Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Banquet Invitation

Not long after Mingyi Hall completed the verification, the Jiang family soon received an invitation to the imperial night banquet. Emperor Hongxiao had always preferred simplicity and shunned extravagance; yet the current Empress Dowager delighted in lively gatherings. Though Hongxiao was not her birth son, there existed between them a harmony born of shared years. His birth mother, Noble Consort Xia, had died young; the Empress Dowager, childless, raised Hongxiao at her knee by the late emperor’s decree—a bond that, over the years, had become maternal and filial in its own right.

This time, besides inviting the ministers, it was widely known that Emperor Hongxiao would honor the champion of the ceremonial verification at the palace banquet. For both the scholar and their family, this was an immense honor. Thus, even if the Old Madam of the Jiang family did not particularly favor Jiang Li, she still instructed her attendants to prepare her attire and jewelry for the palace banquet with utmost care, ensuring nothing went amiss.

Jiang Li’s days had grown more comfortable than before; at the very least, after the verification, the servants of the Jiang household spoke of her less brazenly, preferring to gossip in secret. Though this was bittersweet, her status had undeniably risen.

At the palace banquet, many of the noble families from Yan Capital would attend, but Meng Youde, the Imperial Envoy, would not be among them this time.

In the Meng household, the atmosphere was starkly different from its usual bustle—now bleak and desolate. The garden’s flowers and plants seemed neglected, wilting in the summer heat. Fallen, yellowed leaves lay beyond the flowerbeds, and even the sultry season felt tinged with severity.

At night, the lamps inside the house glimmered faintly. From a room deep within, voices could be heard—arguing, it seemed. Suddenly, a loud crash: something had been smashed, and someone stormed out, slamming the door.

It was Meng Youde.

In just a few days, Meng Youde had grown haggard and aged, a far cry from his former confident self. He was followed by his wife, Lady Meng.

“Husband, husband—” Lady Meng ran after him, pleading.

“No need to say more. Tomorrow, send her to the estate to recuperate. If she continues like this, disaster will surely follow!” Meng Youde spoke without turning.

“But she’s your daughter! How can you be so heartless?” Lady Meng cried.

“Heartless?” Meng Youde stopped abruptly, turned, and pointed at the tightly shut door. “Look at her now—can she get better by staying here? I’ve offended Princess Yongning, and the Right Chancellor ignores me. My career ends here! All because of your precious daughter’s trouble! If she hadn’t recklessly wagered with Jiang Li, if she hadn’t wounded Princess Yongning with that arrow at the racecourse, would I be in this predicament?”

“But…” Lady Meng wanted to protest.

“She’s mad now! My own daughter—do you think I don’t ache for her? But she’s lost her mind! Staying in the Meng household may do more harm than good. If others find out she’s mad, who will marry her? If she stays at the estate for a while and recovers, no one will know she ever lost her mind. Isn’t that better?”

Lady Meng gradually calmed at these words. Looking at Meng Youde, she asked sorrowfully, “What really happened to Hongjin at Princess Yongning’s? Is there no way to avenge her?”

“Avenge?” Meng Youde sneered, his anger perhaps directed at himself or Princess Yongning. “Behind Princess Yongning is Prince Cheng. Even the Emperor fears Prince Cheng’s power. In the end…” He sighed. “People cannot contend with officials, and officials cannot contend with the sovereign.”

His tone, brimming with helplessness and grief, silenced Lady Meng.

Inside, at the corner of the bed, Meng Hongjin clutched her blanket, shrinking away, eyes wary of anyone approaching. “Go away… go away!” she muttered.

On the floor lay a shattered medicine bowl, its contents spilled. One maid bent to clean the mess, while another tried to comfort Meng Hongjin, “Miss, it’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

“Go away!” Meng Hongjin screamed. “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me!”

Since Princess Yongning’s people returned her three days ago, Meng Hongjin had been like this upon waking: hiding from everyone as if terrified, failing to recognize those around her, even seeming to forget herself.

No one knew what had happened to Meng Hongjin at Princess Yongning’s. Only the mad Meng Hongjin and Princess Yongning herself knew, and none dared accuse the princess—not even Meng Youde, who still clung to his ambitions. Thus, Meng Hongjin was destined to be a meaningless sacrifice.

…

At the Princess’s residence, the atmosphere was the opposite—brightly lit and lively.

In the main hall, young dancers in gauzy attire moved lightly, half their faces veiled, their eyes like clear water, each casting glances toward the central figure.

The man at the center had a high nose, deep-set eyes, thin lips, and thick brows; his features were handsome but, because of their narrow, elongated shape, carried a cold aloofness.

This was Prince Cheng.

“If you fancy any of them, just take them,” Princess Yongning said listlessly.

Prince Cheng looked at her. “Why so dispirited?”

“There’s nothing interesting, so I’m naturally listless.” Princess Yongning propped her chin, her gaze alluring yet growing restless as she pondered some matter.

Prince Cheng said, “Didn’t you bring the envoy’s daughter here recently? Why still bored?”

Princess Yongning was surprised. “I didn’t expect you to notice such things.” She picked at her nails. “Forget it. That Meng Hongjin seemed fierce but was weak inside. I merely took her to see the punishments in my prison—didn’t touch her at all—and she wet herself in terror.” Princess Yongning’s expression was one of disgust. “Seeing her like that, I lost all interest in tormenting her and sent her back.”

“The horrors of your prison—a man might not withstand them,” Prince Cheng laughed. “Showing her those, no wonder she went mad.”

The Princess’s prison housed those who had displeased her, whom she hated too much to simply kill. She devised tortures—skinning, knee removal, cooking alive—turning it into a living hell. Though Meng Hongjin was arrogant at home, she had only witnessed the occasional death of a servant. Such real horrors were enough to break her spirit and haunt her forever.

“Boring,” Princess Yongning sneered. “To truly savor torment, one must keep the victim nearby, watch them struggle for hope, then—” She blew out a lamp’s flame, finding it amusing, and laughed. “Just like that—snuff out their last hope, plunge them into despair. The best prey is one that knows how to resist and fight back…”

Prince Cheng smiled faintly. “You mean Xue Fangfei, don’t you?”

Princess Yongning pursed her lips, about to reply, when someone announced, “Master Shen from the Secretariat has arrived.”

Princess Yongning’s eyes lit up, chasing away all fatigue. “Quick, let him in!”

Prince Cheng sipped his tea, saying nothing.

Soon, Shen Yuyong was led in. He greeted Prince Cheng first, then turned to Princess Yongning. “Your Highness.”

Princess Yongning’s joy was evident, her demeanor far more approachable than before. She said to Prince Cheng, “I’ve invited Master Shen. Brother, didn’t you mention you needed personnel for the Wenchang Pavilion…”

—

“Shen Yuyong is at Princess Yongning’s residence, with Prince Cheng,” reported a black-clad guard.

In the study of the Duke’s residence, Ji Heng replaced the book he had taken from the shelf.

The guard melted away silently.

“It seems Shen Yuyong has connected with Prince Cheng,” Lu Ji remarked, sipping his tea and smiling at Ji Heng.

“It was bound to happen,” Ji Heng replied, returning the book but not leaving, instead standing before the pearwood shelves as if searching for another.

“Congratulations, sir, your plans advance smoothly,” Lu Ji said. “With Shen Yuyong joining Prince Cheng, the prince gains a powerful ally. His influence will grow.”

Ji Heng replied indifferently, “Shen Yuyong is ambitious; Prince Cheng is ambitious. The scent of ambition is the same. Wolves do not keep company with dogs. Shen Yuyong will never choose the Emperor—only Prince Cheng can fulfill his ambitions.”

“Sir always judges character well,” Lu Ji sighed, then recalled, “It’s a pity about the Imperial Envoy Meng Youde. He used to serve the Right Chancellor, but now he’s offended Princess Yongning—and thus Prince Cheng. The Right Chancellor is Prince Cheng’s man, so Meng Youde is finished. He’s actually quite capable—”

The Meng family had worked for the Right Chancellor, serving as Prince Cheng’s subordinates. But because of the racecourse incident with Meng Hongjin and Princess Yongning, they were destined to be cast aside. It wasn’t just Prince Cheng’s wrath; Meng Youde’s daughter had been ruined, and even if he claimed to bear no grudge and continued to serve, resentment would linger.

Resentment might one day lead to betrayal. Prince Cheng, cautious and suspicious, would never employ Meng Youde again. By ability, Meng Youde could have grown into a valuable asset. Even as outsiders, one could pity Prince Cheng’s loss.

But things had come to this—there was no remedy.

“This time it’s because of Second Miss Jiang,” Lu Ji smiled. “Earlier, Ye Shijie’s plan changed because Second Miss Jiang intervened; now Meng Hongjin’s fate has severed the Meng family from Prince Cheng—again due to Second Miss Jiang. Twice she’s obstructed your plans. You and Second Miss Jiang truly seem destined to cross paths.”

“Do you mean to say Second Miss Jiang acts deliberately?” Ji Heng asked.

“Isn’t that what you believe?” Lu Ji grinned. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent Wen Ji to investigate who prompted Ye Shijie.”

Ji Heng finally found the book he wanted, drew it out, and turned around. The hem of his crimson robe, embroidered with a golden butterfly, fluttered behind him.

He said, “It was Second Miss Jiang.”

Lu Ji ceased smiling, gazing at Ji Heng. “The Jiang family—”

“Not the Jiang family,” Ji Heng’s lips curved into a cryptic smile. “Just Second Miss Jiang.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” He leaned back lazily. “I suspect Second Miss Jiang is here to challenge me.”

—

The summer lingered, autumn approaching yet bringing no coolness; the sun blazed on, wilting the garden’s flowers.

Thus, late-arriving rain was always cherished.

It rained all night and into the morning, shifting from a downpour to a gentle drizzle. Raindrops formed a beaded curtain along the eaves, tapping against the flagstones and washing them clean, imparting an ancient jade-like luster. The scent of earth hung in the air.

Tong’er carried breakfast in, surprised to find Jiang Li still asleep—usually, Jiang Li rose early and never lazed. Whenever Tong’er brought breakfast, Jiang Li was already washed and dressed.

“Miss,” Tong’er called softly.

On the couch, Jiang Li suddenly opened her eyes, saw Tong’er, and hesitated before realizing the time. She sat up, pressing her forehead. Tong’er noticed her brow drenched in cold sweat, paused in concern, and fetched a handkerchief to wipe it gently. “Miss, you must have had a nightmare; you sweated a lot.”

Bai Xue entered just then, and upon hearing this, went to open several windows. Cool air rushed in, dispelling the heat, and Jiang Li seemed much clearer.

“I had a dream,” she said.

“A nightmare,” Bai Xue replied. “It’s nothing. In the countryside, we say if you have a nightmare and feel uneasy, just bask in the sun and it’ll pass. If you’re afraid, shall we go outside—”

“Nonsense,” Tong’er interrupted. “It’s raining out, where’s the sun?”

Bai Xue blinked, “Oh, then we’ll wait a few days.”

Tong’er asked, “What did you dream, Miss, to frighten you so?”

Though Jiang Li tried to hide it, traces of fear and anxiety were visible in her eyes. She was always smiling and composed, so any lapse was especially noticeable.

“Nothing,” Jiang Li lowered her gaze. “I dreamed of an old acquaintance.”

Last night, she had dreamed of Xue Zhao again.

Unlike her previous dream during the racecourse verification, this time Xue Zhao appeared imprisoned, guarded by fierce men. Covered in blood, he hung upside down in a cell. Jiang Li tried to approach, but iron bars blocked her way. She called his name, but he didn’t move—his fate unknown.

Then, torturers appeared, using red-hot irons and pouring pepper-infused salt water on Xue Zhao. He screamed, Jiang Li suffered immensely, yet could not reach him.

Only when Tong’er woke her did Jiang Li realize it was a dream.

She felt unsettled—why did she dream of Xue Zhao? It’s said the departed visit loved ones in dreams, but why would Xue Zhao show her such horrors? Was that place hell? Yet Xue Zhao, upright and passionate, never did anything wrong—how could he deserve such torment?

The feeling of helplessness, of watching Xue Zhao’s suffering, was more painful than death.

Though it was only a dream, Jiang Li struggled to let it go. With the gloomy, rainy weather, she grew unusually silent.

The maids in Fangfei Courtyard noticed her mood. Tong’er and Bai Xue didn’t know why, but seeing Jiang Li’s desire for solitude, they quietly attended to their tasks.

In the afternoon, Jade from the Old Madam’s side came to Fangfei Courtyard, saying Jiang Li was needed in Wan Feng Hall for important instructions.

Jiang Li agreed, and as she changed clothes, Bai Xue asked, “I wonder what the Old Madam wants, Miss?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tong’er helped her into her outer robe. “It must be about the palace banquet. Tomorrow’s the banquet, and our Miss will not only attend but receive the Emperor’s honors. Such glory—Old Madam will surely instruct her carefully to avoid mistakes. But,” Tong’er muttered, “since returning to the capital, I’ve never seen Miss make any mistakes. They should worry about Third Miss instead…”

Tong’er’s wild nature, shaped by country life, made Jiang Li smile at her comment, dispelling some of the morning gloom.

Seeing Jiang Li finally smile, Tong’er and Bai Xue sighed in relief. Jiang Li said, “Yes, Old Madam must be summoning me about the palace banquet. Let’s go now.”

At Wan Feng Hall, all the women from the first, second, and third branches had assembled, awaiting Jiang Li.

Jiang Yuanbai was the chief minister; Jiang Yuanping held a third-rank position; Jiang Yuanxing was just a bookkeeper, but with such distinguished brothers, he too would benefit from the palace banquet. The banquet was significant, representing the Jiang family’s reputation, and the Old Madam was instructing everyone.

Most instructions had already been given, as was customary each year. This year, with Jiang Li attending, the Old Madam would repeat the advice especially for her.

During the wait for Jiang Li, Lady Lu, perhaps bored, asked Lady Ji, “Sister-in-law, I hear Youyao and the heir of Marquis Zhou have set a date for their wedding?”

At this, the expressions in the room shifted. The Old Madam remained impassive, but the third branch looked astonished, clearly hearing it for the first time.

Lady Ji smiled gently, “You’re well informed. Yes, recently I discussed it with the Marquis’s wife. She feels Youyao is of age, so the wedding will be next winter.”

Next winter, Jiang Youyao would be nearly sixteen.

Jiang Youyao blushed deeply, but since everyone was aware of her engagement to Zhou Yanbang, she simply lowered her head shyly without speaking.

Jiang Yu’e was shocked. She knew Jiang Youyao’s engagement would happen eventually, but didn’t expect it so soon. Zhou Yanbang, heir to Marquis Ningyuan, was the only son and would inherit the entire estate. Jiang Youyao would become the mistress, the future marchioness. Moreover, Zhou Yanbang was famously handsome, learned, and gentle in Yan Capital; Jiang Youyao’s married life would surely be comfortable.

Comparing herself, Jiang Yu’e thought woefully of her own prospects. Her father was just a bookkeeper, of a low official rank, and as a concubine’s child, was not close to the main branch. Though she tried to please Lady Ji, the latter would not expend much effort on her marriage. Few could help her. She could never marry a match like Jiang Youyao.

Thinking of herself, Jiang Youyao pondered her own fate, sighing inwardly with both sorrow and resentment.

Lady Lu smiled, “Youyao is truly fortunate. The heir of Marquis Zhou is the most sought-after bachelor in Yan Capital. But, Sister-in-law,” she asked with concern, “don’t forget Li is also part of our family—and she’s the elder sister. Her marriage isn’t settled, yet Youyao’s is already planned. Doesn’t that invite gossip?”

The implication was clear; everyone knew Jiang Youyao’s engagement originally belonged to Jiang Li. Not only was Youyao usurping the nest, she was seizing the initiative.

The Old Madam closed her eyes, deaf to the subtle rivalry between her daughters-in-law—an old, familiar scene. Lady Ji was gentle in appearance but strong in hand; Lady Lu was vain and competitive. Together, their friction was inevitable, but as long as it did not threaten the family’s unity, it was harmless.

“Thank you for your concern,” Lady Ji replied, appearing not to notice Lady Lu’s barbs. “The master has asked me to keep an eye on Li’s marriage, and it is very much on my mind. Li is of age, but no suitable proposals have come. I won’t rush her into a match I’m not satisfied with. If you have any good candidates, do let me know. I’ll consult the master, but ultimately, it’s for Mother and the master to decide. I dare not act alone.”

Lady Ji deftly sidestepped the issue of Youyao’s stolen engagement, subtly belittled Jiang Li by noting no one had come to propose, and shifted responsibility for Li’s marriage entirely onto the Old Madam and Jiang Yuanbai, clearing herself.

By chance, Jiang Li had just reached Wan Feng Hall and heard Lady Ji’s words, unable to keep from smiling.

Tong’er fumed, confused why Jiang Li was amused. Lady Ji had just slighted her, yet Jiang Li smiled instead of getting angry—what was so funny?

Jiang Li stepped into the hall. “Old Madam.”

The Old Madam’s gaze darkened. Jiang Li still addressed her as “Old Madam,” not “Grandmother,” as if she deliberately kept a distance from both her and the Jiang family. The Old Madam could see that the present Jiang Li was no longer the Second Miss of old; she had changed greatly, though whether for better or worse, the Old Madam could not tell.

Lady Lu, delighted at the prospect of conflict, shifted her gaze, hoping Jiang Li would retaliate against Lady Ji, creating discord—a spectacle she enjoyed.

But Jiang Li, as though oblivious to Lady Ji’s disparagement, greeted the Old Madam and courteously paid her respects to the others, making no mention of Lady Ji’s words.

Jiang Yu’e glanced enviously at Jiang Li’s new pleated skirt—the reward the Old Madam had given after the verification. Her eyes were nearly red with jealousy.

Jiang Youyao stared at Jiang Li, recalling the rumor she’d heard from a maid: Zhou Yanbang wanted to break off his engagement and pursue Jiang Li instead. Hatred flickered in her gaze.

Jiang Li stood serenely, indifferent to their stares.

She simply did not care.