That palace banquet, destined to be anything but ordinary, arrived as scheduled amid the lingering aftermath of the Eighth Princess's defeat on the northern frontier.
This event was called the "Midsummer Lotus Appreciation Banquet," yet everyone present understood perfectly well that it was, in truth, an important occasion for His Majesty to examine the court officials and observe the princesses at a time when the political situation was especially delicate. The Su family had no further reason to decline—my physical condition could no longer serve as an excuse to be absent from such a critical banquet.
The preparations before attending were even more solemn than those for my coming-of-age ceremony. When Father chose my attire, his hands trembled slightly. In the end, he settled on a brocade robe of rain-washed sky-blue, dignified in color yet not eye-catching, paired with simple white jade ornaments, striving for propriety without drawing undue attention.
"Yuzhi," Mother came to my room before our departure, something she rarely did. She dismissed the attendants and looked at me with a grave gaze. "At tonight's banquet, watch more, listen more, speak less. No matter who speaks to you, no matter what you hear or see, you must remain composed."
"And if… His Majesty asks about me?" I raised my eyes to her.
Mother was silent for a moment. "If His Majesty asks, answer truthfully. But remember—regarding your health and your marriage, say only 'I will follow the arrangements of my elders at home.' Do not add a single word."
I nodded, understanding her meaning—before the situation became clear, the Su family could not reveal the slightest inclination.
When our carriage entered the palace gates, dusk had just fallen. The imperial garden in summer was brightly lit, the fragrance of lotus mingling with watery mist, silk and bamboo music pleasant to the ear, appearing leisurely and elegant on the surface. Yet I could feel that the air was filled with a tension tighter than at any palace banquet before.
Mother led our family into the hall. I deliberately lagged half a step behind, almost hiding behind Father, though my gaze had already lifted quietly, cautiously surveying everything around me.
Officials gathered in small groups, their voices deliberately low, yet their eyes frequently flicked toward the seating of the princesses. To my surprise, the Eighth Princess, Xiao Linyue—who had previously claimed her injuries had not yet healed—was actually in attendance tonight. Even more unexpectedly, when my gaze happened to touch her, she also lifted her eyes to look over.
In the instant our eyes met, the corner of her pale lips seemed to move ever so slightly—like a smile, or perhaps a faint ripple caused by pain tugging at her wound. Before I could discern it clearly, she had already turned her head away indifferently, her profile sharp and cold under the palace lanterns.
That hint of a smile was too faint, disappearing too quickly—like the fleeting illusion of a candle flame flickering—so fast that I almost suspected it was merely a hallucination born of long confinement within the inner residence.
She sat at the seat of honor on the right, dressed in a fitted black outfit embroidered with gold trim, her long hair tied high, wearing no superfluous ornaments. Her complexion was several shades paler than usual, her lips faint in color, and at the left temple extending to the brow bone was a small patch of light-colored ointment, beneath which an unhealed wound was faintly visible. Yet she sat perfectly upright, her back straight as a spear, her gaze as sharp as ever—if anything, carrying an added hardness, as if tempered by fire. Her presence made the already delicate atmosphere even more taut, like drawn steel.
The Eldest Princess, Xiao Lintian, sat at the seat of honor on the left, her expression unremarkable as she chatted and laughed with several senior ministers beside her, as though the defeat on the northern frontier had nothing to do with her at all. She did not even spare the Eighth Princess a glance. The Fourth and Fifth Princesses followed closely, wearing their habitual expressions of pride.
Xiao Yuhuang still sat toward the middle-rear, with only the Second and Sixth Princesses beside her. She wore a slightly newer-than-usual dark teal palace gown, her hair neatly arranged. She sat with lowered eyes, silent, the food and wine before her untouched, like an emotionless jade sculpture. Yet I noticed that the joints of the fingers holding her wine cup were faintly white, betraying her inner unrest.
When His Majesty and the Empress arrived, the entire garden fell silent. The female emperor's expression was stern today, her gaze sweeping over those below, lingering for a moment on the Eighth Princess before turning to the rest. After a brief opening, the banquet began, yet the atmosphere never truly warmed.
Midway through the feast, there was a slight stir atop the imperial dais—His Majesty seemed to need to step away temporarily to handle some matter, and slowly departed the hall amid a cluster of attendants. The atmosphere in the hall loosened slightly, only to be immediately replaced by more complex undercurrents. Feeling the hall stuffy, and with my old illness acting up, I informed my parents and, supported by Chunyu, went to the waterside corridor to catch some air. The summer night breeze carried the scent of lotus, easing the tightness in my chest somewhat. I had just come to a stop beside a secluded pillar when I heard footsteps behind me—deliberately light, yet steady.
Chunyu tensed, about to step in front of me. I gently raised my hand to stop her and turned around.
The hem of a black robe brushed past the stone steps beneath the corridor. Xiao Linyue had come alone. She waved away the personal guards who seemed inclined to follow, stopping five or six steps away from me. The lantern light beneath the eaves cast her in half-bright, half-shadow, the scar at her temple clearly visible, her expression somewhat dim in the shifting light.
"Young Master Su," she spoke, her voice lower than it had sounded at the banquet—perhaps due to weakness after injury, or perhaps because she was no longer deliberately maintaining the bearing of a princess.
"Eighth Highness." I lowered my eyes and bowed.
"No need for such formality." She stepped forward two paces, her gaze settling on my face. This time, she made no effort to conceal her scrutiny—but it was different from before, with less of the sharpness of appraising prey, and more of a… probing quality? "I heard that the young master left his seat to get some air. I happened to feel a bit stifled myself, so I came for a walk as well. I am not disturbing you, am I?"
"Your Highness is too kind."
A brief silence spread amid the lotus fragrance and the night. She did not seem eager to leave, nor did she appear to have another purpose. She simply stood there quietly, her gaze cast toward the faintly shimmering surface of the lake in the darkness. Just as I thought she might remain silent like this, she suddenly spoke, asking a question I had not expected at all: