Ji Ping’an discreetly cast another gnce toward Zhou Pingping, the daughter of Chengping Marquis.

  Decked in jewels and funting her wealth, she certainly appeared extravagant—but not to the point of breaching aristocratic norms. Still, it was clear she hadn’t yet fully mastered the intricate etiquette expected of noble dies.

  Song Zhishu sniffed disdainfully. “After Chen Luoyan married, the fortune-teller’s prediction came true—two sons in three years, and Zhou Pingping in the fourth. It went straight to her head. She looks down on everyone now, even cims that women who only give birth to daughters are barren stars and bring misfortune. Honestly, the whole capital ughs at her.”

  She chuckled, then leaned in as if relishing a juicy tale. “You won’t believe this—but one day her nonsense reached the ears of Lord Fengzhi. You know how principled he is—famous for being upright and blunt, a man who once defied a marriage decree from the te emperor just to stay loyal to his wife. His wife only bore him two daughters, and he dotes on her like she’s the moon in his sky. So when he heard Chen Luoyan call women who only bear daughters unlucky, he composed a poem calling her a pig—nothing but an eating, sleeping pig who just happened to have sons. Naturally, she threw a huge fit. He even went to court and filed an official compint against Chengping Marquis. Chen Luoyan was livid. Honestly, a woman like that could only raise kids like Zhou Pingping. The proper daughters from good families all avoid her. Just look—do you see a single high-ranking young dy talking to her?”

  Ji Ping’an gave a polite smile but said nothing.

  Song Zhishu then gestured to another side of the garden. “Over there are the daughters of military families. The leader of their circle is Zhan Luying, the daughter of the Grand General. She was raised with weapons in hand, sword dancing, and spear training since she could walk. It’s always been that civil officials promote peace and military ones favor war. The Zhan family constantly cshes with my father’s policies—they’re always filing compints against each other. So, of course, we don’t mingle with them. As for the others, you don’t need to worry too much. They’re mostly just different in temperament or hobbies—not really in conflict with us.”

  Ji Ping’an nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Cousin Zhishu, for the expnation.”

  Soon after, someone came over to chat with Song Zhishu. She introduced Ji Ping’an, and the circle of pleasantries began. Many complimented Zhishu on her elegant appearance and particurly her exquisite hairpin.

  Then Song Zhiyin strolled over. Her gaze nded on the hairpin in Zhishu’s hair, and without hesitation, she reached up and plucked it out. “Too fshy,” she said coolly. “Last time Auntie gave me something, and you didn’t. Let’s say this will make us even.”

  “But—that’s…” Song Zhishu started to protest but stopped herself. They were surrounded by familiar faces. She couldn’t admit it was borrowed. She could only grit her teeth and watch as Song Zhiyin tucked the hairpin into her sleeve.

  Just then, a maid came to announce that the Princess was arriving. Everyone quickly returned to their assigned pces to await her.

  Night had fallen. The silver glow of moonlight draped over the garden.

  The Princess emerged, surrounded by her attendants, majestic and resplendent.

  The trees rustled in the wind, and a faint, unpleasant smell drifted on the breeze.

  Everyone knew the Princess was ill. No one dared so much as wrinkle their nose. They all lowered their heads, holding their breath, careful not to show any sign of offense.

  The Princess took her seat at the head. “Every year you all put so much effort into making me happy on my birthday. This kindness touches me deeply. Be at ease—sit, no need for formality.”

  Despite her words, all present knew that the Princess, while noble and dignified, had become hypersensitive since her illness. No one dared be casual. Each one knelt, offered their thanks, and only then did they sit.

  Ji Ping’an sat behind Song Zhiyin and Song Zhishu, too far away to see much of the Princess.

  From what little she could see, the Princess’s face had likely been powdered—her complexion looked better. But as she raised her wine cup, her sleeve slipped, revealing an arm that was painfully thin, mottled with faint bruises.

  Earlier, her gait had been unsteady. If not for the attendants holding her, she might not have made it to her seat.

  She cked vital energy. Her abdomen was distended. When she spoke, foul breath emerged from her mouth, and when she breathed, it also seeped from her nose.

  This didn’t seem like a single illness.

  Because the Princess remained seated, Ji Ping’an couldn’t observe her lower half. Her eyes moved upward instead—to the hairpin?

  The Grand Princess wore a gold hairpin inid with rubies, designed with a peacock motif, and decorated with red coral accents. It looked remarkably simir to the one Song Zhishu had borrowed from her today.

  Ji Ping’an turned to look at Song Zhishu, who had clearly noticed too. Her face had gone pale.

  Song Zhishu leaned toward Song Zhiyin and whispered, “Did you know ahead of time?”

  Song Zhiyin replied nonchantly, “Oh, I just overheard the Minister of Revenue’s daughter mention that the Princess had a new favorite hairpin. She described it briefly. I took yours because I felt like it, not because of her.”

  “I’m not so full of myself to think you’d go that far for me,” Song Zhishu bit back. “No need to humiliate me with words.”

  She let out a cold snort and said no more.

  Just wait—once the gift she had spent a year preparing was revealed, she would surely amaze the crowd.

  Ji Ping’an, meanwhile, couldn’t help but think of the twin girls who lived next door to her old house. Those six-year-olds once brawled over a single bottle of soda—but if anyone else dared to bully either one, the other would bite their attacker without hesitation.

  Funny how Song Zhiyin and Song Zhishu, born just minutes apart, were the same way. Technically half-sisters, but they might as well be twins. In fact, Song Zhishu resembled Madam Song more than Zhiyin did.

  —

  After the music and dancing came acrobatics, and then a py.

  Toward the end of the banquet, Zhou Pingping—the daughter of the Marquis of Chengping—stood up and said she’d heard many had brought interesting gifts and would love to see them.

  This was a customary moment at these gatherings, and the Princess did not refuse.

  Zhou Pingping’s gift was presented first—a red coral ornament. Elegant, but nothing particurly impressive.

  Several others followed—paintings, calligraphy, jewelry, the usual parade of noble refinement.

  Finally, the gift from the Song family was presented.

  The moment Song Zhishu saw her gift box brought forward, she couldn’t help leaning forward in excitement.

  Song Zhiyin sneered, “What rare treasure did you prepare? Just look at you—so undignified.”

  Song Zhishu gred at her. “Mind your own business.”

  The servant opened the box and slowly unfurled the embroidered painting. One by one, exquisite peonies in full bloom, vivid and grand, appeared before everyone’s eyes.

  A wave of admiration swept through the crowd.

  “Heavens, what exquisite embroidery!”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think these peonies were freshly picked.”

  “Looks like Prince Consort’s National Beauty and Heavenly Fragrance.”

  “It is! I didn’t catch it earlier, but now I see—it’s the Prince Consort’s painting!”

  As the embroidery unfolded, a rare smile lit up the princess’s face.

  Ever since the Prince Consort passed away and her illness began, she hadn’t smiled so brightly in a very long time.

  Then the servant unfurled the final inch of the scroll—

  Clink.

  A sachet fell to the ground.

  In that instant, the entire garden fell silent as death.

  Everyone knew of the Princess’s affliction, and how she loathed even the faintest trace of disgust from others. Scented sachets or incense were absolutely forbidden in her presence.

  Everyone fell to their knees.

  Ji Ping’an followed suit and knelt.

  Song Zhishu trembled all over. She couldn’t even breathe.

  “Pick it up,” the Princess said coldly, her voice freezing the blood of everyone present.

  The servant, hands shaking, retrieved the sachet and presented it.

  There was even an embroidered character “Longevity” on the sachet—clearly meant as a birthday gift for the Princess.

  “Whose is it?” The Princess’s sharp voice was like a bde suspended overhead.

  Song Zhishu broke out in a cold sweat. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her throat felt as if it were being strangled.

  The steward quickly brought over the registration ledger and compared the sticker on the box. “Your Highness, the bel reads ‘Third Song’—that is, the Song family’s cousin, Ji Ping’an.”

  Song Zhishu’s head snapped up in terror and disbelief.

  Third Song.

  First Song was her elder sister, Song Zhiyin.

  Second Song was herself.

  So, Third Song naturally referred to their little cousin.

  But… this was her carefully prepared gift. How could it now bear someone else’s name?

  “Ji Ping’an?”

  The Princess’s chilling voice rang out in the silent garden like a summons from the underworld.

  Ji Ping’an’s face turned pale. She’d just come along as a bystander, and now she was somehow the biggest scapegoat of the entire event.

  Now that the Princess had spoken, answering was death, not answering was also death.

  Ji Ping’an stepped forward and knelt, bowing her head. “Replying to Your Highness, this common girl is present.”

  “How dare you, Ji Ping’an,” came a sharp rebuke from the side. The voice belonged to Xu Keqing, daughter of the Grand Councilor. “To insult the Princess at her birthday banquet—such impudence!”

  Ji Ping’an remained calm and asked, “May I ask this young dy to crify—how exactly did I insult Her Highness? The truth has not yet been investigated, and Her Highness has not issued judgment, yet you speak ahead of her. Is that not, in fact, a greater offense to the Princess?”

  “You—!”

  Xu Keqing turned to the Princess in horror. “Your Highness, this daughter of a minister absolutely did not mean to overstep.”

  Bang!

  The Princess smmed her hand on the table.

  Her sickly face, usually pale, was now flushed with rage—she looked healthier in fury than she ever had in illness.

  Ji Ping’an lowered her head, daring not to speak another word.

  Song Zhishu took a deep breath and thought to herself, If I die, then so be it. She was just about to stand and admit guilt—

  But Song Zhiyin grabbed her wrist tightly and hissed, “What’s the use in confessing now?”

  Song Zhishu whispered, “But I—”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Song Zhiyin’s voice was sharp and low. “This is obviously a setup. Do you think the Princess, with her intelligence, can’t see that? She’s angry. She needs someone to vent on. Whether that scroll is yours or our cousin’s, this incident shows that the Song family brought its private matters into the Princess’s birthday. It’s an insult.”

  “Even if you confess, Ji Ping’an is already implicated. She won’t get away unscathed. And if you confess, you’ll go down with her.”

  “The only way out now is to find the person who set this up—and let the Princess vent her anger on them. Only then might she show mercy.”