Chapter 8: A Breach of Decorum Before the Throne

Beneath the table, Xie Zhiyun’s hand, hidden from view, tugged anxiously at Lu Qingqing’s sleeve.

“How did you hurt your lip? Hold yourself together, Qingqing.”

“Get lost. Don’t touch me.” Lu Qingqing yanked her sleeve away in distaste, unwilling to respond further. Her attention was drawn to the mocking tone in Shen Jin’s voice from not far away.

“I have heard that Lady Xie’s dance could topple a city. Upon my triumphant return, I did not ask His Majesty for any reward. I wonder if I might have the honor of witnessing this legendary dance.”

Shen Jin’s gaze was piercing, fixed intently on Lu Qingqing. Back then, rumors had spread of his death, his body barely cold, yet Lu Qingqing’s dance in the capital had taken the realm by storm, her fame soaring. She had nearly been sent to the palace, but by some twist of fate, she became the present Noble Consort Shen.

“I have indeed had the fortune to see Lady Xie’s dance,” the emperor said, his voice carrying across the hall. “It was nothing short of breathtaking. Since Lord Shen has made the request, I shall grant it.”

No sooner had the emperor’s words fallen than Lu Qingqing heard a chorus of scornful whispers from the gossips behind her.

The voices were loud and grating.

“They’re treating Lu Qingqing as nothing more than a dancing girl, shaming her with this performance.”

“With that tone, Shen Jin seems determined to ruin her.”

Lu Qingqing could not refuse, no matter how she wished to; she went to change into the dance attire that had been prepared long before. She thought of that fateful dance, the one that made her famous—a desperate measure, then, just as it was now. Back then, she had claimed the prize and asked the emperor for a boon.

Now, clad in crimson, she stood in the center of the hall. All eyes were drawn to her beauty; none could deny that Lu Qingqing was truly exquisite.

As the music began, Lu Qingqing swept her long sleeves into the air, her waist twisting gracefully, her entire form supple beyond belief. Though proud and willful by nature, she had been a peerless dancer since childhood.

Shen Jin’s grip on his cup grew tighter and tighter. The thought that, while he was presumed dead, she had shone so brightly gnawed at him.

She had once danced only for him. In his youth, Shen Jin had been so possessive that he wanted to keep her hidden away, forcing her to promise that she would dance for him alone.

But she had gone back on her word.

Now, watching the streak of red as she spun faster and faster, the audience held their breath. Then, in a sudden turn, Lu Qingqing lost her footing.

She plummeted from the air, crashing hard to the ground.

Gasps of horror swept the hall. Lu Qingqing had fallen badly, pain radiating through her body. For some reason, she found herself unable to move.

Her crimson dress was soon stained a deeper red as blood streamed down her leg. The emperor’s expression darkened, his voice low with anger: “Get her out of here at once!”

Lu Qingqing had faltered before the throne, yet no matter how she tried, the pain was too great for her to rise. The emperor, furious, ordered the eunuchs to carry her away.

The hall buzzed with speculation. The emperor turned to Shen Jin and remarked, “It seems Lady Xie has neglected her art these years—what a disgrace.”

“It matters not,” Shen Jin said, releasing his grip on the cup, his gaze following the figure being carried away. “I have seen it now, and it is nothing special—hardly the dance that shook the world, as the rumors claimed.”

“Indeed, it was far from miraculous.”

“Don’t be upset, Jin.” Jiang Jiuyue, seated beside him, spoke soothingly. “I have composed a new piece just for you, a battle song I crafted while following you to war.”

With a gentle smile, Jiang Jiuyue picked up the pipa she had prepared in advance. She walked gracefully to the center of the hall, her bearing dignified and poised under so many watchful eyes.

She bowed slightly, and in that instant, her entire presence seemed to transform, no longer frail and sickly.

The music was grand and stirring, evoking the thunder of the battlefield. As Shen Jin watched Jiang Jiuyue, vivid images began to rise in his mind.

Yet his heart remained restless.

When the piece ended, the audience was left spellbound by the martial melody’s power, especially those in the highest seats, left speechless by its force.

“Excellent!” the emperor declared, applauding first, a hint of unguarded ambition flashing in his gaze as he looked at Jiang Jiuyue.

“A humble offering,” Jiang Jiuyue replied, then returned to Shen Jin’s side.

“Such skill, such a composition—Miss Jiang is a rare and gifted woman indeed,” the emperor praised her openly, and the court quickly echoed his admiration.

That night, Jiang Jiuyue’s name spread throughout the city, and tales pairing her with Shen Jin multiplied.

The night deepened.

No one spared a thought for Lu Qingqing, abandoned in a remote side hall. She felt as though she were dying, the blood draining from her body, the pain so intense she could not make a sound.

Outside, the celebrations continued. She heard the music as clearly as if she were in that grand hall, but as the feast ended, no one came to find her.

Not until she was on the verge of losing consciousness did the door suddenly burst open, kicked in with violent force. Moonlight spilled over the figure who entered, making him seem carved from frost.