Chapter 120: Prince Rui

Early next morning Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan entered the palace with Shen Qiu. They returned only in the afternoon. Wenhui restored their offices and returned the tiger tally to Shen Xin. The Shen troops once absorbed into the Imperial Guard came back under his hand. Shen Xin did not look especially glad.
Pain tempers will. In Xiaochun's harsh conditions he had turned scattered Luo sand into a sharp force. He seemed more unshakable than two years ago. Wenhui's slap-and-sweet-date policy drew little show from him.
Soon after Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan went in, the Shen mansion sent men to Shen Miao—inviting her to visit. Shen Miao ignored them; servants treated them as air. The Shen messengers waited long without reply—first pleading it had all been misunderstanding, later cursing Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan heartless, unfilial. Luo Ling frowned repeatedly. Luo Tan, impulsive, rushed out and cursed the Shen people. Raised in Xiaochun brawling with girls, her tongue was vicious—she repeated every ugly face the Shen house had shown when they fell. The Shen men flushed, could not bear the townsfolk's stares, and fled tails between legs.
When Shen Xin returned, Shen Miao told him. He was silent a moment, then ordered Mo Qing to post more guards at the gate—no face spared, iron-blooded. That suited Luo Tan; she clapped in delight.
At supper Luo Xueyan said: "Tribute is in three days—we all enter palace. This afternoon send tailors for new clothes, especially Tan'er and Jiaojiao. Two years away—we don't know current styles and fabrics. Can't be behind." She looked at Shen Miao with satisfaction. Two years ago they still called her the rough block; now she had remade herself—delicate beauty plus bearing that might eclipse a princess.
"Into palace!" Luo Tan was excited. "We'll see palace folk—and Qin and Liang people? I hear Qin folk are tall and Liang royals are beautiful. How many will we see?"
Luo Xueyan laughed. "Our Ming Qi people are fine too. If you fancy some young master at the feast, Aunt and Uncle will inquire."
Hearing her own marriage, Luo Tan was not shy. "I'm not urgent—Little Cousin should think seriously. Those Xiaochun boys she disdained—Ding has many noble sons. If she fancies one, she must consider herself first." She teased Shen Miao with a grin.
Shen Miao glanced at her, said nothing. Beside them Luo Ling's chopsticks paused, gaze uncertain.
In the afternoon tailors came as promised. Wenhui had rewarded Shen Xin richly on that first audience. Several bolts of fine cloth suited new gowns. Deep autumn—Luo Xueyan ordered several dresses each for the girls, winter coats too, and sent fine jewelry—intent to dress them bright for the occasion.
Not mere vanity—tribute was great affairs. Ming Qi must show Qin and Liang its richest face. Officials brought wives and children in splendor or shame the realm—sinners before the world.
Luo Ling would attend too. Shen Xin planned a post in the Ministry of War for him—to train his ability. Before that, introduce colleagues so he would have backing later.
In those three waiting days Shen Miao heard Jingzhe and Guyu's reports on three years of capital news—as pastime. She was surprised: Fengxian pawnshop had closed soon after Shen Xin left Xiaochun, reason unknown; it had reopened lately—the manager returned from a long journey not long ago.
Feng Anning sent a letter—she meant to visit but would see Shen Miao at the tribute feast anyway. Su Minglang also sent an invitation—crooked childish hand, smuggled by his little servant behind his family's back—made Shen Miao laugh and cry.
She accompanied Luo Tan through wine houses in play. Three days passed to tribute morning.
Ming Qi's centennial tribute was a dynasty event. At dawn bells and drums sounded on South Mountain.
Streets buzzed with talk—but by imperial law common folk could not enter. They listened outside the walls to sound and stir, envying officials whose kin could attend; greater rank meant the feast itself.
Watching wealth and splendor gave an illusion of peace everlasting. Folk are simple—they see only now and think Ming Qi might rule generation after generation. Few see clearly: foreign foes uncowed, inner trouble growing—storm under a painted face. No true rest.
Shen Xin's carriage stopped at the palace gate. Prepared palace servants led them in. Luo Tan stared everywhere; Shen Qiu pressed her head down lest she offend nobles. Luo Ling was steady—first time in palace, yet proper throughout.
At the ritual terrace officials had nearly gathered. Drum strikes, music, salute cannons skyward—grand, solemn, imperial might.
Emperor and empress sat high. Shen Miao looked up. Wenhui in dragon robes seemed as two years ago—yet on closer look he needed eunuchs to steady his walk; steps lacked old force. He had aged much.
Fu Xiuyi stood with the princes. His grace had ripened—among brothers he shone. Youngest and tallest, handsome and slender, many noble ladies stole glances. At last his light could not be hidden; his brothers surely trusted him less than at first.
Shen Miao looked toward Fu Xiuyi—but her eyes fixed behind him among ministers: a man in green, lofty and apart, ill-fitting the official crowd—more scholar than officer. Pei Lang.
Pei Lang stood near Fu Xiuyi's rear—in such a setting only deep trust would grant that place. Feeling a gaze, Fu Xiuyi turned. Shen Miao's eyes slid away without pause. He searched the crowd a moment, then looked off again.
At the guests' high seats sat a young man and woman. Deep autumn was cool; even girls in rivalry wraps wore cloaks. The girl wore thin gold gauze, heavy embroidery—work that might take a year and a half. Delicate features—but at the ritual officer's blessing she scanned the crowd with disdain, not a trace of respect.
Princess Ming'an. Beside her Qin crown prince Huangfu Hao—better than his sister, at least not so openly rude. He smiled at the rites as if sincerely glad for Ming Qi's tribute. Under such a smiling tiger one felt colder still.
Luo Tan, new to this, noticed the honored guests. She tugged a noble daughter's sleeve and whispered when none watched: "Why only Qin crown prince and princess—where is Great Liang's Prince Rui?"
The girl jumped slightly, displeased yet polite: "Prince Rui is unwell. He did not come today."
Luo Tan understood and looked at Shen Miao beside her—every word heard. "This Prince Rui has airs—insulting His Majesty." At Ming Qi's tribute, Qin and Liang came to congratulate. Absence at the rite was a public slap—yet Ming Qi dared not rage, must house and feed them well. In this world the strong rule; Ming Qi dared not cross Great Liang.
The rite lasted three full shichen—from noon's fiercest sun nearly to evening. Officials and kin could not leave. Long ordeal. Emperor and empress likewise—higher rank, more eyes, less right to show fatigue.
Even martial Luo Tan felt worn. She turned—Shen Miao stood straight, hands folded, utterly composed. Luo Tan stared. "Little Cousin—you're not tired?"
"Not tired."
Luo Tan marveled. Other ladies relaxed hidden in wide sleeves and hems. Shen Miao's earnest posture silenced advice.
Luo Tan had always known Shen Miao's bearing was rare—she could not name it, only feel she differed from Xiaochun girls. Here it seemed as if solemn majesty belonged rightly to Shen Miao, not even the empress on high. A sixteen-year-old with such presence was rare indeed.
Not only Luo Tan noticed. Some noble sons' eyes drifted to Shen Miao—too bright among weary girls. Luo Ling frowned slightly and shifted to block the bolder stares.
Luo Xueyan smiled, pleased. Shen Miao noticed nothing. Luo Tan winked at Luo Ling; his cheeks reddened; he looked away casually.
After three shichen came the feast with emperor and empress. Tomorrow night's tribute banquet would be song and dance—to show Qin and Liang how rich and strong Ming Qi was.
Shen Miao and Luo Tan had walked only a few steps toward the banquet hall when someone slapped her shoulder. She turned—a familiar face.
"Hey—I saw you early but we were too far apart. Shen Miao—long time!" Feng Anning hugged her, warm as fire.
Compared to two years ago Feng Anning was more beautiful, girlhood plain on her face. Hundred-flower bun, pomegranate-red long skirt, graceful steps. She released Shen Miao, displeased. "You see me and aren't surprised?" Without waiting she went on: "Never mind—that's your temper—I forgive you. But—" she looked her up and down—"two years—how did you get so pretty? Does Xiaochun water grow people? You look like another person."
Today Luo Xueyan's maids had dressed Shen Miao carefully: violet crescent phoenix-tail skirt, floral facing jacket with great lilac blossoms, cloud-drop bun, slanting jade crabapple pin, tiny pearl ear drops. Her features were small and clear—but bearing overpowered; standing quiet she was warm and stately; eyes clear as a fawn's birth drew young men's glances again and again.
Fine face plus uncommon air—icing on the cake—hard to forget.
Luo Tan had watched curiously. Feng Anning noticed her at last. "Who's this?"
"My cousin Luo Tan. This is Miss Feng Anning."
Luo Tan and Feng Anning greeted. Both were fiery—straight and bold—they hit it off at once and chattered until Shen Miao's ears rang. At seating Feng Anning whispered to her mother and slipped to Shen Miao's table to talk freely.
At the rite they stood by rank; at the night feast seats were free. Shen Xin, newly returned, had no special circle and took an open place. Yet as Wenhui's "invited" return, colleagues dared not slight him—words all respectful.
Feng Anning whispered: "Tch—these fence-sitters. When General Shen left they never came out. Now they play intimate. Hypocrites."
Shen Miao smiled without comment. Feng Anning said: "Look—your cousin sister came too."
Shen Miao started, followed Feng Anning's finger—and met the other's eyes.
After two years—Shen Yue again.
Since Shen Yuan's affair Shen Gui's court standing had collapsed. He had climbed by flattery; after Yuan's execution officials avoided him like plague. Shen Gui had little skill—daily more wretched. He had no place here. Shen Wan's branch came.
Shen Wan seemed smooth in office now, smiling and toasting. Chen Ruoqiu beside him chatted with another madam, satisfied as two years ago—yet time had dulled her bloom. Second branch still childless; Old Madam Shen pressed third branch; Chen Ruoqiu lived under pressure to produce an heir for Shen Wan—not easy.
The stare came from Shen Yue. Shen Yue sat with Yi Peilan, Bai Wei, Jiang Xiaoxuan—eyes nailed on Shen Miao. Even at distance Shen Miao tasted hatred.
Shen Yue wore smoke-pink pleated skirt, flower-crown hair. At eighteen she looked soft and literary, pretty enough. Shen Miao's gaze paused on her wrist bracelet, then the agate silver pin in her hair—and her lips curved.
For one who loved the spotlight, still wearing two-year-old jewelry meant third-branch silver was tight. Old Madam Shen spent freely; after the split no Shen Xin subsidy—Chen Ruoqiu managing house must be hard; Shen Wan needed office gifts—little left for Shen Yue.
However proud, one still needs coin. Less silver, less pride. Shen Yue's looks could marry a matching official son and help Shen Wan—yet she remained unwed. In her past life Shen Miao had not understood, foolishly tried to find matches—later saw Shen Yue's heart was large; ordinary men would not do.
Shen Yue stared—jealousy and hate surging. Shen Miao's cloth was palace grade. Once Shen Wan earned a bolt by luck; Shen Yue wanted it for a dress—Shen Wan gave it to a superior. Two years Shen Wan's rank rose; Shen Yue's purse grew thin. She blamed the split that took Shen money—thought Shen Miao exiled to wasteland forever. Now Shen Miao returned glittering; young men looked her way. Shen Yue wished her dead.
Let her stare like knives. Shen Miao smiled faintly and turned to Luo Tan and Feng Anning—no more glance at Shen Yue.
Emperor and empress took seats. Noise lowered. Wenhui smiled and told all to enjoy with the realm.
Qin crown prince and Princess Ming'an sat. Ming'an ignored palace law, spoiled to the bone—no bow to Wenhui. His smile stiffened. Huangfu Hao was properly respectful.
Luo Tan looked around. Feng Anning asked: "What are you looking at?"
"Where's Great Liang's Prince Rui? They say Liang royals are beautiful—even Yongle is otherworldly fair. Rui is his brother—must be stunning. I want to see that beauty."
Feng Anning sniffed. "Stop. Since Rui came to Ming Qi, besides His Majesty he's never shown himself to outsiders. Even if he came today, you wouldn't see 'stunning beauty.'"
"Why? Is he ugly?"
Before the answer, a eunuch's long cry from outside: "Great Liang—Prince Rui arrives—"
Every eye snapped to the door.
A tall straight figure walked in, guards behind. He led. Purple robe embroidered with gold thread—light flowing, splendid train. Rhinoceros horn belt, white jade pendant, deerskin boots. Simple dress yet he dimmed the whole court. Yet that was not what held them.
Half a silver mask covered his face.
From forehead to nose tip, fitted to bone, lines fluid—high bridge visible. Eyes shaped like painted scrolls; one casual sweep, endless charm. Jawline fine below; lips thin, red, closed yet like silent invitation.
Silence.
This young man wore a mask yet drew souls. All stared. Silver gleamed cold—chill rose—yet eyes black and bright, seeming to hold playful smile, part flippant part indifferent—warmth or ice unclear.
A youth bright as noon, enough to hold every gaze.
He sat in the guest seat—movements elegant, proud. Beside him Huangfu Hao suddenly looked coarse; Ming'an beside him looked dazed.
Wenhui laughed loudly toward Prince Rui. "Prince—you were unwell today. Yet you came to tribute feast. Our ministers are surprised."
Prince Rui nodded to Wenhui—casual, lazy. "Mood returned. So I came."
His voice was beautiful—low, magnetic—many daughters blushed. Yet the words were rude. Ming Qi's tribute was great state ritual; in his mouth it sounded like any household banquet—come or go as whim. Truly he looked down on all.
Ming Qi ministers raged inwardly; Wenhui dared not speak—what could they do? This Prince Rui acted like Yongle—wild, yet pressing.
Wenhui indeed let it pass and told all to eat and drink—burying the matter.
Luo Tan ate pastries and whispered to Shen Miao: "This Prince Rui is bold—speaks to His Majesty like that. Not afraid of punishment?"
"What punishment," Feng Anning whispered back, vague on purpose—here in palace ears had knives. "He's Great Liang's prince. Guests are always right in Ming Qi."
"Never heard of this prince before," Luo Tan propped her chin. "Looks like a beauty. Wish I could see under the mask." She loved handsome men; her eyes stuck to him.
"Maybe an ugly monster under there," Feng Anning poured cold water. "Why wear a mask otherwise?"
"I bet he's a rare beauty of the age." Luo Tan nudged Shen Miao. "Little Cousin—you say—what kind of man is this masked Prince Rui?"
Shen Miao did not look up. "Don't know."
"Tell us," Luo Tan pressed. "Guess—which is fairer, this masked prince or the Young Marquis of Xie who once dazzled all Ding?"
Shen Miao had not expected "dazzled all Ding" for Xie Jingxing. Tea caught her throat; she coughed hard. Luo Tan and Feng Anning clapped hands over her mouth lest she breach etiquette.
The fuss drew nearby looks. Shen Miao wiped her mouth. Turning, she met a pair of eyes.
On the guest seat the masked man tilted his head—real or imagined, his gaze rested on her a moment, then slid away.
The look was very playful.