Chapter 50
Chapter 50: Buddhist Scion’s Matchmaking Banquet
Dawn.
At the side gate of the Heir Apparent’s residence, the sky was still a pale wash of gray.
Lin Yu Ning swept in with three little maids trailing behind her and planted herself right in front of the gate. Hands on hips, she pointed and ordered them around, all fire and force.
“You three, keep your eyes open. Take the gifts fast. Understand?”
“And don’t forget—move everything back to the General’s residence first. My birthday gifts go into my private storeroom!”
The little maids nodded so hard their buns nearly shook loose, though their eyes kept sliding toward the main road, helplessly curious.
“Look! The Qian family’s carriage!”
A gilded carriage trimmed in silver rolled in—slow, deliberate, and bright enough to hurt the eyes. When the curtain lifted, a shoe tip appeared first: embroidered silk studded with tiny pearls, the toe set with two pink tourmalines as big as longan fruit.
Qian Shuang stepped down, one hand lightly resting on her maid’s arm. A gilded footstool caught her heel. Three pairs of jade bangles chimed sweetly as they brushed together, and the most dazzling thing of all was the pure-gold jeweled collar at her throat, its pigeon-blood ruby a hard, violent red.
Her gaze swept over the plaque above the gate. Her lips curved, and somewhere in her chest, an abacus began to clatter.
Behind the Qian family carriage came three more, each as ostentatious as the last. Lanterns hung at their fronts, marked with neat characters—Zhao, Sun, Qiu.
So it was true. They really were joining forces to “raid” the untouched dungeon known as Lin Qing Xuan.
At the corner of the wall, a thin wisp of black fog drifted past, silent and scentless. No one noticed.
Inside the Drifting Cloud Hall, four noble ladies were already seated.
Qian Shuang wore red like a living flame. Her bangles chimed whenever she moved, but her attention wasn’t on the tea or sweets—her eyes kept flicking toward the doorway, clearly waiting for the true star of the day.
Zhao Lü Liu brewed tea with quiet perfection, every gesture elegant, every pause measured. Yet beneath her wide sleeve, a slender brush flew across a snow-white handkerchief, sketching quickly—greedily—as though afraid the image might slip away.
Sun Qian Qian lowered her eyes, a brush and paper laid neatly before her. On the surface she looked poised, as if practicing calligraphy with calm restraint. Inside, her heart was pounding itself hoarse.
Qiu Ru Ying held a Buddhist scripture and read with sincere focus, though every so often she couldn’t help stealing a glance at the door.
Lin Yu Jiao yanked Qiu Ru Ying closer to her side and leaned in to whisper encouragement.
“Don’t worry. My cousin will definitely come.”
Tuan Tuan, reduced to a smear of black mist, drifted among them, inspecting each face like a judge with nothing better to do.
Qian Shuang in red was beautiful, no doubt—but from head to toe she reeked of coin and calculation. Too worldly.
Zhao Lü Liu, brewing tea—please. That handkerchief in her sleeve was probably already full of the Buddhist Scion’s brows and eyes.
Tsk. Acting aloof on the surface while undressing someone eight hundred times in her mind.
Sun Qian Qian, writing—her inner drum had escalated into a whole orchestra: she didn’t want to marry a monk, didn’t want to marry a monk!
Only Qiu Ru Ying, scripture in hand, seemed straightforward. Her heart was clean. The problem was, her feelings hadn’t even sprouted yet—her head probably held nothing but ink and pages.
Tuan Tuan drifted past the other female cousins too, giving them a quick once-over, then floated back up toward the rafters with a dissatisfied snort of mist.
At the head of the room, the First Madam and the Second Madam sat side by side, smiling like foxes who’d stolen a chicken and were delighted with themselves.
The First Madam tilted her head toward Matron Zhou and murmured, voice sweet as syrup.
“Go call Xiao Man over to serve tea. Let her see with her own eyes what a true noble lady looks like.”
Matron Zhou moved fast. She wasn’t even at the gate of the Auspicious Cloud Residence before her voice reached inside.
“Miss Xiao Man! There are honored guests in the Drifting Cloud Hall today. The First Madam wants you there to help!”
Xiao Man answered at once, already understanding the shape of the trap.
She was a maid in the Heir Apparent’s residence. This was work.
The master household was the boss. Where the boss wanted her, she went. She was a brick—wherever there was a gap, she got shoved in.
In the courtyard of the Auspicious Cloud Residence, Stone muttered to his old man, frowning.
“There are plenty of maids. Why pick Xiao Man?”
Old Chen Tou sighed.
“The First Madam’s likely trying to put her in her place.”
Old Chen Po smacked Stone between the shoulders.
“When the master household makes a move, who are you two to wag your tongues? Besides, calling in this many young ladies—this is clearly a viewing for the eldest young master. They’ll come for him soon enough.”
Stone’s grin snapped into place.
“Then I’ll sneak a look too. See how pretty the young ladies from other residences are!”
“Don’t cause trouble,” Old Chen Po snapped, eyes sharp. “Look from far away. Then come back and tell us what you saw.”
Back in the Drifting Cloud Hall—
“Xiao Man is here?” the First Madam said, turning as if she’d just noticed.
She beckoned with sudden warmth, like she was greeting a beloved daughter.
“Come. Hurry. Serve tea to these young ladies.”
Xiao Man approached with her eyes lowered, kettle steady in her hands.
Before she could pour for Qian Shuang, the First Madam began introducing them with a bright, showy smile.
“This is Miss Qian, the eldest miss of the imperial merchant Qian family. Look at that red dress—so lively!”
Xiao Man’s wrist didn’t tremble. The tea flowed in a clean arc, neither rushed nor slow.
The First Madam continued, voice pitched just right to reach every ear in the room.
“This is Miss Sun, the only daughter of the Hanlin Academy Chancellor. Dignified and refined, a true talent.”
Sun Qian Qian wailed inwardly: [Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me. I really don’t want to marry a monk!]
Xiao Man shifted to pour for the next guest, but the First Madam caught her lightly by the sleeve and pointed.
“And this is Miss Zhao, the second legitimate daughter of the Minister of War. Seventeen this year, and I’ve heard her paintings are excellent!”
Zhao Lü Liu was boiling inside: [Why hasn’t the Buddhist Scion shown up? This chance is rare. If he doesn’t come soon, my handkerchief will be full before I even see him!]
Xiao Man wore the careful, blank smile of a servant. She poured, stepped back, and said nothing. That was the first lesson of service: be present—and be invisible.
“Wait, Xiao Man,” the First Madam called again. “Pour for Miss Qiu as well.”
She gestured toward Lin Yu Jiao’s side.
Xiao Man did as told.
Qiu Ru Ying, however, stared at her with sudden bright curiosity, eyes shining as though she’d discovered a new passage in a book. Xiao Man returned a small, polite smile, then retreated again.
Nearby, Wang Yao—the eldest female cousin from the First Madam’s maternal family—slid closer, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she whispered.
“Big Aunt, that’s the maid called Xiao Man from Eldest Cousin’s courtyard, right?”
The First Madam neither nodded nor shook her head. She only lifted her teacup and took a slow sip.
Wang Yao’s eyes crinkled. She understood.
Across the room, Zhao Lü Liu’s patience frayed thread by thread.