Snow lay pressed against the carved stone balustrades outside the Hall of Quiet Snow, pale and unbroken, reflecting the cold moonlight like polished jade. Within the hall, however, warmth reigned bronze braziers glowed softly, silk curtains hung heavy with gold thread embroidery, and rows of palace lanterns illuminated the gathered noble ladies.
A clear voice rang out.
"Her Highness princess MingYao arrives"
At once, the hall fell silent.
From beyond the vermilion doors came the measured sound of footsteps. Princess Mingyao entered, her presence unhurried yet commanding, clad in a robe of deep crimson brocade embroidered with soaring phoenixes.
Her hair was crowned with a golden coronet inset with pearls that shimmered like frost beneath lamplight. Each step she took seemed calculated, as though the hall itself had been built for her passage.
Beside her walked Zhu MingXue, daughter of the Prince of Yong and cousin to the princess. Where Mingyao was resplendent and sharp, Mingxue was gentle and cool, dressed in pale blue silk trimmed with silver. Her expression was serene, eyes lowered in quiet elegance, though the closeness with which she walked beside the princess spoke volumes of favor.
All the ladies rose as one.
"We greet Her Highness."
Princess Mingyao smiled faintly and lifted her hand. "No need for ceremony. Be seated."
Only after she had taken her place upon the raised dais did the others sit. Zhu Mingxue was arranged at her right, a position of unmistakable intimacy and status.
Not far below them sat Shen QIngwan and Shen Yu.
Qingwan lowered her gaze, her posture impeccable. From where she sat, she could clearly feel the invisible weight of the dais above feel the eyes that would soon turn her way.
A clear clang echoed through the hall.
The bell rang.
The banquet began.
Servants moved in practiced harmony, laying out dishes upon lacquered tables: crystal plates of snow pear slices glazed with honey, dried persimmons dusted with frost sugar, candied chestnuts, and steaming bowls of sweet wine infused with osmanthus. Delicate porcelain cups were filled, their fragrance rising gently with the heat.
Music followed.
Dance troupes entered one after another, sleeves swirling like drifting clouds, feet gliding soundlessly across the polished floor. The rhythm shifted from lively to graceful, from bright to solemn, until at last the final troupe bowed and withdrew.
Applause rose, then slowly faded.
Princess Mingyao set down her cup.
"This banquet," she said lightly, her voice carrying through the hall, "was prepared not merely for enjoyment. Winter nights are long what better way to pass them than by witnessing the talents of our esteemed ladies?"
A murmur of agreement followed.
At Zhu MingXue gesture, a palace maid stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"If one speaks of the qin," the maid said clearly, "then Lady Shen QIngwan of the Shen family is widely praised as a peerless player her skill said to rival even seasoned masters."
The words struck like a stone cast into still water.
Heads turned.
Zhu Mingxue lifted her eyes, studying Qingwan with polite curiosity. Princess Mingyao's gaze followed, warm and intent. Around them, the other ladies whispered softly, their interest sharpened.
Qingwan's heart tightened.
SO, it begins.
She rose halfway, prepared to decline with humility
Before she could speak, Shen Yu laughed softly.
"My sister is indeed too modest," Shen Yu said, smiling brightly. "Shi Mei has practiced the qin since childhood. Even my cousin who is skilled in qin praises her endlessly."
The final nail.
Princess Mingyao's lips curved into a perfect smile.
"Is that so?" she said. "Then Miss Shen must not disappoint us."
She gestured.
"Bring the qín."
Two eunuchs carried forward a black lacquered instrument inlaid with the mother of pearl. The moment Qingwan saw it, her pupils shrank.
Moon Watching at COld River.
In her previous life, this had been the piece Mingyao demanded complex, melancholic, requiring years of practice. When Qingwan failed, Mingyao had sighed regretfully and produced the forged poem.
This time, however, Mingyao did not immediately command her to play.
Instead, she smiled thoughtfully. "Such a fine qin deserves an accomplished hand. Miss Shen, I recall you once wrote a poem praising the moon over the Han River. Would you care to recite it instead?"
Qingwan's blood ran cold.
That poem never existed.
It had been fabricated in her past life copied from a famous courtesan, then attributed to Qingwan to frame her as a plagiarist.
Mingyao was advancing the scheme quietly, flawlessly.
If Qingwan denied writing it, she would appear deceitful.
If she admitted it, the trap would spring.
The silence stretched.
Then Qingwan lifted her head.
"Your Highness's memory is extraordinary," she said calmly. "However… this subject fears there is a misunderstanding."
Mingyao's brows knit slightly. "Oh?"
Qingwan continued, her voice steady. "This subject has indeed written poems, but never about the Han River. May I ask where did Your Highness hear of this work?"
The question was polite.
But dangerous.
The maid who had spoken earlier stiffened.
Mingyao's smile did not waver. "Why, from my palace attendants. Could they be mistaken?"
Qingwan turned slightly, addressing the maid with a gentle nod. "May I trouble elder sister to recite even a line of the poem? If it truly is mine, I will recognize it at once."
A pause.
The maid's lips parted then closed.
Her eyes flickered.
Too fast.
Too human.
Murmurs stirred among the seated ladies.
Princess Mingyao finally straightened, setting her cup down with a soft click.
"So Miss Shen is certain she did not write it?"
Qingwan bowed. "Certain."
"Then perhaps," Mingyao said slowly, "you would care to compose one now? On the spot. The moon is bright, the night serene. Surely inspiration will not fail you."
The hall drew in a collective breath.
A test that could elevate or destroy.
Qingwan felt the familiar pressure closing in. But beneath her calm exterior, her thoughts were already moving several steps ahead.
She wants me to fail publicly, Qingwan realized. Or succeed just enough to be questioned.
Either way, Mingyao would gain amusement and leverage.
Qingwan smiled faintly.
"If Your Highness commands," she said, "this subject will obey."
She stepped forward, gaze lifting to the lantern lit moon beyond the palace eaves.