Chapter 73: The Palace Banquet of the Double Seventh Festival (3)

Because today was a special occasion, the two ladies had clearly taken great care in their appearance. Princess Yaohua was dressed in a pink palace gown, her rosy cheeks radiant with spring’s freshness, making her appear charming and sweet. In contrast, Princess Qionghua wore a pale lavender gauze dress, exuding a serene, refined air, her presence ethereal and graceful. Their jewelry was exquisite yet understated, perfectly embodying the discreet luxury of the royal family.

Compared to the two princesses, her own attire could indeed be described as “plain and humble.” Of course, she had exercised restraint and maintained all proper decorum.

Hearing Princess Yaohua’s sharp and mocking tone, Meng Yuanheng’s expression changed visibly; he was about to lose his temper right then and there, but was held back by a look from Shen Qianmo.

She thought, there’s no need to waste energy on a spoiled, willful girl who knows nothing of the world.

She offered a formal bow to the two princesses and replied calmly, “Greetings, Princess Yaohua, Princess Qionghua. Both of you are blessed with natural beauty and unparalleled grace. As for myself, I am but an ordinary woman and could never hope to compare. If I have offended in any way, I ask for your forgiveness.”

Princess Yaohua was pleased by Shen Qianmo’s words, snorting haughtily with a look of satisfaction. Confronted with Shen Qianmo’s subtle deflection, she found herself momentarily at a loss.

“Miss Shen is too modest. You are renowned in the capital for your intelligence and courage, having solved many difficult cases. How could you be considered an ordinary woman?” Princess Qionghua interjected.

This was the first time Shen Qianmo had ever heard Princess Qionghua speak. Unlike Princess Yaohua’s arrogance, Princess Qionghua seemed more amiable, a gentle smile gracing her lips—though that smile never quite reached her eyes, hinting at a calculating nature beneath her composed exterior.

After speaking, Princess Qionghua greeted Meng Yuanheng. “Greetings, Prince Xuan.”

Meng Yuanheng grabbed Shen Qianmo’s hand and snorted with a dark expression, clearly still angry. He had no patience for such arrogant, affected women—princess or not, he never spared them a second glance.

Princess Qionghua, unfazed, maintained her elegant poise and nodded politely to Feng Ze, who stood by Shen Qianmo’s side. “General Feng.”

“Feng Ze greets Your Highnesses.” Feng Ze, though not fond of mingling with the royal princesses, returned the courtesy as protocol demanded.

Shen Qianmo, however, keenly noticed a strange gleam in Princess Qionghua’s eyes when she looked at Feng Ze—a faint, unmistakable hint of admiration.

Her heart stirred. Could it be that Princess Qionghua harbored feelings for Feng Ze?

Just then, Wei Fang emerged from the inner hall to receive the guests. Spotting Princess Yaohua, Princess Qionghua, Prince Xuan, and General Wuwei, as well as the beautiful young woman holding Prince Xuan’s hand—who must be his future consort and the eldest daughter of the Shen family—he hurried forward, bowing low.

“Your humble servant greets Princess Yaohua, Princess Qionghua, Prince Xuan, General Wuwei, and Miss Shen. This way, please.”

As he ushered these distinguished guests into the inner hall, Wei Fang was filled with anxiety and trepidation.

Since the accident seven years ago that left Prince Xuan unable to walk, he had rarely appeared in public, let alone at grand banquets. Why, then, had he chosen to attend this year’s feast, the very one Wei Fang was responsible for organizing?

Was this his good fortune, or his misfortune? Wei Fang could not tell. A vague unease crept into his heart.

After all the guests had entered the hall, a woman appeared in the shadows outside, her eyes filled with venom as she glared in the direction Shen Qianmo had vanished.

Night gradually fell. The Hall of Glorious Canopies was soon aglow with lanterns, the air buzzing with lively voices. When Emperor Mingde and Empress Duanjing took their seats, and the courtiers had all paid their respects, the Qixi Palace Banquet was officially declared open amidst music and dance.

Shen Qianmo couldn’t help but inwardly sigh at the endless ceremonies of the ancients; it was pure torment. Had she known, she would have preferred lounging in the Wind Lotus Courtyard counting stars to all this bowing and scraping.

She glanced at Meng Yuanheng, who, across the way, had resumed his aloof demeanor. He alone was spared the ritual kneeling, for his crippled legs made him exempt—he simply sat in his wheelchair, watching coldly.

He wore a sour expression, a cloud of gloom about him, likely upset that he could not sit beside her.

The seating at the banquet was strictly arranged by rank, age, gender, and marital status—a detail Wei Gonggong had clearly labored over.

Shen Qianmo was seated among the unmarried ladies. On her left was Ning Hua, daughter of the Marquis of Ning; on her right, Fu Yuechan, daughter of the Minister of Rites—both strikingly beautiful.

Ning Hua was a year older than Shen Qianmo, already nineteen, and her demeanor was more composed and dignified, her features carrying a trace of heroism. Fu Yuechan, two years younger at sixteen, was clearly more lively, her bright eyes brimming with curiosity as she regarded Shen Qianmo.

“So you’re the famous Miss Shen, wise and capable, soon to be Princess Xuan?” After her inspection, Fu Yuechan asked without pretense.

Such a straightforward, sweet girl. Shen Qianmo smiled at her, replying playfully, “Indeed, my name is Shen Qianmo. But I’m afraid I’m not as omnipotent as the rumors claim. You know how tales grow in the telling—one mustn’t believe everything one hears.”

“Miss Shen is quite right,” Ning Hua interjected with a gentle smile. “Just as you saw, Yuechan, everyone says Prince Xuan is cold and indifferent to women—yet he treasures Miss Shen with utmost tenderness.”

Though her words were teasing, Ning Hua’s expression was kind, her gaze clear. Shen Qianmo sensed nothing malicious in her banter, so she returned her smile, not bothering to deny it. After all, Meng Yuanheng’s affection for her was no secret.

The Marquis of Ning had risen through military merit, and Ning Hua, as a general’s daughter, was naturally direct. Fu Yuechan was cheerful and open as well. Finding Shen Qianmo sincere, poised, and free of affectation, the two girls quickly warmed to her. Before long, the three were calling each other sisters.

“Qianmo, isn’t that your younger sister, Shen Qianxue, sitting over there? How did she get invited?” Fu Yuechan pointed to the back corner opposite them.

Shen Qianxue was here? Shen Qianmo hadn’t noticed before. Following Fu Yuechan’s gaze, she spotted her sister in the corner behind Meng Yuanheng, dressed in a pale rose blouse and lake-blue skirt, her delicate face pale as snow—a picture of pitiful beauty. Yet the glance she cast toward Shen Qianmo was filled with malice.

Shen Qianxue had always been attractive; marriage had stripped her of her youthful arrogance, replacing it with a subdued endurance, suggesting her life at the Prince of Rong’s estate was less than happy.

Seated beside her was, of course, the heir to Prince Rong, Meng Yunce. His face was equally sullen, and whenever his eyes strayed to Shen Qianmo, they were heavy with resentment.

It seemed the couple had reached an accord, both viewing Shen Qianmo as a thorn in their side, their expressions betraying their mutual animosity.

Wasn’t Meng Yunce rumored to be suffering from a severe illness? What business had he at a banquet, and why would he bring Shen Qianxue, his concubine, along?

In the Sheng Dynasty, concubines held little status and were generally not permitted at such occasions.

“Hmph,” Ning Hua sniffed disdainfully. “She schemed to steal her sister’s fiancé, only to end up a mere concubine—now she dares show her face here? Shameless. I once thought she was clever and charming, but she’s nothing but brazen.”

Back when Shen Qianxue attended noblewomen’s gatherings, Ning Hua had known her. When Meng Yunce broke his engagement with Shen Qianmo and married Shen Qianxue instead, the scandal was the talk of the capital. Linking the events, Ning Hua surmised Shen Qianxue must have been fooling around with Meng Yunce all along. Honest by nature, Ning Hua had no tolerance for such shameless conduct.

The circle of noble ladies in the capital was small; Fu Yuechan knew the story too, looking equally scornful and indignant on Shen Qianmo’s behalf.

“Exactly! The heir to Prince Rong must be blind to forsake you, Qianmo, for someone like Shen Qianxue. What was he thinking?”

Seeing their heartfelt outrage, Shen Qianmo was both touched and amused. Truly, wherever there are women, there is gossip—the axiom holds true across eras and cultures.

Noticing Shen Qianmo’s wry smile, Ning Hua worried she might be upset and tried to comfort her. “Qianmo, don’t let such people trouble you. Prince Xuan may be crippled, but he’s handsome, distinguished, and devoted to you—far superior to Meng Yunce.”

Shen Qianmo smiled unconcernedly. “I’m not bothered, but thank you both for your concern.”

In truth, she had Meng Yunce’s broken engagement to thank for her imperial betrothal to Meng Yuanheng. Without it, she would never have met this man—aloof and cold before others, but tender and protective toward her alone, a man who made her ache and care for him deeply.

At the thought, Shen Qianmo felt a surge of warmth in her heart. She couldn’t help but glance in Meng Yuanheng’s direction, just as he looked toward her. Their eyes met, and though no words were exchanged, the meaning was clear.