Yan Yunting's gaze was nearly intoxicated.
Across the long palace corridor, he stared fixedly at the graceful figure in the distance, his heart surging with emotion.
Years had passed since they last met, yet Zhao Yang remained as radiantly beautiful as ever. Perhaps with age, her brows now carried an added air of dignified composure.
Like a fine vintage wine, she had only grown more enchanting with time.
Yan Yunting's eyes brimmed with adoration. Time was the truest test of one's heart—after their separation, he had come to realize that Zhao Yang had always been the woman he loved most.
Yet Princess Zhao Yang wore an expression of disdain, as if she had seen a ghost. She frowned slightly, showing no intention of acknowledging Yan Yunting, and turned to enter the palace with Yun'er in tow.
"Zhao Yang!" Yan Yunting stood frozen in place.
He had imagined she would rush to him joyfully, throwing herself into his arms with tears of happiness.
But instead... she had walked away without even a glance?
Her delicate face even bore a trace of anger.
A dull ache throbbed in Yan Yunting's chest. He couldn’t understand why Zhao Yang was treating him so coldly.
Everyone in Yanjing City knew that Princess Zhao Yang’s heart belonged to the young master of the Yan family. During Yan Yunting’s years away in Liangzhou, the princess had remained unmarried, waiting faithfully for his return—her youth fading as she grew into a woman others called an old maid.
Just as Yan Yunting was lost in confusion, a soft voice called from behind him: "Brother Yunting."
Tantai Rou had arrived, accompanied only by a young maid.
The spring night was chilly, yet Tantai Rou wore only a thin lavender gown, her makeup understated and her figure slender. Standing in the gusting wind at the palace gates, she looked as though she might be swept away at any moment.
"Rou'er, why have you come?" Yan Yunting was surprised to see her.
But he quickly understood why Zhao Yang had left in a huff.
Princess Zhao Yang must have seen Tantai Rou—that was why she had ignored him and stormed off into the palace.
That little vixen still hadn’t outgrown her jealousy.
A warm satisfaction filled Yan Yunting’s heart. If the princess could still be jealous, it meant she still loved him deeply.
"The night is cold, so I brought you a cloak," Tantai Rou said softly, taking an exquisitely embroidered cape from her maid and handing it to Yan Yunting’s attendant.
The cloak was made of fine satin, adorned with intricate cranes and lotus flowers—stitched painstakingly by Tantai Rou over sleepless nights.
Yan Yunting was deeply moved.
If he could have Zhao Yang, a noble and prestigious wife, and Tantai Rou, a gentle and devoted concubine, his life would be complete.
"You are so thoughtful, Rou'er. I will treasure this cloak," Yan Yunting said, his lips curving into a tender smile.
Tantai Rou lifted her gaze, her large, dewy eyes meeting his. "Brother Yunting, tonight you plan to ask His Majesty for Princess Zhao Yang’s hand in marriage, don’t you?"
Yan Yunting didn’t hide it. "Yes."
The Yan family was not among the most powerful aristocratic clans in Yanjing City, and Yan Yunting’s previous official rank had not been particularly high. But after proving himself on the frontier, he had returned to the capital and was soon to be appointed as the new Minister of Rites.
With a higher rank and greater authority, he now had the standing to marry a princess.
Tantai Rou’s beautiful eyes shimmered with unshed tears, yet she smiled understandingly. "The princess is of noble birth, and you are a perfect match for her. I pray you succeed in your wish tonight."
Her magnanimity touched Yan Yunting deeply.
"Don’t worry, Rou'er," he reassured her. "Once I marry Zhao Yang, I will take you as my concubine."
Tantai Rou nodded obediently. "As long as I can stay by your side, even as a lowly maid, I will be content."
As night fully descended, Yan Yunting did not linger at the palace gates.
The wind billowed through the wide sleeves of his crimson official robes as he strode confidently into the palace.
Tantai Rou, a woman of humble origins, was not permitted to attend the imperial banquet. She stood at the gates, watching Yan Yunting’s retreating figure with tender longing—until his red silhouette vanished from sight. Only then did she turn away.
The affection on her face faded instantly, replaced by icy detachment.
Her maid whispered, "Miss, will Lord Yan make you his official wife?"
Tantai Rou smirked coldly, her embroidered slippers tapping against the cold stone pavement. "As long as I become the favored woman of Da Qing’s most powerful minister, it makes no difference whether I am wife or concubine."
With that, she led her maid away, just as the grand banquet within the Da Qing palace was about to begin.
...
...
Lanterns glowed, and the moon hung above the willow branches. The palace halls were illuminated by countless softly glowing lanterns, casting the Qinghua Palace in a brilliance rivaling daylight.
Officials and noble ladies took their seats, while graceful palace maids wove between them, serving exquisite delicacies.
The Emperor and his consorts had yet to arrive.
Among the noblewomen’s seats, Lu Yun, daughter of the Duke of Lu, sat with perfect poise, her beautiful eyes discreetly scanning the opposite side of the hall where the male guests were seated.
The most striking figures among them were Yan Yunting and Shen Mieyue—one a brilliant and handsome young scholar, the other a formidable general renowned for his military exploits.
Both were still unmarried.
Lu Yun hid a smirk behind her fan. She knew many noble ladies coveted these two men, but she privately scorned the idea. What was the point of marrying a mere official? Far better to wed the most exalted man in Da Qing.
Remembering the words Emperor Li Yuanjing had once spoken to her in her past life—"You are quite lovely"—Lu Yun’s red lips curved upward.
Perhaps if the Emperor saw her tonight, he would fall for her at first sight, rekindling the bond they had shared before.
As Lu Yun indulged in her fantasies, Eunuch Deshun’s shrill voice rang out: "His Majesty arrives!"
Officials and nobles hurried to their feet, dropping to their knees in reverence.
Lu Yun bowed her head with the others, her heart pounding. The reigning Emperor, Li Yuanjing, was a wise and formidable ruler—a man of both scholarly and martial prowess.
After a long moment, a deep, resonant voice commanded, "Rise."
The crowd stood and returned to their seats.
Lu Yun knelt gracefully in her designated spot, stealing glances at the Emperor of Da Qing.
Li Yuanjing wore a black-and-gold dragon robe, his brows stern and his dark eyes unreadable. Seated upon the high throne, his majesty was so overwhelming that few dared meet his gaze directly.
Lu Yun’s pulse quickened, her lips curling secretly. She would become his imperial consort!
Her gaze shifted to the Empress seated beside him. Empress Tantai Shuya hailed from a prestigious noble family, but years of stress and worry had aged her prematurely—no amount of powder could conceal the wrinkles at her eyes.
Lu Yun felt no concern for the Empress.
The woman was foolish and incompetent.
In her past life, the Empress had been outmaneuvered by Lu Xuan, losing both her children before dying "of illness." The Tantai family had collapsed soon after—its men executed or exiled, with even the Empress Dowager powerless to intervene.
Lu Yun’s eyes flicked to Consort Lu Xuan, seated below the Empress. Dressed in resplendent finery, Lu Xuan was the picture of elegance, like a blooming peony.
A flash of hatred crossed Lu Yun’s face.
Sister, you remain as glorious as ever...
