“Indeed! The Wild Geese Returning Painting by the Eldest Princess has many imitations in circulation, but none match the original. We ministers are dying to see if her work is truly as masterful as the rumors say.”
Xue Qingzhi listened to the effusive compliments but frowned, displeased. “It’s just a painting—nothing rare. If everyone wants to see it, This Palace will open it.”
Two palace maids stepped forward as instructed, carefully unrolling the painting scroll from the box and holding it up for all to see.
The hall fell utterly silent in an instant. For a long moment, the guests recovered from their shock at the sight, but words of praise failed them. A breeze stirred the ink on the canvas, making the Anyang Princess in the painting seem ready to step off the paper—lifelike to the extreme.
The Emperor watched, silent and thoughtful. Sometimes, he couldn’t deny that Prime Minister Lin was right: Xue Yunyi excelled over Xue Qingzhi in every way and was the most suitable candidate for Crown Princess.
But he didn’t want that woman’s child to inherit his throne.
This imperial seat had been handed to him by the Jiang Family. If Xue Yunyi truly became Crown Princess, the rivers and mountains of the Southern Frontier would one day bear the Jiang name.
He knew Empress Jiang had always looked down on him. In her eyes, he was the most pathetic, useless prince. He also knew she had favored the Crown Prince back then—brave and brilliant in battle, wise beyond his years. But heaven envied talent, and he had died young on the battlefield.
That woman named Jiang Yuanruo had become his empress out of necessity. In over ten years of marriage, she had never smiled at him once. She despised his mediocrity, scorned his incompetence, and even refused to share his bed. It was he who had bound her by force, thrusting into her amid her curses.
She had struck him, bitten him—like a fierce little leopard. He had never seen such strength in a woman. Tears streamed down her face as she trembled and spat words he didn’t want to hear: Without the Jiang Family, he was nothing; he didn’t deserve to be her husband. Enraged, he had silenced her babbling mouth with his lips, only to be bitten until his mouth filled with blood.
Furious, he had stormed off. But she was his empress, after all. If she would only smile at him, yield a little, he would lay everything he owned at her feet. Yet she never did. Until her death, Jiang Yuanruo never bowed to him.
At this thought, the Emperor’s eyes darkened. His thumb rubbed the ugly bite scar on the web of his hand—the mark from Jiang Yuanruo on their wedding night. It had never faded all these years.
He stared at the face in the painting, the face of his most beloved little daughter. Upon closer look, it faintly resembled Consort Jiang’s features. This softened the Emperor’s expression somewhat.
But in the next instant, that face burst into flames. The fire licked across the paper, burning relentlessly in the sunlight. In the blink of an eye, the charming Anyang Princess was reduced to a pile of wretched ash.
The guests cried out in alarm. Li Fuzhong shrieked for the Emperor’s safety, and the imperial guards rushed forward to shield the Emperor and the Noble Consort. Only Xue Yunyi remained calm, pouring herself another cup of plum wine to drink.
After a moment of stunned silence, someone dropped to their knees with a thud, trembling as they reported to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, the Eldest Princess’s brush holds a spirit! This painting caught fire on its own—it must be a sign from heaven!”
The Emperor’s voice deepened. “Then tell me, Minister—what does heaven intend for Us?”
Dead silence gripped the banquet. After a pause, Prime Minister Lin spoke gravely. “Your Majesty has disregarded precedent and protocol by insisting on granting the Second Princess a title first. It is far too biased. Heaven burned this painting as a warning: Do not let personal favoritism override the laws of the dynasty.”
“Prime Minister Lin speaks wisely.”
“The Second Princess is still young; there’s no rush for a title.”
“Perhaps the Ministry of Rites proposed a poor title. Why not have them draft new ones and choose carefully?”
With Prime Minister Lin leading the way, the ministers grew bolder and offered their advice.
The Emperor’s face grew ominously dark. He had personally chosen “Anyang” himself, meaning peace and joy, wishing his Qingzhi to shine like the morning sun—radiant and beautiful. How could he retract it lightly over a mere painting?
Yet doubt crept in. Feng Xianzhi often said Xue Yunyi’s paintings held living spirits, and the Emperor, a devout believer in omens and gods, couldn’t ignore it.
After a long silence, the Emperor finally spoke in a heavy tone. “Very well. We shall withdraw the title ‘Anyang’ for now and hand it to the Ministry of Rites to propose anew. Also summon some Daoists to select an auspicious date for the investiture.”
“Father Emperor!” Xue Qingzhi cried, unwilling, her eyes reddening with grievance.
“Qingzhi, be good. This title isn’t right—we won’t use it. Father Emperor will think of a better one.”
The ministers hurriedly echoed agreement, praising the Emperor’s wisdom. Li Fuzhong directed two young eunuchs to swiftly clean up the unlucky ashes from the floor. Graceful dancers with flowing water sleeves glided through their performance, and the banquet lively atmosphere returned. Everyone tacitly avoided mentioning the incident, focusing instead on the song and dance.
Xue Qingzhi’s eyes brimmed with furious tears. She had begged her father so hard for this title, finally able to lord it over Xue Yunyi openly. Yet now, because of one damned painting, it was casually taken away. How could she swallow this humiliation?
She clenched her fists in hatred, then suddenly thought of something. She whipped around to glare at Xue Yunyi.
“It was you… you tampered with the painting!”
“Without evidence, sister, don’t make baseless accusations.” Xue Yunyi took a sip of wine, her voice indifferent.
Xue Qingzhi choked on her words. The painting had burned to ashes—where was the evidence now? Only then did she realize why Xue Yunyi had agreed so readily to paint for her: She had planned all along to use it against her!
Xue Qingzhi’s eyes burned red, itching to lunge forward and shred that calm face to pieces.
Xue Yunyi dabbed the wine from her lips, ignoring the seething hatred in her sister’s gaze. She turned to Mo Ying. “I’m tired. Help me back to the palace to rest.”
“Yes.”
Xue Qingzhi’s eyes were nearly splitting from rage. She was just about to call out to stop Xue Yunyi when the Emperor spoke first, his voice warm and gentle. “Your Imperial Sister isn’t feeling well. If she stays here, she’ll only dampen your spirits. Let her go back. Come, drink this cup with Father Emperor. It’s your birthday today, and Father Emperor is in high spirits—we won’t stop until we’re thoroughly drunk.”
A palace maid refilled their cups with fresh wine. Xue Qingzhi could only swallow her seething resentment and force a smile onto her face as she raised her cup to the Emperor.
Meanwhile, at the rear of Clear Lotus Garden.
Mo Ying was pushing Xue Yunyi along a secluded, shaded path. Though it was a bit of a detour to the palace gates, the smooth surface made for far more comfortable travel than the bumpy cobblestone roads.
The sounds of music and dance faded into the distance, leaving only the whisper of wind and birdsong around them. Xue Yunyi rarely felt so relaxed. She closed her eyes, letting the mild buzz of alcohol ease away.
“Your Highness, that was truly bizarre! The painting burst into flames all on its own!” Mo Ying marveled in a low voice. They hadn’t yet left Ninghua Palace, so she kept her excitement subdued, though her heart sang with satisfaction. “His Majesty personally decreed it and stripped the Second Princess of her title. I’d like to see her strut around so smugly from now on!”
Xue Yunyi smiled faintly and continued resting with her eyes shut.
From the moment she had agreed to paint Xue Qingzhi’s portrait, she had never intended to let her gain any advantage. The key lay in that final touch: the flower ornament she had drawn using Ephemeral Vermilion.
Ephemeral Vermilion was a stunning pigment, harvested from the depths of Grotto Forest in Clear Province—a rare treasure indeed. Unfortunately, like so many fine things in the world, it was fleeting. When exposed to sunlight, its beauty lasted mere moments before it spontaneously combusted, leaving not a trace behind.
And the Emperor had always placed great faith in omens and spirits. He would never ignore such an ill portent.
For this scheme to succeed, she truly had the Emperor to thank. Ever since Empress Jiang’s death, he had been plagued by nightmares, waking in cold sweats and crying out that ghosts sought his life. He had summoned countless monks to set up arrays and banish spirits, even enshrining a Buddha statue in his bedchamber. If he didn’t have a guilty conscience, why would he cling to such ethereal superstitions?
Mo Ying suddenly let out a startled “Ah!” and the wheelchair jolted to a heavy stop. Xue Yunyi snapped back to attention, gripping the armrest instinctively as she frowned. “What is it?”
Mo Ying crouched down for a closer look, muttering under her breath. “Your Highness, the wooden wheel on the right side is broken. It was perfectly fine before—why did it have to give out today of all days?”
She wiped the sweat from her brow, hesitating. “There’s a new wheelchair in storage. This servant will fetch some palace servants to go back to Azure Cypress Palace and retrieve it. But… leaving Your Highness here alone makes me uneasy.”
Xue Yunyi replied, “No matter. Go ahead.”
They weren’t far from Clear Lotus Garden. If anything happened, a single shout would summon the Imperial Forest Army escorting the royal procession.
Mo Ying thought it over. Her legs were quick, and the errand shouldn’t take long. “Then Your Highness, please rest here a moment. This servant will be right back.”
“Mm.”
With nothing to do in the quiet, the alcohol quickly overtook Xue Yunyi, leaving her drowsy. At that inopportune moment, rain began to fall. Cold wind carried silvery threads of it, brushing chill against her face.
Xue Yunyi frowned, tilting her head to gaze at the sky choked with dark clouds. What an auspicious day this had turned out to be.
The rain grew heavier.
The Emperor was in the midst of his drinking revelry and showed no sign of ending the banquet despite the downpour. Several palace maids rushed back to the small kitchen in a panic, dumping their rain-soaked dishes into the swill bucket and hastily ordering the cooks to prepare fresh ones.
Wu Lang crouched in a corner by the small door, staring at half a dirty steamed bun on the ground. He licked his lips slowly. It was a leftover from the morning that the cook had broken in half to feed the dogs, but the dogs had sniffed it disdainfully—plain steamed buns held no appeal compared to meat-filled ones—and wandered off.
He was starving. Boys his age were growing fast, and a single bowl of thin porridge a day could never fill him up. But without Xue Qingzhi’s permission, he didn’t dare touch any food—not even scraps discarded by others.
Hunger blurred Wu Lang’s vision. He glanced behind him. In the small kitchen, the palace maids bustled about, hurrying to send steaming delicacies to the banquet. No one noticed him, and no one had time for him. He swallowed hard, finally succumbing to the gnawing in his belly. He snatched up the bun and shoved it into his mouth whole.
After wolfing it down, Wu Lang rubbed his still-flat stomach, lips pressed tight as he eyed the swill bucket nearby. Lifting his gaze, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure under the shade of a tree not far away.
It was the Eldest Princess.
She sat alone in the rain, her palace maid nowhere in sight—abandoned without a care.
Wu Lang fell silent for a moment, then bolted into the rain without a second thought. Ahead lay an abandoned Buddhist Hall where he had once been punished; he remembered there were a few old umbrellas inside.
His mind was filled with the need to keep Xue Yunyi from getting wet and chilled. But as he grabbed an umbrella and ran toward her, he hesitated and stopped. Glancing down at his tattered clothes, a wave of timidity washed over him. How could someone like him appear before the Eldest Princess?
Yet Xue Yunyi seemed to have already seen him. Even from afar, through the hazy veil of rain, she smiled at him gently.
Wu Lang mustered his courage and hurried to her side, offering the umbrella.
“This Base Slave pays respects to the Eldest Princess.”
Xue Yunyi took the umbrella from his hands. Wu Lang immediately knelt, head bowed low, letting the icy rain cascade off the umbrella’s edge and pelt his slender back.
The umbrella was old, with a sizable hole that offered only meager shelter.
Xue Yunyi glanced at the obedient boy kneeling by her feet and sighed softly. He was always so cautious and timid, as if terrified of making a mistake. She didn’t want to frighten him like last time, so she coughed lightly first before asking gently, “Is there a place nearby to take shelter from the rain?”
“Replying to Your Highness, there is a Buddhist Hall over there that can serve as shelter.”
Wu Lang guessed that her wheelchair must have broken, or she wouldn’t be sitting here in the rain. In a quiet voice, he added, “If Your Highness doesn’t mind, this Base Slave can carry you there.”
The words left his mouth before he could regret them. His filthy body—how could it touch the Eldest Princess? Better to find a palace servant…
Lost in his anxious thoughts, a damp herbal scent suddenly approached without warning. Wu Lang’s heart pounded wildly, each beat drowning out the patter of rain.
He looked up in bewilderment, his dark eyes trembling as they reflected Xue Yunyi’s fair, unadorned face. She leaned in, holding the old umbrella over his head, and softly accepted his presumptuous offer.
“Very well.”