened, and Minglan didn’t dare ask further. Before Jing An Huanghou could complete the mirrors, she passed away.
"She once said that her greatest regret in life was being precocious and gaining fame for her talent and beauty at such a young age," Old Mrs. Sheng said, her voice choked with sorrow. "Truly, the burden of fame!"
According to Kong Momo, before her death, Jing An Huanghou burned all her poetry manuscripts and blueprints from childhood onward, leaving not a single word or paper behind.
What followed was an exclusive revelation from Kong Momo.Upon hearing of the Empress's passing, Emperor Wu seemed to have lost his soul, stubbornly refusing to believe that Jing An Huanghou had died of illness. He immediately arrested all the imperial physicians of the Grand Hospital, ordering them to perform an autopsy. He executed them one by one when they failed to detect anything, until the tenth physician finally identified traces of poison and deduced it was a slow-acting toxin, indicating Jing An Huanghou had been poisoned for nearly three years.
In Fengyi Palace, Emperor Wu sat beside the corpse for a full day and night. Within just a few days, the once heroic and vigorous emperor became violently suspicious and temperamental. From then on, his nature changed drastically—he trusted no one. He not only conducted a thorough investigation of the palace, having nearly a thousand palace maids and consorts beaten to death, but also instigated several major cases, throwing countless officials into prison for interrogation.
The Imperial Noble Consort was ordered to commit suicide, and her clan was executed. The Virtuous Consort and Fair Consort were forced to take their own lives, their fathers and brothers executed, and their clans demoted to commoners. The Zhuang Consort was sent to the Severe Punishment Office, tortured, and then executed, followed by the extermination of her clan... Almost none of the consorts above the third rank escaped unscathed, with the unlucky ones even implicating their families. Among the Four Consorts, only the Virtuous Consort remained, but she died of fright a few years later. Of the Nine Concubines, only Wang Chongyi survived, though she later lost her sanity. In an instant, the rear palace was nearly emptied.
To be fair, many of them were indeed involved in Jing An Huanghou's death, but quite a few were wrongly accused. However, at that time, Emperor Wu was like a maddened beast, attacking anyone in sight, and no one dared to admonish him. Fortunately, Jing An Huanghou had a gentle and sincere youngest son, the Late Emperor Ren Zong, whose advice Emperor Wu would occasionally heed.
This storm of bloodshed raged for three full years. In the late years of the Wu dynasty, the emperor even began to believe in sorcerers, setting up altars overnight to summon spirits. But the emperor was no fool; after executing many charlatans, he grew nearly desperate.
One late night, he suddenly awoke from a dream, galloped through the night to Xiaoling, and wept bitterly by Jing An Huanghou's coffin, muttering incoherent words before riding back at dawn to attend court. From then on, this became a habit.
Hearing this, Minglan couldn't help but sigh—if only he had realized earlier, why act so recklessly then!
Physicians had asserted that given Emperor Wu's health, he could easily live into his seventies or eighties. But even the strongest body couldn't withstand daily emulation of Huang Laoxie. Once, Emperor Wu caught a minor cold and developed a low fever. Despite the advice against it from officials inside and outside the court, he still rode through the night to Xiaoling to visit his wife. The next day, he returned with a high fever and soon passed away.
This story left Minglan sighing with emotion, but Old Mrs. Sheng recounted it with great satisfaction!
Because of this, the appearance of mirrors was delayed for several decades. It wasn't until a few years ago, after the new emperor ascended the throne, that the sealed belongings of Jing An Huanghou, kept by two generations of emperors, were finally unsealed. The emperor ordered craftsmen from the Imperial Household Department to work from Jing An Huanghou's manuscripts, and they quickly produced mirrors clear enough to reflect one's image. Although the process was laborious and not yet widespread, Gu Tingye, as the emperor's right-hand man, immediately received a full-length mirror and two small hand mirrors adorned with pearls, jade, and enamel.
Liuli Furen and Jing An Huanghou—born into vastly different circumstances—Minglan believed they were both truly remarkable people. Unfortunately, one succeeded while the other failed. These were the two fellow transmigrators Minglan had confirmed so far.Moreover, there was a peculiar incident over a decade ago involving the daughter of the then-Minister of Revenue. After recovering from a serious illness, she began behaving absurdly, clamoring day and night to open a shop and engage in business. Upon reaching marriageable age, she entangled herself with several princes, imperial clansmen, and even scions of noble families, acting without restraint and indulging in wild eccentricities. She frequently incited young aristocrats with outrageous remarks.
Her reputation was utterly ruined, and people avoided her as if she were filth. By the age of twenty, no one sought her hand in marriage, and her actions ultimately ruined her father’s official career and prevented her sisters from marrying into respectable families. Later, she was confined to the ancestral temple, but she managed to escape and sold herself into a brothel, where she became a celebrated courtesan. She boldly declared, "If Madam Liuli could achieve it, why can’t I?"
Yet she never encountered a Gao Qin, instead running into quite a few Yuan Zhen types—men who would discard her after playing with her, then go around boasting of their romantic affairs with this fallen noble daughter who had willingly degraded herself, thoroughly tarnishing the family's reputation.
Under ancient patriarchal laws, a woman with both parents and elders had no right to "sell herself." Her family found her, brought her back, and then she vanished without a trace—rumor had it she had been drowned in a pond.
Minglan wondered whether such deranged behavior should be classified as transmigration-induced idiocy or inherent ancient-style idiocy. Without concrete evidence, she couldn't determine if the woman had been a fellow transmigrator.
Fate seemed predetermined—she knew she might never meet another transmigrator. Among those who shared her origins, some achieved worldwide fame while others remained obscure. She likely belonged to the latter category.
Or perhaps, in this same era but different places, there were fellow transmigrators living earnestly like her—daring neither to shock the world nor recklessly seek prominence, but seriously embracing life, striving to fulfill responsibilities, integrating into society, and peacefully spending their days in tranquil stability.
That wouldn't be so bad either.
At this thought, Minglan suddenly chuckled softly. To Madam Zhu's eyes, this laughter seemed both unfamiliar and peculiar. As Minglan's gaze drifted, her pearly teeth gently nibbled her lower lip, as if secretly harboring an amusing mystery—something hidden away for private delight. The corners of her eyes and brows brimmed with an uncanny charm, carrying a hint of mischief and a touch of playful impishness.
Madam Zhu lowered her head in silent contemplation: No wonder Second Brother is so bewitched.
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