But that pond was quite small, with the reeds along its edge rustling wildly in the wind.
It was then that she realized her elaborate attire was too eye-catching, potentially stealing the spotlight from her eldest cousin. She inwardly cursed her second cousin for the deception while hurrying to a secluded spot by the pond to remove her hairpins and wash her face.
She had thought it was just an ordinary spring outing. How could she have known it was actually a marriage prospect meeting between her eldest cousin and the sixth young master of Duke Qiao’s household? Not to flatter herself, but she truly was striking in appearance, and she had taken extra care with her makeup before leaving home.
The rivalry between her two cousins wasn’t a new thing—it had been going on for ages. This time, her second cousin had persuaded her at length: since she rarely went out, she should dress up properly, as who knew when the next outing might be.
Yirong removed a golden butterfly hairpin from her updo—the wings spread as if in flight—and let out a heavy sigh.
There had never been a single peaceful day in her uncle’s household.
Marriage prospects like these rarely allowed young men and women to meet alone; usually, they were accompanied by siblings or cousins. If no match was made, it could simply be passed off as a chance encounter between families, sparing everyone’s face.
If not for the quiet reminder from one of her aunt’s attendants, she wouldn’t have known the truth.
This garden was an imperial creation called Little Penglai, bursting with spring splendor, like the dwelling of immortals. Yirong combed her hair by the pool. The water looked clean enough—could she wash her face in it?
She wondered what the sixth young master of Duke Qiao’s household looked like. She knew the current empress came from the Cui family of Duke Qiao’s house. Someone had mentioned in passing that this sixth young master was quite accomplished, not some spoiled playboy riding on family prestige.
Thinking of the families her aunt had selected for her, Yirong pursed her lips. Suddenly, a clear, bright laugh rang out from above.
She looked up following the sound and saw a youth who hadn’t yet come of age perched in the dense branches of a nearby tree. He grinned at her, his expression roguishly carefree.
He was so handsome that it didn’t come off as annoying.
How long had he been watching her?
Yirong scrambled to her feet in a panic. Her legs, numb from squatting so long, buckled, and she teetered backward toward the pond. The youth leaped down, nimbly grabbing her arm and pulling her to a safer spot away from the water.
He frowned. “Why are you out here all alone? Doesn’t anyone accompany you?”
Yirong murmured her thanks but didn’t answer.
He smiled and asked again, “You’re dressed so beautifully—why take it all apart now?”
Yirong flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She shot him a glare. He’d clearly seen her undoing her hair, and he’d even grabbed her arm!
But who was he, anyway? Little Penglai was an imperial retreat—only nobles and dignitaries could picnic here.
He stepped closer, his bright eyes fixed on her. Yirong pressed her lips together, her heart pounding wildly, a blush blooming on her cheeks.
“May I have the honor of your name, miss?”
Instead of answering, Yirong countered, “And who might you be?”
His tone was light and playful. “You won’t tell me yours, so I won’t tell you mine.”
Yirong knew she should leave, but she couldn’t help asking, “Why are you here alone too?”
He replied, “These marriage meetings are boring—I didn’t want to bother. Wait—you’re not the eldest miss from the Pingyang Marquis household, are you?”
The youth looked her up and down and shook his head. “You don’t look old enough.”
Yirong froze. So this handsome boy was Cui Cheng, the very person her eldest cousin was here to meet today.
Cui Cheng was eighteen this year and still unmarried—late for a youth of his standing in the capital. For one thing, he’d been single-mindedly training in martial arts since childhood, dreaming of defending the realm. For another, he had high standards. But this girl…
Little Penglai, indeed. If the immortal isles of legend truly held divine beauties, they must look just like her.
A wave of inexplicable dejection washed over Yirong. She shook her head and turned to leave.
“Don’t go.”
Cui Cheng stretched out an arm to bar her way. Of course—a well-bred young lady wouldn’t reveal her name to a stranger. He knew his mother had tasked his elder brother’s wife with arranging things. Today in Little Penglai, only the Cui and Qiao families were present, so she had to be from the Pingyang Marquis household’s Qiao family.
Afraid she’d slip away, he tossed out a topic to keep her talking. To his delight, they clicked instantly—the conversation flowed naturally, back and forth without a hitch.
They chatted for quite a while, from the scenery around them to the new calendar reforms of the dynasty. Yirong laughed at his quips, covering her mouth demurely. But once the laughter faded, her heart sank even deeper into despair.
The dangling hairpin in her hair trembled with her mirth, making her unspeakably enchanting. Cui Cheng stared, utterly entranced. She was beautiful, gentle, compatible with him—and they’d met by chance in this secluded spot. It was fate!
He was about to ask her name again—at least which miss of the Qiao family she was—when a maid hurried over. She took Yirong’s arm and pulled. “The madam is looking for you. We should head back.”
Yirong bit her lip. Her cousin had insulted her with talk of taking her as a concubine, the sisters’ rivalry constantly dragged her in, her uncle turned a blind eye while the Qiao family bullied her and her mother. If not for her mother’s reluctance, she would have left long ago.
The best way out was to marry.
Yet her own marriage was the one thing she had no say in. Her mother was frail, and every family her aunt favored had some flaw or another. In that instant, Yirong made up her mind. She whispered something to Shuilian in the lowest of voices. Shuilian understood and called out, “Miss Lu, why did you wander off alone? Your aunt, the Madam of Marquis Pingyang, will be displeased.”
Cui Cheng’s eyes lit up. So she was the Marquis Pingyang’s niece. He called after her retreating figure, “Miss Lu, I’ll come to your door tomorrow to propose!”
Yirong’s steps faltered. She wasn’t sure if he’d caught the deliberate hint in the name, and she regretted her boldness. She hurried away.
…
She had been silent for a long time, her expression lost in melancholy.
“Are you thinking of Cui Cheng?”
The emperor’s low, rich voice sounded in her ear.
Yirong slowly shook her head and lied, “Your Majesty misunderstands. I wasn’t thinking of him.”
“What were you thinking of, then?” the emperor pressed.
Despite the open expanse of the pond, Yirong felt a suffocating pressure. She lowered her face and lied again. “I was just missing home.”
The emperor leaned forward and touched her cheek. “Once we’re back in the capital, you can live with your mother. Which residence do you like? Zhen will have it arranged.”
Bitterness filled Yirong’s heart—despair upon despair.
She wanted to refuse, but as she opened her mouth, the little boat jolted violently, as if it had struck something. Her body pitched forward uncontrollably. The emperor steadied her shoulders, letting her settle safely against him. He patted her back gently twice.
The boat steadied and drifted on.
They were very close now; the emperor could smell the faint, sweet fragrance of her breath.
Their eyes met, and the emperor asked softly, “Are you afraid?”
She nodded, still lying atop him.
“Afraid of what?” His voice was low and soothing.
Yirong confessed honestly, “I’m afraid the boat will capsize.”
At her words, the emperor’s brows lifted in surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily. Yirong felt the vibration rumbling through his chest.
What was so funny about that?
If the boat truly capsized and they fell into the pond, it would cause a massive uproar at the imperial retreat. She wouldn’t even survive it. She stared at the still-laughing emperor, utterly baffled.
She said, “If the boat really flips and Your Majesty and I end up in this pond, it would be the biggest joke imaginable.”
“It won’t,” the emperor said lightly. He knew better.
Looking at her petulant expression, he said gravely, “You’re truly adorable.”
Yirong blinked, pretending not to hear. She wanted to sit up, but in their current position, she’d have to push against him. Then her eyes brightened—she could brace against the boat instead.
She had barely moved when the emperor rasped, “Don’t move.”
Layers of sheer scarlet gauze clothed her form, covering her completely yet clinging tightly from the fall. The emperor closed his eyes briefly, his hand brushing her cheek.
Yirong sensed something off about him and inwardly scolded herself for being overly sensitive. With decisive motion, she pressed her hands against his firm chest and sat up, scrambling back to her original seat like she was fleeing.
She hugged her knees and sat sideways, gazing at the pond’s surface.
When the emperor opened his eyes, he saw her profile, her ears tinged red—though her face was turned away.
He chuckled. Unbeknownst to him, his own face was slightly flushed. His hand skimmed the water’s surface, plucking an nameless flower, which he tossed toward her feet.
The flower, uprooted, splashed with a loud “splash-splash,” soaking the hem of Yirong’s skirt.
She couldn’t help glaring at the emperor before quickly looking away, her lips pressed tight.
The emperor hadn’t meant to wet her skirt. He stood up, and the boat rocked again. Yirong hugged herself tighter.
He smoothed out the damp hem across the boat’s floor. “It’ll dry in no time.”
Yirong ignored him.
The emperor’s brows furrowed. He was about to speak but held back.
She was awfully bold!
But if he scolded her or forced her to respond, she’d say something unpleasant. He touched his chin thoughtfully, then casually walked to the other side, lay down, and pillowed his head on his hands.
The emperor watched her profile steadily. How could she be so calm? Had Empress Dowager Cui threatened her with something? Or was she still in shock over her divorce from Cui Cheng and hadn’t processed it yet?
Both possibilities soured his mood.
Though Yirong stared fixedly at the pond, she couldn’t ignore the emperor’s intense gaze. She picked up the flower by her feet—a pale purple bloom with clusters of golden stamens, quite lovely.
She placed it on her knee. The emperor asked, “Do you like it?”
Yirong said, “It’s not a matter of liking or disliking it. Your Majesty has already plucked it.”
The Emperor asked, “Are you using this flower as a metaphor for yourself?”
“I am not,” Yirong quickly refuted. She straightened up and met the Emperor’s gaze directly.
She hadn’t meant it that way at first, but his words made her feel as if she truly were this flower he had casually plucked. The sorrow she had been holding back surged forth.
Yirong gazed at the Emperor’s handsome eyes and brows. She wanted to resign herself to her fate, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
There was no future for her and Cui Cheng anymore. The thought alone made her heart twist in agony. Empress Dowager Cui had called it a plea, but it was clear she was counting on Yirong’s regard for Cui Cheng to keep her from making trouble. Yet Yirong had no desire to become a consort. She had seen what had become of Empress Dowager Cui and the Previous Emperor’s other concubines—after entering the palace, they could visit the Imperial Retreat Palace at best, but they could not take a single step beyond the Palace City, not even to return home for a visit…
The Emperor said, “Say what you want to say.”
Yirong sneered coldly. “I’ve said this many times before. You are the Emperor—why must you force a married woman like me? Even if Your Majesty compels me to divorce, I would still be a woman remarried after separation.”
“Zhen has no fetish for other men’s wives,” the Emperor said flatly.
“I’m not saying you do. Your Majesty, if you want a beauty, what kind under heaven do you not have? There may be none more beautiful than me, but surely there are others who look exactly like me. Why must you force me?”
She figured she had probably angered him again. With that, Yirong thought indifferently.
These past few days, she had been living like a lifeless puppet. In the end, she still couldn’t accept it. She hated the Emperor, and she hated those in charge of the Cui Family.
The Emperor’s face darkened slightly. “Zhen has forced you? Zhen only feels that Zhen was too soft on you in the past.”
Then, to her surprise, he half sat up and looked at her with a laugh. “Looking alike isn’t enough.”
She didn’t understand what he meant. The Primordial Pool seemed boundless, and the little boat drifted onward into the gloom.