Youthful Glory

Before Shen Hua could finish speaking, Ming Tan instinctively glanced at her. Bai Minmin and Zhou Jingwan, who were privy to the details, also couldn't help but look over in surprise.

The other young ladies, unaware of the truth, immediately adopted expressions of sudden understanding upon hearing Shen Hua's words.

Ah, so it was this Third Young Miss Ming who, relying on her superficial martial skills, had been bullying others within her own household.

This Third Young Miss Ming truly had no sense of propriety—a concubine-born daughter acting so arrogantly! Not content with deliberately causing someone to fall into the water, she even kept hoping for the victim to suffer lasting harm from the incident. Such malicious intent was truly unparalleled.

Thinking this, they never once doubted that Shen Hua might be lying. Although Shen Hua and Ming Tan were loosely referred to as cousins, their relationship was clearly not close. When they went out together, they often moved in separate circles, occasionally even engaging in subtle rivalries. Given this, why would Shen Hua defend Ming Tan without reason?

It must be that Third Young Miss Ming's domineering behavior had gone too far, provoking disapproval. If she dared to whip her own legitimate-born sister, this distant cousin living under their roof had likely suffered no small amount of bullying as well.

With this in mind, the glances cast toward Ming Chu grew increasingly disdainful and disgusted.

Shen Hua also fixed her gaze on Ming Chu. Seeing Ming Chu snap out of her confusion and attempt to defend herself, Shen Hua gently cut her off before she could speak: "Indeed, a young lady only needs to know a few moves for self-defense. Accidentally hurting others is never good, and one might even end up injuring oneself if not careful."

Ming Chu: "I—"

Ming Tan pressed her fingers lightly to her temple and took over Shen Hua's words, speaking softly with a hint of fragility: "Cousin is right. I merely felt a bit dizzy from skipping breakfast—it has nothing to do with that day's incident. The physician has already examined me and prescribed medicine, confirming there are no signs of chill. Third Sister need not keep worrying about it."

Ming Chu: "The Lantern Festival—"

"The fireworks of the Lantern Festival—Third Sister will surely see them next year," Shen Hua reassured with a smile, then explained to the others: "Third Sister is still young at heart. On the way back from Yangxi Road, she kept urging us to hurry, hoping to return to the capital in time for the Lantern Festival and see the fireworks. But the journey was long and the weather cold—how could we possibly make it in such a short time?"

Hearing this, Ming Tan immediately wore a helpless expression and chimed in: "Actually, it's my fault. If I hadn't been telling the maids about how lively the capital is during the Lantern Festival, and if Third Sister hadn't overheard and been reminded of her regrets, she wouldn't have gotten upset and started whipping in the garden for no reason."

"Speaking of the Lantern Festival, A Tan's handmade rice dumplings this year were truly delicious," Bai Minmin added, catching on.

Zhou Jingwan covered her lips with her sleeve and said delicately: "I must say, I also feel quite regretful. A Tan sent me an invitation during the Lantern Festival to taste her handmade rice dumplings, but my health is so unreliable—every autumn and winter, I inevitably catch a chill and must rest in bed."

Ming Chu: "…?"

What damned rice dumplings? The ones eaten in Xianjiang River?

Are they all lying through their teeth?

"Jingwan, my family's Elder Madam recently acquired a tonic recipe. I'll have it sent to your household tomorrow—consult a physician to see if it might suit you."

"A Tan, are you still feeling dizzy? Skipping breakfast before going out is unacceptable. At least have some pastries to tide you over.""What kind of dumplings? You’re making me want to try them. Why hasn’t A Tan sent me any? Such a miser—quickly return the sachet I made for you!"

……

Before Ming Chu could untangle the lies spun by the others, the conversation had already veered off course, leaving her no chance to speak.

Soon, the scholars invited by Zhang Huaiyu arrived one after another, and the crowd’s attention shifted to the adjacent garden separated only by a latticed flower wall. Under the pretense of admiring the blossoms, they lingered nearby.

Shen Hua deliberately lagged behind. As she passed Ming Chu, she whispered a warning, "I advise you to behave. If you ruin your fourth sister’s reputation, do you think you’ll ever find a good match? People will only say that even the pampered legitimate daughter raised in the capital is like this—how much worse must a concubine-born daughter be?

"The Marquis may dote on you and spare you, but what about Madam? What about the Changguo Duke’s household? Even if the Marquis loves you dearly and insists on protecting you, what about your birth mother? A household’s mistress needs no reason to discipline a concubine. Dead is dead."

Ming Chu froze, her spine stiffening.

She stood there for a long while, digesting Shen Hua’s words, delivered so casually—dead is dead.

Princess Feng Zhao noticed Ming Chu still standing in the pavilion and approached, eyeing her disdainfully. "Is what they said earlier about the reason for falling into the water true?" she asked skeptically.

Ming Chu pressed her lips together, stiff for a long moment, before finally gritting her teeth and nodding.

Feng Zhao, who had no interest in wasting words on a mere concubine-born girl, found the response dull and turned away with a scoff.

This scene did not escape Ming Tan’s notice. Lowering her eyes, she gently inhaled the scent of falling pear blossoms but said nothing.

Before long, spring-themed poems began echoing from the neighboring garden. Shu Jingran, already highly regarded among scholars in the capital, was now even more celebrated after his recent success in the imperial examinations. Many presented their poems to him first for appraisal.

Inspired, the young ladies in the other garden grew restless. One bold girl called out flirtatiously toward the latticed wall, "Since the Tanhua Lang is so talented, won’t you offer us young ladies some guidance as well?"

Her words sparked a chorus of teasing—self-deprecating remarks, playful questions, and lavish praise for the Tanhua Lang. Few could resist such flattery from these pampered noble ladies.

Second Young Master Shu shook his head helplessly but obliged with a gentle smile. "Guidance is too lofty a word. All you young ladies are already gifted and refined."

Bai Minmin, who had been particularly enthusiastic in the teasing, now boasted shamelessly while peering through the latticed wall, "Did you hear that? Second Young Master Shu praised me as gifted and refined!"

Ming Tan: "…"

Zhou Jingwan: "…"

Both wore expressions that said, "If it makes you happy."

Of course, Bai Minmin was all talk—she had no intention of composing poetry.

Among the girls, Zhou Jingwan was the most skilled in poetry, while Shen Hua, who adored the art, ranked in the top three.

Ming Tan could compose verses, but among her talents in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, her strongest was the qin. Her chess skills were also exceptional among young ladies, while her calligraphy and painting were merely passable—her calligraphy, in particular, benefited mostly from her elegant handwriting. As for poetry, it was neither outstanding nor lacking.

Once the poems were written, they were collected and sent to the neighboring garden.

"'Camellias cast evening shadows, new leaves sieve the spring light.' A fine poem indeed," Shu Jingran remarked after savoring the lines for a long while.The gazes from the neighboring garden turned toward Zhou Jingwan. "Wanwan, did you compose this?"

Zhou Jingwan nodded modestly.

Shu Jingran then praised Shen Hua's melancholic spring poem and expressed great surprise at Feng Zhao's composition. However, the latter's evasive and stumbling answers made him realize the truth, and he tactfully dropped the subject.

"Ten thousand branches bend under rain, fragrance drifts from the moonlit tips." This was a poem about pear blossoms.

Shu Jingran examined the delicate calligraphy—the poem itself was merely above average, yet inexplicably, the paper seemed to carry the faint imagery of pear blossoms in the rain, and a subtle pear fragrance seemed to linger at the tip of his nose.

He held the paper up to the sunlight, squinting as he examined it, then brought it closer for a sniff before suddenly smiling. "Might I ask which young lady composed this poem? It carries remarkable elegance."

Ming Tan, standing before the latticed flower wall, responded, "You flatter me, Second Young Master Shu."

Shu Jingran raised an eyebrow and finally looked toward the latticed wall he had been deliberately ignoring.

This glance surprised him slightly. "Fourth Miss Ming?"

"How does Second Young Master Shu recognize me?" Ming Tan asked curiously.

Second Young Master Shu hesitated. He couldn’t very well say that he had watched her fall into the water during the Lantern Festival from nearby. Fortunately, inspiration struck—he recalled that years ago, during his family’s Elder Madam’s birthday celebration, this fourth miss had likely attended with the Marchioness Jing’an.

After this explanation, Ming Tan found it quite serendipitous. Her own distant glimpse of him had also been at that very birthday banquet.

Who would have thought that such a brief encounter would leave such an impression on him that he could still recognize her now? Was this not fate’s design?

Second Young Master Shu shifted the topic, inquiring about the origin of the floral fragrance and imagery.

Ming Tan replied humbly, "It was merely a pity to see the pear blossoms falling, so I crushed some into the ink for a touch of fragrance. As for the imagery, I simply traced the blossoms with their juice after applying it to the paper."

Shu Jingran understood and clasped his hands in acknowledgment from afar. "I am enlightened."

Ming Tan returned the gesture from a distance, her mood exceedingly pleased.

She had long known that the poetry gathering would require compositions, but her own poetic talent was unremarkable. Thus, she had focused her efforts elsewhere.

Her earlier explanation was a simplified version—such elegance couldn’t be achieved haphazardly. Pear fragrance was too subtle to withstand the ink’s dominance. The true secret lay in the paper itself, which she had prepared three days prior by saturating it with pear scent and painting hidden imagery, bringing it today as a replacement.

In truth, the themes for such poems were predictable—flowers, trees, the shimmering beauty of spring. She could have followed Feng Zhao’s example and commissioned a talented scholar to draft a few poems in advance for her to adapt.

But she had also foreseen the pitfalls—being questioned and unable to elaborate, or being asked to compose on the spot without a suitable template, would lead to extreme awkwardness, as demonstrated by Feng Zhao’s current predicament.

And now, the extremely awkward Feng Zhao was also extremely resentful of Ming Tan!

Second Young Master Shu had spoken to her at length, and he had recognized her after a single meeting years ago! She was so furious her knuckles turned white from clenching her fists. Pointing coldly at a nearby cluster of peonies, she said, "Fourth Miss Ming is so talented, but pear blossoms are rather provincial. Why not compose a peony poem for Second Young Master Shu to critique?"

"..."

A peony poem.

This was nothing but a veiled challenge.

Years ago, during the palace selection, one woman, seeking to flatter Consort Yu—who oversaw the selection—compared her to the queen of flowers, the peony, in a fawning poem.There was nothing inherently wrong with composing poetry about peonies, but within the palace walls, the title of "Queen of Flowers" could never be associated with a mere consort.

Later, when the poem reached Emperor Chengkang’s ears, he was enraged. He immediately issued an edict confining Consort Yu to her quarters for reflection and ordered the palace matrons to escort the candidate out of the palace. A stern rebuke was also posted at the palace gates:

If you cannot compose poetry, then do not compose it. If you cannot speak properly, then do not speak at all.

After that, her father submitted a memorial pleading for forgiveness, and rumors spread that the girl had fallen gravely ill with a high fever, losing her voice.

Even now, the memory of Emperor Chengkang’s wrath sends shivers down one’s spine. In recent years, no noblewoman in the capital dared to write poetry about peonies—not even simple praise without comparison. Naturally, Ming Tan had no intention of courting such misfortune.

Feng Zhao, however, was now blinded by jealousy and no longer cared to maintain her facade of amiability. She was, after all, a noble-born princess—why should she bother humoring these women? She wanted them to understand the clear distinctions of rank and status!

Thus, everyone watched as Princess Feng Zhao stepped forward, plucked a rare and precious peony, and began toying with it while reciting a poem.

When she finished, she stood before Ming Tan, tucked the peony into her hair, and scrutinized her. "The fourth young miss of the Ming family is delicate and lovely, yet this peony does not suit you." Then she flicked the flower to the ground and crushed it beneath her foot, grinding it lightly with her toe.

The garden fell into stunned silence.

Everyone thought Princess Feng Zhao must have lost her mind.

Yet they couldn’t deny the truth in her words. As the daughter of a prince, she had every right to compose such a poem and pluck such a flower. What did she have to fear? Would the Emperor truly punish his own niece over a mere verse?

But at that very moment, the household of Duke Pingguo—including the Duke and Duchess themselves—arrived in a grand procession, escorting a eunuch holding an imperial decree written on bright yellow silk.

"Imperial decree arrives! The fourth young miss of the Marquis Jing’an’s household is to receive the edict—"

The eunuch’s shrill voice echoed across the open space. Before anyone could react, they dropped to their knees in a daze, kneeling haphazardly.

Ming Tan was utterly bewildered.

She was to receive the decree? What decree? Why was it being announced at Duke Pingguo’s residence? Had they mistaken her for someone else? Surely it was meant for the fourth young miss of Duke Pingguo’s household—but the Duke’s family didn’t even have a fourth daughter.

She remained frozen until Zhou Jingwan tugged at her sleeve, prompting her to kneel properly.

Only then did the eunuch unfurl the decree and proclaim in a loud voice:

"By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: The fourth daughter of the Ming family, A Tan, virtuous and graceful, dignified and wise, well-versed in domestic virtues… is hereby betrothed to Prince Dingbei and enfeoffed as Princess Consort Dingbei. So it is decreed!"