Chapter Twenty-Four: The Banquet

Feng Qiuji walked alone, forlorn, through the long corridors of the imperial palace. The height of summer had passed; the night breeze no longer carried heat, but instead brought a hint of early autumn’s chill. The wind brushed over the leaves outside, whispering softly, while from not far away the sounds of laughter and bright torchlight from the evening banquet drifted over intermittently.

With a sigh, Feng Qiuji admitted to herself that, at this moment, she truly missed home. Although she ate and slept well here, the absence of family left her without any sense of belonging. In truth, she had always been alone in this place. Since childhood, she had been fiercely independent and hardly relied on her parents, but now, more than ever, she longed for the familiarity and warmth of home. The palace was filled with people, yet not one of them was kin; she had no one to confide in, no one to whom she could pour out her heart.

Suddenly, someone placed a hand on her shoulder, the warmth seeping through her thin garments. “Yinghua Luo is just a child; don’t take her actions to heart. Forgive her, will you?”

Turning, Feng Qiuji found Ling Zetian standing behind her, though she hadn’t noticed his approach at all, lost as she was in her own thoughts.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“I came to see you. Ying Xuanyu and I grew up together, closer than brothers. His little sister—I ought to treat her as my own. She’s still young and doesn’t yet understand the ways of the world; I can’t be too harsh with her, so I indulge her a little.” Pausing, Ling Zetian’s lips curled in a gentle smile as he looked at Feng Qiuji. “In any case, I’ve already taken a wife, haven’t I?”

“Oh,” Feng Qiuji replied, still puzzled by his words. Was he trying to explain himself to her? She had never demanded an explanation, but now that he had offered one, she found her heart eased considerably.

“It’s about time. Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the main hall.

Stunned, Feng Qiuji allowed herself to be guided, speechless, following him as she watched his tall figure ahead. For the first time, she felt a faint sense of comfort.

When they entered the hall, the ministers were already seated. Even the Empress Dowager, who seldom left Changxin Palace, had specially dressed and arrived early. Clearly, the delegation from Fusang was not to be underestimated.

Feng Qiuji composed herself, followed Ling Zetian inside, and sat at her appointed place.

At the head of the hall sat the Emperor, with the Empress and several high-ranking concubines, as well as the Empress Dowager, seated below. The ministers filled the lower section.

“Summon the two princes of House Kimura from Fusang for audience,” rang out the sharp voice of an elderly eunuch from outside.

Stifling a yawn, Feng Qiuji wondered at her recent fatigue. Was something wrong with her health, or was it merely the lingering drowsiness of late summer?

Into the hall strode two striking young men, both clad in deep blue brocade robes and wearing jade crowns. Their presence was elegant and refined.

“Your servant, Kimura Xingye, and Kimura Xinghen, pay respects to Your Majesty.” As Fusang was a vassal state bordering Ling Dynasty, its princes addressed themselves as humble subjects, obliged to pay tribute each year.

Their voices were pleasant. Feng Qiuji, initially on the verge of dozing off, glanced up at the two princes of Fusang—and nearly fell from her seat in shock.

She recognized both men! The one who called himself Kimura Xingye was the very assassin she had saved at the Longshan palace; his companion, Kimura Xinghen, was none other than the young man she had seen in the Empress Dowager’s chambers on her wedding night, entangled with the Dowager herself. That face, she could never forget.

After their formal greetings, Kimura Xingye and Kimura Xinghen presented tributes from Fusang. Throughout, Feng Qiuji’s gaze trailed them, and they, in turn, glanced at her more than once—but with a look of complete unfamiliarity, as though they had never met her before.

Feng Qiuji also stole a glance at the Empress Dowager, only to see her sitting serenely, smiling and composed, betraying not the slightest hint of recognition of Kimura Xinghen.

Now, Feng Qiuji truly appreciated the skill with which palace people wore their masks. Their performances were flawless; had she not known otherwise, she would never have guessed at the connections among these people.

What surprised her most, however, was that the two men were brothers—and both princes! This meant that Kimura Xingye’s visit to Longshan that day surely had an ulterior motive. She resolved to discreetly investigate if anything had gone missing that day—perhaps a martial arts manual or some precious sword.

“Today, the two princes of Fusang have traveled across great distances to affirm the friendship between our nations. It is a day of great celebration. Therefore, a banquet is held in your honor,” Ling Zetian announced, breaking the uneasy silence as if sensing something amiss.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The princes expressed their gratitude and were led to their seats by two eunuchs.

“Your Majesty,” said Ying Xuanyu, rising to bow deeply, “to show our respect for the princes, my young sister Luo’er wishes to present an ink painting.”

He had no desire to make such an offer, but Yinghua Luo had insisted. He could only apologize inwardly to the young emperor.

“Granted,” Ling Zetian replied impassively. He glanced at Ying Xuanyu; he had not been warned about this, but with so many present, he could not refuse. He only hoped Yinghua Luo would not embarrass the court of Ling.

A group of elegantly dressed palace maids brought out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Then, clad in a flowing violet gown, Yinghua Luo glided to the center of the hall, her steps light and graceful, her skirt barely stirring.

Feng Qiuji found herself impressed. Despite the girl’s usual wild and brash manners, she was, after all, a lady of noble birth, able to conduct herself with poise when the occasion called for it.

With swift and deft movements, Yinghua Luo wielded her brush, her strokes clean and spirited. In no time, a serene landscape in ink appeared, fresh and delicate in its artistry.

Feng Qiuji watched in silent amazement; she had never guessed the girl possessed such skill, having thought her only interested in eating, sleeping, and play.

Little did Feng Qiuji know that children of noble families were rigorously trained from early childhood; even the most unpromising would master at least one art—be it the lute, chess, calligraphy, painting, or even martial skills.

By contrast, she felt herself lacking, unaccomplished in any of these pursuits.

“This is a view of Ling Dynasty’s rivers and mountains, presented as a gift to your esteemed country,” Yinghua Luo said, setting down her brush and stamping her seal. She smiled at the two princes.

“Miss Ying is as beautiful as she is talented. Today, seeing you in the capital, I find your reputation well deserved,” Kimura Xinghen said, admiring the painting before turning his gaze to Yinghua Luo.

“Thank you, Your Highness, for your praise.” Yinghua Luo acknowledged him with a graceful nod, then turned to Feng Qiuji with a smile. “I have heard the Empress is also well-versed in poetry, music, calligraphy, and painting. Since the princes have come such a long way, might we ask Her Majesty to display her skills for us as well?”

In an instant, every gaze in the hall shifted to Feng Qiuji.

She was momentarily stunned, still lost in her earlier reflections. Then, catching sight of Yinghua Luo’s look of mischievous delight, she realized the girl was trying to drag her into the spotlight.

Coughing softly to mask her embarrassment, Feng Qiuji managed a smile. “I am hardly as talented as Miss Ying.”

“Does that mean Your Majesty refuses to honor us?”

The hall fell silent, all eyes on her, waiting for her response.

Ling Zetian glanced at Feng Qiuji, knowing full well she was unlikely to be skilled in painting or calligraphy. He was about to intercede when, unexpectedly, she agreed, “Very well.”

He looked at her in disbelief, but before he could say anything, she continued, “Since Miss Ying has painted, I shall play the qin to add to the festivities.”

Feng Qiuji understood that Yinghua Luo bore her some resentment, but did she not realize that if Feng Qiuji were to be embarrassed today, it would not only reflect poorly on her, but also on the Ling Dynasty? Children seldom consider all the consequences. Fortunately, she had once taken an interest in the guqin and could manage a passable performance; otherwise, she truly would have been humiliated.

Catching Ling Zetian’s eye, she gave him a look of confidence. He signaled his approval with a single word.

Several eunuchs brought forth a long table and a fine qin. Feng Qiuji descended the dais, her dress trailing behind her, her slender shoulders and delicate waist accentuated by her attire. Today, she wore a bright yellow phoenix robe matching the color of Ling Zetian’s dragon robe, embroidered with red peonies and eight multicolored phoenixes, making her appear dignified and resplendent.

Seating herself gracefully, her gown pooling around her, Feng Qiuji placed her hands on the guqin and plucked a few strings. The sound was clear and pure, reminiscent of a summer breeze over a lake at night, soothing and refreshing.

Ling Zetian, watching her poised at the instrument, was secretly astonished. He had always thought her brash and uncultivated, never imagining she could produce such beautiful music. Having studied the qin from childhood, he knew that true musicians expressed their emotions through their playing. From her music, he could discern longing and tenderness, and was taken aback.

When the piece ended, Yinghua Luo, finding her attempt to embarrass Feng Qiuji thwarted, could only retreat in frustration.

Yet Feng Qiuji’s performance had transformed the opinions of Ling Zetian, Ying Xuanyu, Ling Zexin, and Kimura Xingye alike.

The banquet dragged on, dull and tedious. Feng Qiuji eyed the dainty, exquisite dishes before her, silently cursing the palace chefs—she barely got a taste before each plate was empty. She resolved to visit the imperial kitchens soon and instruct them to increase the portions next time.

When the Empress Dowager excused herself on account of ill health, the concubines soon followed. Finding the evening equally unsatisfying, Feng Qiuji seized the opportunity to leave as well.

Better to return early and enjoy a good night’s sleep!

Still, she needed to investigate the true purpose behind Kimura Xingye and Kimura Xinghen’s visit, even if it was none of her business.

---A side note: Kimura Xingye… that name is entirely Japanese in flavor, ha.