The Reunion at the Pavilion of a Hundred Fragrances

Su Yue and I lingered at the railing, our conversation drifting from idle chatter to heated debate. She insisted with unshakable certainty that Lady Mingzhu was nothing more than a gaudy counterfeit—“庸脂俗粉,” as she put it—and absolutely no match for her mother, Lady Qinglun.

“This whole trip,” she confessed, “is because I had a quarrel with someone. He kept saying Lady Mingzhu is the most beautiful woman alive, unmatched by any. I refused. I told him my mother is the most beautiful, and I’ll prove it. Now that Lady Mingzhu herself is coming, we’ll see who’s right!”

Her eyes gleamed as she turned to me. “Sister, when will you come eat at my house? I’ll introduce you to my mother. Not only is she breathtaking, but her cooking—oh, you’ve never tasted anything like it. Truly, in all my life, I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as she is. She’s forty now, yet she hasn’t aged at all. She’s still dazzling.” She gestured wildly, painting her mother’s features in the air.

I listened quietly, my heart constricting.

How could I not know what Qinglun looked like? I was born from her womb. I remembered the shape of her brows, the coldness of her eyes, the unchanging frost on her face. As a child, I had thought she was carved from ice and snow. But hearing Su Yue’s lively words, I realized something bitter—that perhaps she did smile, perhaps she did show warmth, just not to me.

“Oh? Is that so?” I forced a faint smile. “If the chance comes, I’ll visit. I’m curious to meet Lady Qinglun myself.”

Just then, commotion rose from the third floor. The crowd parted as though split by an invisible blade. A line of black-clad attendants swept in, forcing a wide passage. Silver bells chimed in the air.

“It’s Lady Mingzhu!” Su Yue gasped.

Indeed, first came rows of maids carrying censers and paper lanterns. Behind them, a figure in silken robes stepped forward. Her towering coiffure was adorned with a string of Eastern pearls; her brocade swayed with her every move, making her seem taller, sharper, more unapproachable.

“Pfft! That’s it? She’s ordinary! Not half as beautiful as my mother,” Su Yue scoffed, sticking out her tongue at the distant figure. Then she nudged me. “Sister, look—don’t you think she’s plain too?”

I turned my gaze back.

By now, Lady Mingzhu had ascended to the fourth floor. The sound of jewelry clinked as she climbed the spiral stairs. And then I saw her face.

Brows like distant hills. Eyes like clear springs. A small nose, and lips curved into an eternal half-smile, rosy as if stained by camellias. Lips I remembered well—soft, warm, brushing mine in a farewell kiss years ago.

Xingyue.

The regal Lady Mingzhu was none other than my first love: Xingyue.

The memories struck like lightning.

I had met her on the mountain where I trained, at fifteen. She was ragged, wounded, and fleeing pursuers. I hid her in a forgotten cave, sheltered her for three months. Master was away on travels, and no one knew. During that time, I fell in love. She was the first girl I had ever met, and the only one who turned my world upside down.

She never stopped speaking of vengeance. “I will return,” she would whisper through gritted teeth. “I will reclaim my kingdom.”

Only then did I learn she had been a princess, betrayed and dethroned. I wanted to help, but I was powerless—a despised child, even to my own parents.

When her wounds healed, she told me, “Su Qi, I must go back.”

“Back? Where?”

“To my country.”

I pleaded, “Stay here! Your father and mother are gone. You can’t defeat him. If you go, you’ll die—”

“Even if I die, I will return,” she said, eyes blazing. “I am a princess. If I must die, I will die on my land. Don’t follow me. Don’t waste your life. Su Qi, thank you for your care. I have nothing else to give you.”

Then she kissed me. My first kiss. My first love.

And now, there she was—reborn as Lady Mingzhu, dazzling and untouchable.

I could not breathe. Sweat soaked my back. Su Yue pressed a cool hand to my forehead. “Sister, are you ill? You’re drenched! Is the fever still lingering?” She guided me to a seat, poured tea into trembling hands I could barely control.

Meanwhile, Xingyue—no, Lady Mingzhu—entered the upper chamber reserved for honored guests. Soon, a line of hopeful petitioners queued before her with their censers, only to leave disappointed, their faces fallen. The festival had reached its peak, but I wished only to escape.

“I don’t feel well,” I murmured, clutching my stomach. “I should return.”

“Stomach trouble? Or…” She stopped, eyes widening. Then she patted my arm with knowing sympathy. “Ah, I get it. That time of month. No wonder you’re pale. Poor thing—go rest.”

“What?!” I almost choked on my tea. But at least she didn’t press me further.

The front exits were barred by Lady Mingzhu’s guards, so we slipped toward a narrow back stairwell, steep as a ladder. As we descended, Su Yue suddenly shrieked: “Prince of Western Jin!”

“What?” I froze.

Two men approached—one in white, twirling a fan; the other in black, swinging a wine jug. They strolled with the lazy confidence of those who feared nothing.

I rubbed my eyes. Gongsun Bai and Gongsun Yanshu. Of course.

Su Yue bolted forward, waving excitedly at Gongsun Yanshu, chattering like a sparrow. Only then did I recall her earlier quarrel about beauty. So it was Yanshu she had argued with. He smiled at her indulgently. Though only twenty-four, the word that came to mind was “paternal”—his gaze was that gentle.

I shrank back, dread curling in my gut. Both men were sharper than they appeared, and if they recognized me…

I seized a brush and paper, scrawling a note to slip away quietly. But before I could vanish, Su Yue pointed straight at me. Yanshu and Bai both turned.

Damn. Spotted.

I shoved into the crowd, heart hammering, desperate to flee. I barreled into someone, muttered a breathless apology, and pressed on. “Sister!” Su Yue’s voice chased me. “Wrong way!”

At the stairwell two guards crossed their arms, blocking me. I spun—too late. Only twenty paces away, Su Yue advanced, flanked by the two men.

A tug at my waist yanked me backward. “Forgive her,” a low voice murmured in my ear. “My friend knows no manners.”

It was Gongsun Bai. His hand lingered at my waist as he smiled thinly. “Running away? Didn’t you hear Su Yue calling after you?”

Behind him came the scent of wine. Yanshu and Su Yue caught up.

“Sister, why’d you bolt like that? I nearly died chasing you!” Su Yue panted.

Yanshu tilted his jug, took a long drink, then looked me over with casual amusement. “Honestly, all this talk about beauty—Lady Mingzhu, Lady Qinglun—it’s pointless. Neither compares to the young lady before us.” He tipped his head at me. “So this is the ‘beautiful sister’ Su Yue has been bragging about. I thought she was exaggerating. Seems not.” He smirked at Bai. “Well, old Bai, how long do you plan to keep your hand there? Shameless.”

Bai glanced down at me, his hand still at my waist. Then he gave a faint squeeze. “Too heavy. My arm’s numb.” Only then did he let go.

“You’re awful!” Su Yue cried. “How dare you call her fat?”

“…”

And so, trapped, I had no choice but to sit with them in a private chamber.

Su Yue frowned. “But I thought there was only one private room here—the one Lady Mingzhu uses. Why is there another?”

Yanshu gave a lazy laugh. “Simple deception. Privilege must appear unique. If she knew every chamber on this floor was identical, she’d feel insulted. And when Lady Mingzhu feels insulted, it’s no longer a personal matter—it becomes an affair of nations. That, my dear, is the plain truth of privilege.”

“….”

As we drank, I felt Bai’s eyes on me. Whenever I turned, he looked perfectly innocent, chewing quietly. Yet the instant I faced away, I felt his gaze again. Finally I snapped, only for him to reply coolly, “If you didn’t stare at me, how would you know I was staring at you?”

That damned logic.

Then Yanshu shifted the topic. “So, Su Yue, are you going to introduce us properly? When did your mother sprout another daughter?”

“This is Nanny Zhang’s relative,” Su Yue explained quickly. “Her surname is Zhang, and her name is Zhang Qi.”

I inclined my head. “Zhang Qi. And you two are…?”

“Gongsun Yanshu of Western Jin Palace,” he said, gesturing with his jug. Then he pointed at the other. “And this is a palace officer, Gongsun Bai.”

Bai nodded. It was the first time I’d heard his official title. Before, whenever I asked, he would shrug it off, calling himself “just a useless palace idler.”

Before we could speak further, noise erupted from Lady Mingzhu’s chamber. Yanshu excused himself to deal with it, leaving servants to bring food.

Su Yue leaned close, whispering, “But wasn’t this place built by the young heir? Why is Western Jin’s prince managing it?”

Bai sipped his tea. “Because the heir owns it, but Yanshu manages it. The heir prefers to hide, taking profits without responsibility.”

I sighed softly. “So the prince is the scapegoat. All burden, none of the reward.”

Then a thought struck me. I turned to Su Yue. “I’ve heard a rumor about this heir—that he was born witless. Drooling, slow, unfit for rule. If that’s true, how could he come up with such clever schemes?”

She blinked, bewildered. “I… don’t know.”

Bai’s hand trembled, tea spilling.

I pressed, feigning innocence. “Gongsun Bai, you’ve served in the palace for years. Surely you’ve met the heir? Is he truly as they say—bald-headed, snot-nosed, drooling over pretty girls?”

Bai’s face froze. Tea dripped from his fingers before he forced a stiff smile. “…Yes. Yes, exactly so.”