Lu Wanning drew her gaze back and looked calmly toward the high seat. The Emperor and Empress had not yet arrived, but several junior princes — still boys, barely grown — were already being led to their places by attendants. The Crown Prince and Prince Yu entered and took their spots at either side; between them lay the place for the Emperor, the Empress, and, where it should have been, the Grand Empress Dowager.
It was not long before the Emperor and Empress came in hand in hand, their bearing solemn as they took their seats at the head of the hall.
The Emperor glanced around and asked, “Has the Empress Dowager not come?”
The Empress inclined her head respectfully. “Your Majesty, it snowed early this morning. The Empress Dowager’s health is poor; she said she could not attend.”
A shadow crossed the Emperor’s brow, but he said nothing more.
Lu Wanning watched the Empress. There was a resemblance to the princess consort — perhaps five parts alike — but where the consort’s beauty read as youthful and radiant, the Empress looked worn, older at the edges, as if life had etched itself into her face more deeply than in the sister she resembled.
The Empress’s eyes swept the hall. She nodded slightly to Duke He and smiled at his family, then turned a small smile toward the princess consort. When her gaze reached Lu Wanning, Lu Wanning casually picked up a pastry and placed it in Lu Cheng’s bowl.
With the Grand Empress Dowager absent, the banquet still proceeded. The Emperor rose and made a few ornate remarks before drinking with his ministers, then sat down as music and dancing began. Officials came forward one by one to toast the Emperor and Empress, offering prayers for the dynasty.
The clatter of cups and the murmur of voices made her drowsy. Just as she was about to drift, an aged prince stood up and laughed heartily. “Your Majesty,” he said, voice loud enough to carry across the hall, “this triumph of Prince Zhennan’s return — the whole realm rejoices. I heard villagers built a shrine for him along the way, called the Zhennan Shrine. When his procession reached the city, the people poured out to the outskirts to greet him. It was something to behold.”
Lu Hongxi started, then rose quickly and bowed. “All of this is thanks to Your Majesty’s favor. I merely did my duty. The people’s praise is undeserved.”
The Emperor plucked a fruit from a platter and tossed it into his mouth with a laugh. “Nonsense. You are the bulwark of the state. Without you holding the border, the frontier would have fallen. Sit — you are like a brother to me. Such things mean nothing.”
Lu Hongxi relaxed visibly, grateful as he took his seat.
Lu Wanning hesitated, seeing the Emperor’s half-smile and recalling the ending of the book she’d read about the Lu family. Her heart beat a little faster; the Emperor’s words carried a blade of wariness beneath the flattery. Yet Lu Hongxi seemed oblivious.
She tilted her face into a guileless expression and stood, turning to the Emperor. “Imperial Uncle, what is the Zhennan Shrine for?”
The Emperor, fond of her — the Empress Dowager had doted on her, and he showed similar indulgence — did not mind her chatter. He explained patiently, “It’s a shrine built in your father’s honor. They consecrate a statue there and call it the Zhennan Shrine.”
“Like a local earth-shrine, where people pray for safety?” Lu Wanning clapped her hands and laughed. “Imperial Uncle, father and my brothers told me how miserable the people were when the wars first began — no food, no warm clothes. Now they have enough to eat and wear; is that why they had the means to build a shrine for my father?”
The Emperor paused, then laughed warmly. “Zhaoyang is right. Your father’s merits are great.”
She shook her head with a teasing tone. “No, Imperial Uncle. Father is only a general. We always say it’s the Lu family’s duty to defend the realm — we aren’t skilled at anything else but fighting. But how could the people live in peace and prosperity if Your Majesty did not govern well? They could only offer their gratitude to someone they could see, to my father. It is Your Majesty’s statesmanship that brings prosperity; the shrine is only the people’s way of showing thanks. Am I right?”
The Emperor’s face shone with pleasure. “Zhaoyang, come here.” He reached into his sleeve and took from his wrist a long string of prayer beads — a maroon mala he wore always — and placed them in her hands.
“You speak well,” he said. “Your father served the state faithfully. You, too, are a favorite in our household. These,” he added, “I give to you.”
The Empress hurried forward, biting off her words. “Your Majesty — those beads are from the Ten-Thousand Buddhas Temple. You have worn them for ten years. Zhaoyang is still so young; such a precious thing—”
The Emperor waved her away, smiling. “It’s nothing. She is Hongxi’s daughter; she is as much my child. My affection for her does not fall short of my affection for him.”
Lu Wanning had thought little of the beads at first, but the Empress’s protest made something click in her memory. In the book she’d read, the Emperor had once given this ever-present mala to Shi Aohan, saying that to see the beads was like seeing the man himself.
And now they were in her hands.
She held the beads and could hardly hide her delight. Her eyes curved into a smile as she adoredly addressed the Emperor. “Zhaoyang thanks Imperial Uncle for the gift.”
The Empress’s face showed no change; she only pressed a hand to her lips and said gently, “Childish. Sit now.”
The old prince rose again, bowing with a bright expression. “The Emperor truly favors the House of Zhennan. A stranger might even think Prince Zhennan were the Emperor’s own brother.”
Lu Wanning glanced at him with a spark of triumph. “Of course. The late Emperor once said my grandfather was like his own flesh and blood, and Imperial Uncle said the same when I was small. He used to call me his little pearl. This is the honor the Emperor bestowed on my house — not just ours, but our family’s glory.”
The Emperor shot the prince a look and nodded. “Indeed. It is I who granted it.”
She swelled with pride. “Long live the Emperor. As long as he reigns, the Lu family will remain under his protection.”
The Emperor ruffed her hair lightly. “You have a shrewd head on your shoulders.”
The old prince’s expression shifted; he hurried to smooth it over. “Yes, yes — what the Emperor and the princess say is true. I meant only to praise Prince Zhennan’s devotion. I remember when the prince returned and saw the people’s thin garments; he removed his own heavy cloaks and gave them away. The people were very grateful.”
That phrase — “devotion like a father to the people” — hung in the air with a curious double edge.
At that moment the Right Vice Minister of Revenue, who had been drinking, could not stay silent. Either naturally loose-tongued or drunk enough not to care, he snorted, “Those cloaks were paid for from the military funds. So much winter gear — the prince used it all to curry favor?”
The remark was pointed, and the Emperor’s smile cooled. He fixed the Vice Minister with a hard look, meaning unclear.
The Right Vice Minister could not sit. He lurched to his feet, stumbled, and fell to his knees, his hands pressed to the floor. “Your Majesty, spare me! I spoke foolishly — it was loose talk, too much wine. The prince is kind-hearted; I should not have spoken. The coffers are thin, we are all worried… I was muddled and spoke out of turn.”
And so the accusation settled into the hall like silt in water: an image of Prince Zhennan using government supplies to win the people’s hearts.