Jiang Kui dared not let her thoughts wander further. Sitting straight, she listened to Teacher’s lecture, brush dipping ink from the black porcelain well to take notes on rice paper.
Teacher discussed a rather sensitive topic – the imperial examination policy responses from the Jingde Spring period. That year’s free-response policy critiques provoked heated partisan clashes, with Prince Wen’s faction led by Xie Heng clashing bitterly against Minister Si Rong’s party in court.
Jiang Kui normally cared little for politics, but did remember that winter Prince Wen Xie Heng had been sent away as Governor of Bianzhou, essentially a demotion.
Teacher read aloud from one examinee’s policy essay: “To appoint the incompetent, harbor the treacherous, and task the lowly – how can this allow them to wield royal commands and military power? To bear innermost secrets outwardly while claiming to be eyes and ears…”
He paused, asking Xie Rong: “Chengbi, what are your thoughts?”
Teacher’s manner was gentle, even humble. In this moment she did not regard Xie Rong as a student, but rather an esteemed friend to earnestly consult.
The policy debate fundamentally involved eunuchs holding military power. Jiang Kui remembered Xie Rong greatly disliked the rising Minister Si Rong who relied on eunuch backings. Yet facing Teacher, Xie Rong weighed her words carefully without jumping to conclusions.
After she finished, Teacher turned quietly back to Jiang Kui.
Jiang Kui blinked.
Teacher continued gazing at her, eyes questioning as if awaiting her opinion.
…She panicked a little.
After an awkward stare-down, Teacher seemed intent on not letting Jiang Kui off. Biting her lip, she stiffly stood: “This student believes…Her Highness spoke correctly in all regards.”
…An awkward silence descended on the classroom.
Just then a palace maid prostrated outside: “Teacher, Academician Zhou seeks an audience.”
Teacher did not press her further and promptly departed.
Jiang Kui breathed deep in relief, silently thanking Academician Zhou. Last time he had also conveniently summoned Teacher away when she was in a bind.
At this moment Xie Rong sidled over, mysteriously whispering: “I suspect Teacher Chang Rong fancies Academician Zhou. Why else does he constantly call upon her?”
Jiang Kui tilted her head dubiously. During their last Eastern Palace conversation, Xie Rong had also mysteriously pronounced: “I deduce my brother rather fancies you…” She was growing skeptical of the princess’s gossip.
“I know every romance in this palace – no one grasps these secrets better than I!” Xie Rong loftily raised her chin. “From tone and gaze alone I can spot a smitten person instantly!”
Gazing at the quirky princess, Jiang Kui felt increasingly certain she was imagining things about Xie Wuyang’s supposed affection.
What person falls for someone after barely interacting? And pining for years on end?
The crown prince seeking a general’s daughter must be political maneuvering rather than fanciful romance.
After class around noon, dappled shadows danced from swaying branches onto the azure paving bricks. Jiang Kui and Xie Rong left the classroom for the dining hall’s sweet cakes and desserts.
Both girls loved sweets. As afternoon sunlight streamed in, they plucked frozen peach blossom pastries between their chopsticks. These complex pastries required partially melting crisped dough into peach-like drizzles over white porcelain bowls before freezing to set shapes in chilled cellars.
Served resembling peach blossoms and melting immediately in the mouth, the chilled delicacy perfectly suited the languid afternoon.
Munching away, Xie Rong complained: “It’s too sweet. The academy can’t compare with the palace kitchens, and the palace can’t match Uncle Heng’s manor…”
Propping her cheek broodingly, her eyes suddenly lit up. Ruffling Jiang Kui’s hair happily, she suggested: “Hengyi must be at his estate now. Shall I bring you there for dessert this afternoon?”
But upon mention of Prince Xie Heng, Jiang Kui surreptitiously pulled Xie Rong’s sleeve under the empty hall, lowering her voice: “Sister, I won’t accompany you to the prince’s estate today. But there is grave news I must tell you.”
Her serious tone made Xie Rong tense up. “What is it?”
“I overheard yesterday,” Jiang Kui cautiously phrased, “there are those who want Prince Heng dead.”
“Someone wants…to kill him?” Xie Rong’s lips trembled, seemingly unable to easily utter the word “kill”.
A breeze stirred her hair and she whirled abruptly to Jiang Kui, bright eyes fixed intently with deep unease and worry, like a startled fawn sensing danger in the woods.
Jiang Kui realized Prince Heng was someone deeply important to Xie Rong. Perhaps like Jiang Kui’s own father and brothers were to her?
“Is this certain?” Xie Rong whispered.
Jiang Kui also whispered back. “I don’t know who, but am very sure of ill intent against him.”
Xie Rong nodded without further questions. Rising to her feet, she set aside the unfinished dessert and gently tugged Jiang Kui’s sleeve: “I must take my leave then…thank you for telling me.”
With those words, the friendship between the two girls subtly deepened.
The noon sky was a faint bluish white, clouds scattered lightly across. Birds flocked and chattered under the dense scholartree and soapberry foliage in the afternoon courtyard.
Stepping across dappled shadows, Jiang Kui turned from the courtyard toward the waiting carriage outside the academy gates when a familiar cough sounded: “Ahem!”
The voice sternly pronounced: “Straighten your back!”
Jiang Kui silently glanced back to see the “insignificant sixth-rank court lady” Song Cizan, still in formal robes with a tight high hat framing her expressionless face as if she just happened to pass by.
…But Jiang Kui suspected she had stood waiting there for quite some time already.
With Xie Rong gone, Noble Consort not present, Song Cizan now acted far more imposing towards Jiang Kui as just a young mistress. Offering the appropriate bow, she declared: “Per Empress Dowager’s orders, Mistress Jiang shall continue etiquette lessons under me.”
Impassive as still water, she tonelessly instructed: “Sink your shoulders, straighten your back, tuck your chin.”
Jiang Kui stiffly corrected her posture…once more missing her confined days at the barracks.
Clip-clopping alongside the sedan, Song Cizan frequently peered inside to scrutinize Jiang Kui, who sat rod-straight with fixed gaze forward, wearing the mien of a captured kitten.
Halting at the Penglai Palace gates, Jiang Kui entered and immediately saw Noble Consort quietly stitching a sachet under the eaves. Sunlight filtering through the glazed roof tiles dappled her hair, scattering into fine speckled shadows.
Glancing up at the footsteps, she smiled wordlessly at Song Cizan behind Jiang Kui. Her gaze remained tranquil, almost mirthful, leisurely poised as if having expected this all along.
…Song Cizan silently took her leave.
Jiang Kui instantly relaxed. “Auntie!” She went to sit beside Noble Consort, about to say something when she remembered father had just punished her today and hesitated awkwardly: “About yesterday’s Autumn Day banquet…”
“I’m aware.” Unexpectedly, Noble Consort did not react angrily like father, instead caressing her hair gently. “Why would I be upset?”
“You’re not angry?” Jiang Kui froze briefly.
“What for?” Noble Consort tenderly tidied the hair by her ear. “You conducted yourself perfectly. The musical battle was the Prince of Qi flexing might – left unanswered, upon finishing his piece the prince’s prestige would have suppressed the crown prince’s presence. As fiancée you shared a dance to signify to all your united front.”
Noting her stare, she chuckled softly: “Your father is largely furious about discovering your feigned illness, no?”
“Auntie knows I’ve pretended all this while?” Jiang Kui was amazed.
Noble Consort’s eyes smiled crescents. “Who in our White Ridge Jiang clan doesn’t know except your oblivious father? What even your three brothers have discerned, I naturally picked up on long ago.”
Unable to resist, she pinched the bemused girl’s soft cheek, its fair skin blushing rubicund. But her gaze gradually grew distant, voice somewhat indistinct: “You take after your late mother in temperament.”
It was the second time today Jiang Kui heard mention of her mother.
Having died young, Jiang Kui’s memories of her looks had faded. But resonant in beloved words, long-lost recollections surged forth and that gentle aura seemed to descend in sunlight, softly brushing her brow.
“Let us speak no more of the past.” Noble Consort straightened herself. “After that dance at the Autumn Day feast signified your shared destiny with Xie Wuyang…Aunt has some words of advice to impart, keep them close.”
Jiang Kui lifted her face attentively.
Noble Consort asked: “Xiaoman…do you know why commoners often live past sixty, yet few emperors exceed a fateful fifty?”
Jiang Kui started – by aunt’s words, civilians averaged sixty while rulers rarely surpassed fifty. This was news to her.
“Brother turning against brother, vicious power struggles where only death can decide winner from loser…” Noble Consort’s voice remained gently adrift, like hazy autumn wind whispering by. “It is no simple thing to serve one’s lord, and even less so to be the lord, fearing assassination from hidden enemies at every step…”
“Yet the one emerging victorious from such strife often proves to be exceptionally cunning, if not sagely then at least never mediocre, capable of securing stability and peace.”
She took Jiang Kui’s hand into her palm:
“You will stand by Xie Wuyang as husband, encouraging and motivating him each step ahead. It is my hope the man you wed will prove an enlightened sovereign…”
“For this realm harbors millions who yearn for one.”
Jiang Kui gazed at her, seeing fleeting light and shadow shimmering in eyes holding an autumn pond’s serenity.
That night after the Penglai Palace’s doors had closed, stillness reigned but for fading cicadas echoing the early autumn moon.
Two palace maids entered bearing a pot of mild evening tea before deferentially taking their leave. Donned in sheer white shifts, Jiang Kui sat alone by the desk, casually undoing the bindings to loosen her long hair spilling over bare feet.
Lifting the pot to pour herself a cup, a sudden “pat” sounded behind her.
A small bamboo cylinder rolled over, bumping against her trailing locks.
With a flicker of her eyes, she bent to pick it up, sliding off the stopper to reveal familiar messy writing on the birchbark sheet within: “Turn around.”
So she did.
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