The Palace of Gathered Elegance.
Tomorrow would be the grand day when the selected maidens would meet the Emperor and the imperial consorts. To ensure the young ladies appeared in their best spirits, refreshed from a month of rigorous training and etiquette lessons, Nanny Fang granted the remaining fifty candidates a day of rest.
Though it was a break, the maidens were only permitted to move about within the confines of the Palace of Gathered Elegance, and any boisterous play or loud chatter was strictly forbidden.
The most magnificent structures in the imperial city were the Three Great Halls, while the Palace of Gathered Elegance occupied only a small corner of the Western Palace—a neat, square courtyard. The central open space was where the maidens practiced their posture and gait. Only the main hall and the eastern and western side chambers had narrow flower beds beneath their eaves, planted with peonies, a common sight in the palace.
By late March, some peonies had already bloomed, while others remained tightly furled green buds, as if the breeze was still too cool for their liking.
Yao Huang shared the southern chamber of the western side wing with four other maidens.
At this tender, blossoming age, young girls prized cleanliness, yet five occupants in one room inevitably made the air stuffy overnight.
Yao Huang was the last to rise. After dressing, she found only one other maiden left in the room—Chen Ying, who was fixing her hair. Yao Huang ventured, "Shall I open the window?"
Chen Ying, securing a jade hairpin before the mirror, smiled. "Go ahead. The water in the kettle must be cold by now—you’d best wash up quickly."
Each morning, palace maids delivered a large pot of hot water for the five to share.
The maidens who had progressed this far understood the importance of temperament and virtue. None would squabble over something as trivial as water, and their interactions were often more harmonious than those between blood sisters.
Yao Huang lifted the latched window shutter, and bright spring light flooded in, stinging her eyes and warming her face.
Beneath the eaves, a row of seven or eight beauties stood by the flower beds, their attention drawn by the sound of the opening window.
Inside, Yao Huang stood with her hair still disheveled from sleep—an unmistakably tardy sight.
Rising early was a basic discipline expected of well-bred young ladies, even on rest days, let alone within the palace walls.
At this sight, several maidens exchanged glances, their silent disdain for Yao Huang plain.
Yet others were captivated by Yao Huang’s fair, rosy complexion and the languid charm of one freshly roused from slumber, forgetting entirely to judge her for sleeping in.
After all, in this gathering of beauties, Yao Huang had already distinguished herself—both for her memorable peony-inspired name and her voluptuous, graceful figure.
Having lived together for a month, Yao Huang recognized every maiden in the courtyard. She smiled at them, fastened the window, then sat on the edge of the kang to put on her shoes, the lower window frame blocking their view.
Chen Ying turned from her dressing stool, watching as Yao Huang poured water with unruffled ease, as relaxed as if she were at home. Unable to resist, she whispered, "Aren’t you afraid Nanny Fang is only pretending to give us a break, secretly observing our every move? At this stage, getting dismissed over such trivialities wouldn’t be worth it."
Yao Huang sighed. "If only it were that simple."
The imperial selection had been announced abruptly last year. Officials far from the capital might have had time to arrange hasty marriages for their daughters before the decree arrived, but the Yao family, based in the capital and lacking high-ranking connections, only learned of it when all capital officials were notified. The decree explicitly forbade betrothing daughters before the initial selection concluded.
Yao Huang, renowned in her neighborhood for her beauty, had no choice but to enter the first round.
The seasoned palace matrons and imperial physicians saw through any feigned illness or deliberate ugliness. Deliberate misconduct was equally unwise—it would tarnish her reputation and invite ridicule upon her parents for poor upbringing.
Entering the palace alone, Yao Huang lacked the audacity to stir trouble in this rigidly disciplined environment. Over the month-long training and character assessment, she had racked her brains for harmless ways to appear virtuous yet unsuitable as a consort or concubine.
Her first attempt: boldly asking Nanny Fang for a second bowl of rice at meals.
Among the initial three hundred maidens, she was the only one to make such a request.
Yao Huang still remembered the muffled laughter around her. Yet Nanny Fang had merely scrutinized her from head to toe—and agreed!
Her second attempt: frustrated by the confinement, she took to shadowboxing in the courtyard.
Her father, a martial artist skilled with blades and spears, had taught her brother, and Yao Huang, ever restless, had mimicked them well. But with no weapons in the Palace of Gathered Elegance, she could only practice empty-handed.
The other maidens gasped in shock, and a palace maid promptly fetched Nanny Fang.
"What are you doing?" Nanny Fang demanded.
Yao Huang blinked innocently. "I’ve gained weight. I need to work it off."
Nanny Fang studied her figure and nodded approvingly. "This is just right—you shouldn’t grow any plumper. But shadowboxing might hurt others. Better cut back to one bowl of rice."
Yao Huang: "..."
Other maidens were dismissed outright for minor infractions, without chance to explain or amend. Why was Nanny Fang so lenient with her?
When the pool narrowed to a hundred, Yao Huang began rising late, always the last to arrive.
Nanny Fang took her aside and murmured, "A hearty appetite and sound sleep are blessings. Coming late is fine, but never be tardy. If you break even this small rule, people may suspect you disdain the imperial family and seek rejection. Should such rumors reach noble ears, your entire family would bear the charge of disrespect."
Yao Huang was her favored candidate. For others, missteps meant instant dismissal, but for Yao Huang, Nanny Fang would bend rules.
To avoid gossip, the simplest solution was for Yao Huang to behave.
Understanding the implicit warning, Yao Huang abandoned all hope of exploiting minor flaws to leave.
.
In the Palace of Gathered Elegance, the maidens lived under constant scrutiny—from Nanny Fang, the palace staff, and each other. A careless gesture or word could spell their expulsion from this gilded path.
Thus, every conversation was laced with caution. Self-introductions dripped with humility, and compliments flowed like honey.
Yao Huang tired of these hollow pleasantries. She preferred solitude in her room or pacing the courtyard, her only close acquaintance being Chen Ying.
Chen Ying, daughter of a minor county magistrate from the southwest, was timid and reticent. Initially, she dared not even speak to Yao Huang. But after witnessing Yao Huang’s requests for extra rice and late risings, she inexplicably found her approachable. Occasionally, she’d confide in Yao Huang—homesickness, anxieties about the future.
At dusk, after supper, the maidens retreated to their rooms. Yao Huang lingered in the courtyard, strolling to aid digestion.
On her third round, Chen Ying approached, her expression troubled.
Yao Huang deliberately chose a spot least likely to be eavesdropped on. When Chen Ying stopped beside her, she asked with concern, "What's wrong?"
Chen Ying replied in a hushed voice, "During the day, I overheard someone mentioning the three princes."
As the daughter of a remote county magistrate, she had no opportunity to hear about the princes' affairs under normal circumstances. After arriving in the capital, the palace nannies strictly forbade the selected maidens from gossiping about nobles. Only on this final day did a few bold noble ladies from prominent families briefly discuss them.
Yao Huang, born in the capital, had some knowledge of the princes despite her father being merely a sixth-rank military officer—one of two thousand low-ranking officers stationed in the four major garrisons outside the city.
Prince Kang, the Eldest Prince, was the only son of Consort Liu Xian. His previous consort had passed away, and he was now selecting a new one.
Prince Hui, the Second Prince, was the adopted son of Imperial Consort Du. Renowned for his military prowess and numerous battlefield achievements, he had suffered severe injuries the previous year, leaving his legs paralyzed.
Prince Qing, the Third Prince, was the son of Consort Shen Rou. At twenty years old, he was said to be both scholarly and martial, favored by Emperor Yongchang.
Imperial Consort Du also had a biological son, the Fourth Prince, who was only twelve or thirteen—too young for marriage.
In Yao Huang's opinion, becoming Prince Qing's consort would be the best outcome. The other two options were less desirable: one required stepping into the role of a stepmother, while the other involved marrying a disabled prince, which would bring many hardships.
Yet even the position of a widowed prince’s consort or a disabled prince’s wife would likely go to noble ladies from prestigious families. Low-ranking maidens like Yao Huang were merely green leaves meant to accentuate the red flowers—either dismissed or chosen as concubines for the princes. The worst-case scenario would be catching the eye of Emperor Yongchang, already in his fifties, and being kept in the palace as a low-ranking consort.
"Yao Yao, I'm scared," Chen Ying whispered, gripping Yao Huang’s hand, her face pale.
She had never imagined that out of the three eligible princes, two would be such unfavorable matches. Even becoming a primary consort would be difficult, let alone a secondary one.
Yao Huang knew Chen Ying also wished to be dismissed and return to her family. But she couldn’t console her by agreeing, nor could she offer advice by commenting on the princes. All she could do was squeeze Chen Ying’s hand and murmur, "Don’t dwell on things beyond your control. It’ll only give you a headache and serve no purpose."
Chen Ying glanced at the door and swallowed her unease, heeding the advice.
As night fell, Yao Huang lay on the heated bed, listening to Chen Ying and the other three girls toss and turn restlessly.
Wrapping herself tightly in the quilt, Yao Huang thought of her parents and brother, whom she hadn’t seen in over a month, and the spacious heated bed in her family’s west chamber that belonged solely to her. Eventually, she drifted into sleep.
The crimson sun rose in the east, its light streaming through the glazed windows.
For the selected maidens, this day could determine the course of their lives. But for Emperor Yongchang, it was just another ordinary day.
He attended the morning court session, then retreated to his study to review memorials. After discussing state affairs with several ministers, he stretched by the window, glanced at the water clock, and asked Eunuch Wang, who stood bowing nearby, "Has Prince Hui arrived at the palace?"
Eunuch Wang smiled. "Yes, Your Majesty. The prince arrived half an hour ago and has been conversing with the imperial consorts in the central palace."
Emperor Yongchang shook his head. "He was never one for idle chatter, and now with his legs in such a state, how could he be in the mood to entertain anyone? He can’t even force a smile in front of me."
Eunuch Wang’s expression turned somber. The emperor had long delayed naming a crown prince, leaving his true intentions a mystery. Even if Prince Hui were not chosen as heir, his martial skills could have secured him a position as a great general supporting the future emperor. But now…
Aside from Prince Hui himself, Emperor Yongchang was the most aggrieved by his injury.
Personally, a father’s grief for his ailing son was natural. Officially, when a general was wounded defending the empire, the emperor was duty-bound to compensate him.
Thus, while the other princes had their mothers select their primary and secondary consorts, Emperor Yongchang made an exception for Prince Hui—allowing him to choose his own bride.
If he could no longer walk, at least he should have a wife who pleased his eyes to accompany him through life.
