Chapter Sixty-Nine: I Serve as the Master of Ceremonies (Part Two)

Wu Youji was burning with rage. The grief of losing his wife still fresh, the wound was ripped open before all eyes—Princess Taiping was truly merciless. Yet, no matter how angry he was, it served no purpose. Circumstance was stronger than any single man, and Wu Youji admitted to himself that he lacked the courage to fight to the bitter end. If he wished to survive, he must bow his head and endure. At this thought, all his spirit deserted him; his body hunched, his face already ashen now tinged with abasement. “I am not blessed,” he murmured, “my wife died early. Though I often grieve, the road ahead is long. I cannot let myself waste away in sorrow. If the departed have spirits, they too would hope I find peace.”

Quan Ce was astonished, watching Wu Youji’s lips move as if hearing a stranger. Gathering his own thoughts and masking his face, he faded into the crowd in silence. He felt no contempt at all—truthfully, he was weaker than Wu Youji. In troubled times, one’s fate is not one’s own; all he could do was join the dance with the powerful.

“The Prince Consort’s deep devotion is known to all,” Shangguan Wan’er offered a few words of polite comfort, then covered her mouth and said quietly, “But these words may not please the Princess. You’d best rephrase them.”

Wu Youji looked at Quan Ce; the crowd, raucous in their teasing, fell silent. Someone, eager for mischief, had a servant bring over a desk, brush soaked with ink, hovering above the paper, ready to capture inspiration.

“Such feelings can only be remembered,” Quan Ce spoke, his voice light, offering just those seven words before falling silent.

Everyone waited quietly, but he remained still. Cui Rong grew impatient and stamped his foot. “First Brother, even if it’s just a line, it’s only half; finish the couplet already!”

Quan Ce shook his head. “Expressing our uncle’s feelings, a single line is enough.”

Even the composed Du Shenyan could not resist, “Assistant Minister Quan, you are too stingy! What harm in adding seven more words?” With that, others voiced their complaints, fingers pointing from all around.

But more would not do. Not a single word more. If he spoke the second half, the mood would be ruined.

Feigning profundity, Quan Ce remained aloof. Shangguan Wan’er, slightly annoyed, called from above, “You’re too pleased with yourself, First Brother. I’ll go report to the Princess. If she is displeased, how will you explain yourself?”

Quan Ce’s heart grew uneasy.

With a creak, Shangguan Wan’er emerged, rolling her eyes at him. “The Prince Consort has passed the second question. Now for the third: having lost your former wife and about to welcome a new bride, what do you say?”

Another stab to the heart, but Wu Youji felt nothing now. He patted Quan Ce’s shoulder. “Troubling you again, First Brother.”

With a sigh, Quan Ce recited offhandedly, “Helplessly, the flowers fall; yet the swallows return as if once known.”

At these words, Wu Youji covered his face with his sleeve. The crowd, now familiar with Quan Ce’s style, pressed him no further; instead, they began to chant the verse quietly, each lost in their own reverie.

Shangguan Wan’er stepped down, knees slightly bent in a graceful curtsy, and whispered, “Your words move the heart, First Brother. I am truly fortunate.”

Quan Ce turned aside to avoid her, returning the gesture respectfully. “You flatter me, Lady-in-Waiting. Your own talent is renowned across the land; you are a true mentor among scholars.”

He meant it sincerely—after all, what he recited was borrowed, not his own true skill.

Shangguan Wan’er’s expression softened further, and she turned back inside.

Before long, the painted doors of the bridal chamber swung open, and the bride—Princess Taiping herself—stepped out, moving with a slow, elegant grace. She was resplendent in red silk, her face veiled in gauze, creamy shoulders and delicate chest half revealed, her fair skin and exquisite figure a vision of beguiling beauty.

She strode directly to Quan Ce, lifted her slender hand, and gave his cheek a gentle slap. “You little rascal, siding with outsiders to tease your own aunt!”

Quan Ce beamed, steadying her. “Aunt, there are no outsiders here.”

Princess Taiping glanced at Wu Youji; their eyes met. Wu Youji, burdened with regret, could not maintain his composure and looked away, bowing low. Princess Taiping’s face was expressionless as she forced a smile, then turned and took Quan Ce’s hand, leading him out of the courtyard.

Wu Youji hurried after them. Guests crowded on both sides; wherever they passed, song, dance, and acrobatics filled the air, drums and cymbals resounding. Though lively, some guests found it strange—never had they seen a bride march out so confidently hand in hand with her attendant, while the groom followed behind.

Luckily, the customs of Tang were lenient, the imperial family more so, and the attendant was the bride’s nephew, so none dared object.

The master of ceremonies, Wu Youxu, was a short, stocky man, his face calm and pale; even in festive dress he looked anything but jubilant. Hands tucked in his sleeves, neck shrunk as if shivering, he called out the rites and guided the couple through their vows without much spirit. A true master of restraint, his few shouts managed to dampen the cheer in the entire hall.

The ceremony complete, the bride and groom were sent into the bridal chamber. Empress Wu and Emperor Ruizong returned to the palace.

The hall grew even more boisterous as guests dined and drank. Quan Ce finally breathed easy, but on turning around, nearly collided with Wu Youxu. “Master Wu, my respects.”

Wu Youxu, now serving as Junior Secretary to the Crown Prince, held a post that was all but ceremonial—Emperor Ruizong had long since ceased to govern, and the ten-year-old Crown Prince Li Chengqi had no need for an official to relay affairs. “Assistant Minister Quan, I hear your esteemed father is resting at the Zhongyue Temple on Mount Song, and you have visited as well. How are the mountains and rivers there? The people? The temples and monasteries?”

He fired off questions, clearly fascinated by the world beyond the court.

“Mount Song has unmatched natural beauty, the people are honest and simple. On Shaoshi Mountain, the spirit of Zen prevails; on Taishi Mountain, the Songyang Academy thrives with the sounds of study, and Zhongyue Temple’s Daoist halls are solemn and grand.” Quan Ce painted an exaggerated picture, which left Wu Youxu longing to see it for himself. They chatted for quite some time before parting ways.

The banquet lasted into the night before guests finally departed.

The day after the wedding, Quan Ce found an excuse to visit Mount Song—not the Zhongyue Temple, but a private villa.

When he arrived, Quan Li was just coming out. After exchanging greetings, he reported on the business arranged by Ruilei: they were to buy and hold secondhand houses in the eastern capital, Luoyang, and farmland on the city’s outskirts. “First Brother, I’ve never done this kind of business before and don’t quite understand it. Since Lady Wu arranged it, I’m sure it’s sound, but it ties up a lot of money—quite a large investment.”

“No matter. Just follow her instructions,” Quan Ce said with a secret smile. The eastern capital was about to be upgraded; hoarding land and houses now was bound to yield enormous profits. Ruilei might be the very first real estate speculator. “From now on, Quan Li, don’t refer to her as Lady Wu—call her Mistress Ruilei.”

“Yes, First Brother.” Quan Li accepted the order and withdrew.

Quan Ce went to Ruilei’s window and saw her sitting alone on the bed. After some hesitation, he entered.

“He’s married?” Ruilei’s face was expressionless. Though Quan Ce had restricted her freedom, he had not cut her off from news; she knew everything.

“Yes.”

“And you served as his attendant?”

“Yes.”

“And recited for him a host of sentimental poems?”

“Yes.”

“You’re everywhere, aren’t you? Go die!” Like a furious lioness, Ruilei grabbed a pillow and started beating him with it. At first, Quan Ce stood his ground, but as the blows began to hurt, he covered his head and fled. Ruilei chased him relentlessly; only when he managed to catch her in a tight embrace was he spared further punishment.

She struggled fiercely, but exhaustion overtook her at last, and she slumped, breathless. After a long pause, she asked, “Aren’t you afraid that, knowing all this, I might take my own life?”

“You won’t,” Quan Ce replied, cautiously releasing her and stepping back to keep his distance. “You still have Chongmin and Chongxing. Now that he’s married, you’ll only long more for freedom.”

Seeing his careful manner, Ruilei lowered her eyes, her voice plaintive. “First Brother, have mercy. Let me go, I beg you—for the sake of my two poor children.”

Her tearful pleas softened Quan Ce’s heart. Yet, thinking of her real estate ventures, he calculated that only after Empress Wu moved the capital would she see immense profits. By then, nothing could be reversed; her reappearance would do no harm. “Very well. If you amass a million in wealth, I’ll set you free.”

Ruilei’s sobs ceased instantly. On closer look, not a single tear had fallen. Her expression was complicated, but held no joy. She agreed quietly, “Rest awhile. I’ll change, and then dance for you.”