A month passed in silence, like snow gathering without sound.
On the very day the winter banquet was to be held, Yuwen and SHou An left the capital.
They departed separately, at different hours, blending into the early morning traffic as if they were nothing more than ordinary travelers. No farewells were exchanged, no glances lingered. Yet before dawn, a large lacquered box had already been delivered to Clear Jade Pavillion.
It bore no signature.
When Shen Qingwan saw it, she understood at once.
Inside was a banquet attire carefully folded, layered with scented silk. The color was a soft petal pink, neither loud nor pale, elegant in a way that revealed restraint rather than extravagance. Every stitch was deliberate, every line clean. It was Yuwen's hand, unmistakably.
Maid Su clasped her hands together in delight. "Miss, this is beautiful!"
"Help me prepare," Qingwan said softly.
Su moved briskly, joy in every step. She dressed Qingwan in an outer robe of duck egg blue, embroidered with fine, almost invisible patterns that caught the light only when she moved. Beneath it flowed a lotus root white long skrit, light as mist.
Her hair was gathered neatly to make a low coiled bun, fastened with a single white jade hairpin. Matching white jade earrings framed her face, their glow gentle. On her wrist rested a thin white jade bracelet, cool against her skin. The gold was restraine matte, understated, just enough to catch the eye without demanding it.
When Su stepped back, she forgot to breathe.
Shen Qingwan's skin was naturally fair, almost luminous. Against the quiet colors and modest jewelry, she looked neither lavish nor plain but impossibly refined. The kind of beauty that did not seek attention, yet drew it all the same.
"The most beautiful lady in the capital…" Su whispered, half to herself.
Qingwan smiled faintly. "Careful. Words like that invite trouble."
Yet as she stood, her posture straight and composed, there was no uncertainty in her eyes.
The palace gates loomed ahead when her carriage arrived, lanterns glowing like watchful eyes. Music drifted faintly from within, laughter layered over silk and ambition.
Shen Qingwan stepped down from the carriage.
She passed through the palace doors calmly.
The Hall of Quiet Snow lay deep within the inner palace.
It was situated east of the main residential quarters nestled precisely between the Plum Blossom Garden to the south where winter buds slept beneath frost and the Warm Jade Corridor to the north, whose enclosed passage carried heat like a hidden vein through stone and wood. The location itself spoke of balance: cold and warmth, stillness and life.
From the outside, the hall stood austere yet elegant.Its whitewashed walls reflected the pale winter light, lending the structure an almost luminous calm, while the dark green glazed tiles above curved like frozen waves under the sky.
Inside, warmth embraced the guests at once.
Tall lattice windows sealed with layers of oiled silk, filtered the cold wind into a soft, milky glow. At each of the four corners, bronze braziers shaped like auspicious beasts tigers, qilin, and phoenix forms burned steadily, their coals glowing red, their presence both symbolic and practical.
The floors were polished smooth, cool beneath silk shoes, then softened by thick wool rugs imported from the western regions, their patterns unfamiliar yet harmonious. Each step felt muffled, as if even sound was asked to behave.
At the center of the hall rose a low, raised platform.
It was not a throne.
Instead, a cushioned seat was rested there humble in height yet unmistakably central with an embroidered backrest stitched in winter motifs: falling snow, plum branches, and cranes standing still. It was the seat prepared for Princess Mingyao a reminder that this banquet was meant to appear gentle, seasonal, and ceremonial.
Shen Qingwan stepped inside.
The moment her gaze swept across the hall, her breath stilled.
It was the same.
The same location, same hall, and the same arragement of braziers, rugs, and windows.
Even the seating orders which families were closer to the platform, which officials' households lined the sides was unchanged.
Her fingers tightened slightly within her sleeve.
In her past life, she had sat here too.Under the same light.Among the same faces some smiling, some pretending to be kind, some already sharpening knives behind their eyes.
Time had rewound, yet nothing had shifted.
Only she had returned different.
But she was not afraid.
Soft chimes rang through the Hall of Quiet Snow.
At once, conversation faded into a respectful hush.
From behind the embroidered screen, Princess Mingyao made her entrance.