Rumors about Prince Xiang's residence grew increasingly rampant, spreading not only within the palace but even among common folk—children in the streets could now chatter about it. It was said that shrewd merchants had already commissioned storytellers to draft scripts for sale, and teahouses across the city had performers recounting this bizarre tale.
Over the years, Prince Xiang's usual negligence and the lax management of his household had finally borne bitter fruit—his residence had now become a laughingstock.
After all, if even the daughter born to the princess consort could be mistakenly swapped at birth, who knew how many children Prince Xiang had unknowingly raised for others?
Some mocked Prince Xiang, while others lamented the plight of the two young women caught in this scandal—the renowned noble lady of the household and the Nie Family's daughter... With their identities now uncertain, outsiders didn’t even know how to address them.
Most agreed that these two were the most innocent victims. Some even suggested that the Ning Family ought to switch their betrothal to the Nie Family instead.
But outsiders' chatter couldn’t sway those directly involved.
In the palace, the Dowager Princess Consort and Prince Xiang personally sought an audience with the Emperor and Empress Dowager. First, they confessed their guilt in mixing up the imperial bloodline, then begged Her Majesty to arrange a marriage between the second son of the Ning Family and Zhenruo—the true daughter of Prince Xiang, originally known as the Nie Family’s girl.
The details of their negotiations remained unknown, but Qi Daiyu heard that Prince Xiang had been stripped of his position as head of the Imperial Clan Court, while the Empress Dowager issued an edict approving the marriage.
In the Yanqing Residence, Shiliu and others were also discussing the matter.
Shiliu was baffled: "I don’t understand. Before this, the Dowager Princess Consort doted on Miss Zhiyu so dearly—it seemed she adored her granddaughter. Why, now that the truth is out, has she left no room for Zhiyu at all? Could all those years of affection have been a lie?"
Though the betrothal change had nothing to do with Zhiyu, losing a marriage arrangement still dealt a heavier blow to a woman’s reputation than a man’s. Even if the Dowager Princess Consort no longer cared for her former granddaughter, why insist on forcing this marriage with the Ning Family? It only made things awkward for all three families.
Putao and the others shared similar thoughts, feeling the Dowager Princess Consort and Prince Xiang had acted too heartlessly.
Qi Daiyu had learned of the matter a few days earlier, giving her more time to ponder. She had pieced together some underlying truths.
For the Ning Family, what truly mattered was marrying a legitimate daughter of the princely household—it didn’t matter who she was.
For Prince Xiang’s declining household, a powerful marital alliance was essential. The mix-up of daughters was trivial; securing the Ning Family’s betrothal was non-negotiable.
This was no simple marriage—it was a political transaction.
Neither of the two young women, nor even the Ning Family’s second son, likely had any say in the matter.
This realization led Qi Daiyu to another question: Hadn’t the Emperor been suppressing the influence of noble families? If even she could see Prince Xiang’s intentions, why had the Emperor agreed to the marriage?
At the moment, the Emperor was not in the Qianqing Palace but in the Chengqian Palace.
It had been so long since His Majesty last visited Chengqian Palace that the maidservants serving tea had grown rusty—they nearly forgot how hot the Emperor preferred his tea.
Jiang Yuan took a sip of Lu’an melon-seed tea and set down the cup. "You summoned Us here specifically—is there something you wish to discuss?"
Seated across from him was Consort Ning.
Earlier that day, she had sent her attendant, Suihe, to the Qianqing Palace, requesting His Majesty’s presence.
Jiang Yuan had always assumed Consort Ning understood his stance toward her. Over the years, she had indeed remained quiet and unobtrusive—this was the first time she had ever directly sent someone to invite him.
His curiosity piqued, he had come.
Consort Ning’s gaze lingered briefly on the teacup the Emperor had set aside before she offered a practiced smile. "There is indeed a matter I wished to discuss with Your Majesty."
Her looks were merely plain, but her demeanor lent her a unique presence among the imperial consorts. Perhaps due to her excessive focus on propriety, even the curve of her smile was impeccably measured.
Yet it was precisely this quality that Jiang Yuan disliked about her.
Her rigid adherence to rules stripped her of vitality. Every interaction with Consort Ning made him feel as though he were speaking to a living manual of palace regulations—it reminded him of his childhood, when stern matrons drilled protocols into him.
Dull beyond measure.
In Consort Ning, he saw no trace of her true self.
Unlike Concubine Qi, whose outward persona was a carefully crafted facade (her whimsical room decor betrayed as much), Consort Ning was different. Perhaps she had once pretended, but now, she had molded herself into the very image of "virtuous propriety."
Sometimes Jiang Yuan wondered: Did his dislike for her stem more from her association with the Yang Family, or from her own nature?
He had heard that his late father once considered making Consort Ning his crown princess. Jiang Yuan shuddered at the thought—had that happened, he might never have known marital affection in this lifetime.
Shaking off the reflection, he replied with measured politeness, "What matter?"
Consort Ning chose her words carefully. "I’ve heard that Commander Zeng of the Capital Guards intends to remarry?"
Jiang Yuan studied her. "How did you come by this news?"
She lowered her eyes. "Commander Zeng has made no secret of it. He has engaged many matchmakers, and word has spread among noble families outside the palace." Had the Prince Xiang scandal not overshadowed everything, the gossip would have been far more widespread.
Jiang Yuan thought of Zeng Qiming’s temperament and sighed inwardly.
The matter was a headache.
Zeng Qiming, current commander of the Capital Guards, held a third-rank position with real authority—one of Jiang Yuan’s most trusted confidants.
On paper, Zeng Qiming was the envy of commoners. Born into a family with no officials for three generations, he had been an ordinary martial artist before fate intervened.
Years ago, when Jiang Yuan was still a prince touring the realm at his father’s command, he had crossed paths with Zeng Qiming.
Impressed by the man’s martial skill and forthright character, Jiang Yuan recruited him as a personal guard. Over the years, Zeng Qiming proved his loyalty and capability, earning his current post after Jiang Yuan ascended the throne.
Officially, Jiang Yuan valued Zeng Qiming as a subordinate. Despite his flaws, the man was fiercely loyal and competent—qualities Jiang Yuan prized.
But recently, Zeng Qiming had presented him with a dilemma.
Zeng Qiming had once been married to a peasant woman who died before his rise to prominence, leaving him a widower. For years, he had declined all offers of remarriage—until now.
He had come to Jiang Yuan with a single request: He wanted a noble-born wife.
Not for beauty, not for talent—only lineage mattered.
And this was the problem.
What troubled Jiang Yuan was not whether to agree—in his view, it was no great matter for his trusted subordinate to marry a woman from a prestigious family. What truly gave him pause was deciding whom to betroth to Zeng Qiming.
As emperor, Jiang Yuan knew all too well the temperament of those noble clans. They would rather marry their daughters to so-called scholars who could barely afford rice than ally themselves with a military general of humble origins—let alone one like Zeng Qiming, who was already a widower.
After reviewing the genealogies of various families, Jiang Yuan settled on a candidate: Nie Zhenruo, the daughter of Nie Yong, the Left Vice Minister of Works.
The Nie Family had served in official positions for generations. Though they couldn’t compare to the old aristocratic houses, their status was still far beyond that of common families. Moreover, Nie Yong, as Left Vice Minister of Works, was one of Jiang Yuan’s candidates for future cabinet positions. Marrying his daughter to Jiang Yuan’s trusted subordinate seemed a perfect arrangement.
However, recent events involving Prince Xiang’s household had unexpectedly made Nie Zhenruo his cousin. Yet, upon reflection, Jiang Yuan saw no obstacle to his plan. Zeng Qiming claimed not to care about his wife’s beauty or talents, but if the woman bestowed upon him by the emperor possessed both noble lineage and charm, wouldn’t Zeng Qiming be even more grateful?
It was precisely for this reason that Jiang Yuan readily agreed to Prince Xiang’s request for an imperial marriage decree.
Now, hearing Consort Ning’s words, Jiang Yuan replied, “Indeed, such is the case. What is your intention?”
Consort Ning kept her head bowed, her voice hesitant at first but soon firm.
“This humble consort wishes to propose a marriage arrangement for Lord Zeng.”
No matter how lively the affairs of Prince Xiang’s household had been, as the year’s end approached, they faded from public attention.
From the twentieth day of the twelfth lunar month, government offices sealed their official seals, and officials began their holiday.
Within the palace, each day brought new festivities. On the twenty-third, the “Sacrifice to the Earth God” was held; on the twenty-fourth, “House Cleaning”; on the twenty-sixth, “Lantern Hanging”; and on the twenty-eight, “Couplet Posting.”
With the three-year mourning period now over, every palace was adorned with bright lanterns and colorful decorations, transforming the imperial palace into a dazzling spectacle.
On the thirtieth of the twelfth month—New Year’s Eve—a grand banquet would be held at the Hall of Preserving Harmony, attended primarily by the imperial family.
Then, on the first day of the new year, the “Grand Court Assembly” would take place at the Hall of Supreme Harmony, where high-ranking officials could bring their families.
On New Year’s Eve, Qi Daiyu was pulled by Shiliu and Putao to change into new clothes and have her makeup done.
“Today is a grand occasion. My lady should dress splendidly,” Shiliu urged, insisting that Pingguo apply the finest makeup, as if hoping their mistress would outshine all others at the banquet.
Putao added, “New year, new attire—even for the sake of good fortune in the coming year, it’s fitting to seek auspicious beginnings.”
Seeing their insistence, Qi Daiyu could hardly refuse. Besides, she reasoned, everyone would be dressed elaborately tonight, so she wouldn’t stand out too much.
“In that case, why not add a floral decoration?” She studied her reflection in the mirror, thinking a delicate huadian between her brows might enhance her beauty.
She recalled that in a previous dynasty, huadian makeup had been highly fashionable, though it was rare in the current era. At least, since her transmigration, Qi Daiyu had never seen any of the imperial consorts wear one.
Without waiting for Pingguo, she took matters into her own hands. With a few deft strokes, a floral design bloomed on her forehead. Still unsatisfied, she selected a pearl the size of a fingernail and affixed it to the center of the crabapple blossom with adhesive.
In the mirror, the woman before her wore a crabapple-red jacket and skirt, the white fur trim at the collar soft and playful. Her gaze traveled upward—her hair was styled in a lily bun, adorned with a long crabapple-red jade hairpin. Her makeup was flawless, and the huadian on her forehead lent an air of delicate allure.
Pingguo was momentarily speechless. “My lady is truly beautiful…”
Shiliu and Putao were equally stunned. They had always known their mistress was lovely, but they had never seen her like this before.
Qi Daiyu studied her reflection with satisfaction. The bold makeup completely masked her usual sickly pallor, giving her a radiant glow. Perhaps it was the addition of the huadian, but she now exuded an air of noble elegance.
It was as if the fragile, delicate flower had transformed into a haughty young noblewoman.
She had such potential? Qi Daiyu blinked.
Rising to her feet, she draped a thick cloak over her shoulders, cradled a hand warmer, and said, “Let’s go. To the Hall of Preserving Harmony.”
Tonight was a grand occasion—her social circle was about to expand.
Pity the others couldn’t scroll through her updates. As she walked along the palace path, Qi Daiyu couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret.
