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The Residence for Selected Ladies
The Chuxiu Pavilion.
Tomorrow was the grand day when the selected ladies would meet the Emperor and the noblewomen of the various palaces. To ensure they presented their best energy and spirit, and to wash away the dullness and exhaustion from a month of continuous training, Matron Fang granted a one-day reprieve to the fifty remaining candidates.
Even with a day off, the ladies were restricted to strolling within the Chuxiu Pavilion and were forbidden from making noise or causing disturbances.
The most magnificent structures in the imperial city were the Three Great Halls, while the Chuxiu Pavilion occupied only a small corner of the Western Palace. It was a square-shaped courtyard with an open area in the center for the ladies to practice their steps and posture. Along the eaves of the main hall and the east and west wing rooms were narrow flower beds planted with peonies, a common sight in the palace.
In late March, some peonies were already blooming, while others remained as tightly wrapped green buds, round and firm, as if reluctant to yield to the not-yet-warm breezes.
Yao Huang shared the southern chamber of the west wing with four other selected ladies.
At such a tender and delicate age, the young women all cherished cleanliness, yet five people in one room still felt a bit stifling after a night’s rest.
Yao Huang, the last to rise, dressed herself and noticed only one other lady still in the room, brushing her hair. She hesitated before asking, “Mind if I open the window?”
Chen Ying smiled at the mirror as she inserted a jade hairpin, saying, “Go ahead. The water in the kettle is probably cool now; you’d better freshen up quickly.”
Each morning, palace maids brought a large kettle of hot water for the five ladies to share as they saw fit.
The ladies who had made it this far in the selection process were well aware of the importance of temperament and virtue. They would never quarrel over such minor matters as sharing water. In fact, they got along better than siblings born of the same mother.
Yao Huang lifted the closed window panels, and the bright spring sunlight immediately poured in, making her lower her eyes against the glare while warming her face with its gentle glow.
Near the flower bed under the eaves stood a row of seven or eight beauties. Drawn by the sound of the opening window, they all looked up simultaneously.
Inside the room, Yao Huang stood with her long hair disheveled, draped loosely over her shoulders—a picture of someone who had just woken up.
Getting up early was considered a fundamental virtue for the daughters of officials—self-discipline was expected even during a day off, especially in the imperial palace.
As their gazes met, a few of the ladies exchanged knowing looks, their silent disdain for Yao Huang evident.
Yet, others were captivated by her rosy complexion, her soft and languid charm upon waking, and momentarily forgot to criticize her late rising.
After all, in the Chuxiu Pavilion, a gathering place for beauties of all kinds, Yao Huang had already made a name for herself. Her memorable peony-inspired name and her curvaceous, delicate figure had made her one of the most recognizable among them.
Having shared meals and quarters for a month, Yao Huang recognized each of the ladies in the group. She smiled at them, then fastened the window latch and turned back to sit on the edge of the kang bed, slipping on her shoes. The lower window panels naturally blocked the view from outside.
Chen Ying turned away from her dressing table and, watching Yao Huang calmly pour water from the kettle with the ease of someone in her own home, couldn’t help but whisper, “Aren’t you afraid that Matron Fang is only pretending to give us a break and is secretly observing our every move? At this stage, being sent out of the palace over something trivial like this wouldn’t be worth it.”
Yao Huang sighed. “If only it were that simple.”
The imperial selection was an unexpected announcement from the palace last year. For officials far from the capital, there might have been a chance to quickly arrange marriages for their daughters before the court decree arrived. But the Yao family, living in the capital and lacking connections to high-ranking officials, only learned of it when every capital official received formal notice. Moreover, the decree explicitly prohibited officials from marrying off their daughters before the initial selection was complete.
Yao Huang, well-known for her beauty among the neighborhood, was inevitably entered into the preliminary round.
The matrons and imperial physicians overseeing the selection process were known for their sharp eyes—feigning illness or disguising one’s appearance was out of the question. Intentionally making major mistakes wasn’t wise either: it would tarnish her reputation and bring ridicule upon her parents for their supposed failure to raise her properly.
Thus, Yao Huang entered the palace alone, too intimidated to stir up trouble in such a strict environment. During the month-long training and character evaluation, she racked her brains and attempted three minor acts of defiance—enough to hint at unsuitability for the role of a princess or consort while maintaining an unblemished record of propriety.
The first time, Yao Huang boldly told Matron Fang that one bowl of rice wasn’t enough for her and requested an additional bowl for each meal.
Among the 300 ladies initially retained in the palace, she was the only one who dared to ask for more food.
Yao Huang still remembered the soft chuckles from the other girls around her. To her surprise, Matron Fang simply gave her a once-over from head to toe and actually agreed!
The second time, feeling restless from the confinement-like atmosphere, Yao Huang decided to vent her frustration by practicing boxing in the courtyard.
Her father, a martial man skilled in swordsmanship and spear techniques, often taught her older brother. Yao Huang, being naturally energetic, would tag along and had even managed to learn the basics with decent form. Unfortunately, the Chuxiu Pavilion had neither swords nor staffs, so she could only perform empty-handed routines.
Her impromptu display startled the other selected ladies, and a palace maid immediately reported the matter to Matron Fang.
Matron Fang arrived promptly. “What are you doing?” she asked sternly.
Yao Huang put on an innocent face and said, “I think I’ve put on some weight recently. I need to work out a bit to slim down.”
Matron Fang glanced at her figure and nodded approvingly. “Your current shape is just right. It wouldn’t be good to gain more. However, practicing boxing might accidentally injure others, so let’s reduce a bowl of rice instead.”
Yao Huang: “…”
For other selected ladies, even the slightest deviation from Matron Fang’s expectations resulted in immediate dismissal from the palace, with no opportunity for explanation or correction. Yet, when it came to her, Matron Fang was uncharacteristically lenient.
By the time the number of ladies had been reduced to one hundred, Yao Huang began waking up late, consistently being the last to arrive each day.
Matron Fang called her aside and gently remarked, “Being able to eat and sleep well is a blessing. Arriving late is fine, but under no circumstances should you be tardy. If you break even this basic rule, others may suspect that you’re deliberately disrespecting the royal family and sabotaging yourself to avoid being selected. Should this rumor reach noble ears, your entire family could be accused of disrespect.”
Matron Fang regarded Yao Huang as a promising candidate. For others, any inappropriate behavior would result in swift expulsion from the palace without hesitation. But when it came to Yao Huang, Matron Fang was willing to make exceptions.
Still, Matron Fang didn’t want to invite criticism. Getting Yao Huang to behave and follow the rules was the simplest way to avoid trouble.
Understanding the underlying meaning of Matron Fang’s words, Yao Huang abandoned all thoughts of using minor transgressions as a way to leave the palace.
In the Chuxiu Pavilion, the selected ladies lived under constant scrutiny—from Matron Fang, the palace attendants, and even each other. A seemingly insignificant gesture or an offhand remark could become the very reason they were dismissed, severing their chance at wealth and status.
Thus, the ladies carried a constant weight of caution in every conversation. When introducing themselves, they strove to appear modest; when discussing others, they only spoke in flattering terms.
Yao Huang, however, had little interest in those repetitive and insincere exchanges. Most of the time, she preferred to stay in her room alone, only going out to stretch her legs in the courtyard when she grew tired of sitting. The only lady she was somewhat close to was Chen Ying.
Chen Ying, the daughter of a county magistrate from a small town in the southwest, was reserved and shy. When she first shared a room with Yao Huang, she didn’t dare approach her proactively. But somehow, after seeing Yao Huang ask for extra food and sleep in late, Chen Ying felt that Yao Huang was approachable. From time to time, she would sidle up to her to share a few heartfelt thoughts, whether it was homesickness or worries about the future.
That evening, after dinner, the ladies returned to their rooms one by one. Yao Huang stayed in the courtyard, walking laps to aid digestion.
On her third lap, she noticed Chen Ying approaching, her face clouded with concern.
Sensing the mood, Yao Huang led them to a quiet corner of the courtyard, the least likely spot for anyone to overhear their conversation. Once Chen Ying stopped by her side, Yao Huang asked gently, “What’s the matter?”
Chen Ying spoke in a hushed voice, “I overheard someone mentioning the three princes today.”
As the daughter of a remote county magistrate, Chen Ying had never had the chance to hear about the princes before. Since arriving in the capital, the matrons had strictly forbidden the ladies from discussing noble figures. However, on this last day, a few of the more daring daughters from well-known families in the capital had casually mentioned the princes.
Yao Huang, born in the capital, although her father was only a low-ranking officer, knew a fair amount about the princes. There were many low-level military officers in the capital’s four main barracks, but living so close to the royal palace, she had heard enough to understand the general situation of a few princes.
The eldest prince, Prince Kang, was the only son of the Noble Concubine Liu. His princess passed away, and now they are looking to select a new consort for him.
The second prince, Prince Hui, was adopted by the favored Concubine Du. Known for his military achievements, he had gained fame for his battlefield prowess. Unfortunately, he had been severely injured last year, leaving him with permanently disabled legs.
The third prince, Prince Qing, was the son of Concubine Shen Rou. At twenty years old, he was said to be accomplished in both the literary and martial arts, highly favored by Emperor Yongchang.
The favored Concubine Du also had a biological son, the Fourth Prince, who was only twelve or thirteen years old and not yet of marrying age.
If you asked Yao Huang, marrying the accomplished Prince Qing, who excelled in both the martial and literary fields, would be the best option. The other two were far less appealing: one would become a stepmother, while the other had a disability, making life potentially more difficult.
However, even for the consort of a second wife or the wife of a disabled prince, most of them would likely come from prominent families. Yao Huang, with her lower status, and the other ladies from similarly humble backgrounds, were nothing more than the green leaves that framed the red flowers—either they would be eliminated or become a concubine to one of the princes. In the worst case, after the princes had selected their main and secondary wives, Emperor Yongchang, who was in his fifties, might take a liking to one of them, leaving them as low-ranking concubines in the palace.
“Yao Yao, I’m scared,” Chen Ying said, grabbing Yao Huang’s hand, her face pale.
She never imagined that of the three adult princes, two would be such undesirable choices. Becoming a primary wife was already difficult enough—let alone being a secondary wife.
Yao Huang understood that Chen Ying also wished to be eliminated from the selection and return to her familiar family, but she couldn’t offer such comfort or make any comments on the three princes. She knew better than to give advice on such matters. The only thing she could do was pat Chen Ying’s hand and softly say, “There’s no use dwelling on things you can’t control. It only gives you a headache and serves no purpose.”
Chen Ying glanced toward the door and, listening to Yao Huang’s advice, swallowed her anxious feelings.
As night fell, Yao Huang lay on the bed, hearing the restless turning of the other four ladies in the room.
She pulled the covers tighter around herself, thinking about her father, mother, and brother whom she hadn’t seen for over a month. She thought of the large bed in the west wing at home, her space alone. Sometime during her thoughts, she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, the red sun rose, its light streaming through the glazed windows.
The day that would decide the futures of the selected ladies was just an ordinary day for Emperor Yongchang.
He first attended the morning court session, then went to the imperial study to review memorials. Afterward, he held private discussions with several ministers on state matters. Once those tasks were finished, Emperor Yongchang walked over to the window, stretched his arms, and turned his waist. He glanced at the clock and asked the eunuch, Eunuch Wang, who was standing by, “Has Prince Hui entered the palace yet?”
Eunuch Wang smiled and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty. The prince arrived half an hour ago and has been in the central palace talking with the empress and the other ladies.”
Emperor Yongchang shook his head. “He was never one to engage in casual conversation, and now with his legs like that, who does he think he’s fooling? He can’t even force a smile in front of me.”
Eunuch Wang’s face showed a hint of sadness. The Emperor had not yet declared an heir, and no one knew for sure who he favored. Even if Prince Hui couldn’t become the crown prince, with his martial skills, he could still become a great general to assist the future emperor. Who would have thought, then…
Prince Hui was injured, and besides himself, Emperor Yongchang was the one who felt the most heartache.
Privately, it was natural for a father to feel sorrow for his sick child, and publicly, when a general was injured in battle while fighting the enemy, it was only right for the emperor to offer compensation.
Therefore, while other sons had their mothers select their empresses and consorts, Emperor Yongchang made a special exception for Prince Hui, granting him the right to personally choose his princess!
Even though his legs were crippled, he still needed to choose a wife to spend his life with!