Why does the autumn wind mourn the painted fan?

In August, Guangling City was in full bloom, its prosperity unfolding like brocade across the land. The summer nights were brief, yet more lively and bustling than at any other time. As the Mid-Autumn Festival approached, Xu Guiyi emerged from the Duke Cheng’en’s residence, a family letter in her hand. At a glance, the script betrayed her father’s dictation with Xu Xiaoqi as the scribe. The letter reported all was well at home, that Xu Xiaoqi would soon celebrate her coming-of-age ceremony next month, and that Xu Zhuning and Xu Xiwei were already preparing for marriage.

It struck Xu Guiyi with sudden clarity—she had been in the Eastern Palace for a full year.

Lu Zhirou often remarked that after a year in the Eastern Palace, she had gained nothing but had become ever more adept at playing “Phoenix Seeks the Phoenix.” As she said this, An Ruosu glanced at the embroidery frame in her hand, Cheng Hewei stroked the small dog sleeping at her feet, and Xu Guiyi leafed through the thick account books piled on her desk.

Xiyue would always tease her in private, saying that her life as Crown Princess was truly dull. Aside from the title, she was left with nothing but a mountain of ledgers—not only did she oversee the Eastern Palace’s accounts, she also assisted the Empress with the palace finances.

As for Fu Lancheng, since his return from Jiangdong, the Censorate had finally removed his name from the “Red List.” According to Xu Chengzhen, the Chief Censor’s focus these past months had shifted to Prince An.

Xu Guiyi asked curiously, “But Prince An neither attends court nor participates in government affairs. The Emperor indulges him. On what grounds does the Chief Censor impeach him?”

Xu Chengzhen, adopting the dignified air of the Duke Cheng’en, replied, “Debauched by nature, shameless in conduct, bringing disgrace upon the royal family.”

“Could you be more specific?” Xu Guiyi pressed.

Xu Chengzhen cleared his throat heavily. “Frequenting brothels, a regular patron of pleasure houses.”

Xu Guiyi responded with a barely audible “oh,” as quiet as a mosquito’s hum, and this tepid reaction failed to satisfy the upright Xu Chengzhen.

“As a son of the royal house, isn’t this serious enough? If an official’s son were to visit a brothel, he’d be publicly reprimanded and penalized.”

Xu Guiyi’s face remained serene. “But Prince An doesn’t need achievements to validate his royal blood. Some people are born noble, destined for high status. What can anyone do about it?”

Xu Chengzhen was left speechless, but Xu Guiyi wasn’t finished. “Honestly, does the Censorate have nothing better to do? When the Crown Prince refused to marry, they accused him of defying propriety. Now Prince An dallies in brothels, and they call him wanton.”

Xu Chengzhen rose to his feet, protesting, “So you’re siding with the Crown Prince and Prince An?”

Xu Guiyi felt such arguments unworthy of debate, but since Xu Chengzhen insisted, she wouldn’t back down. “Elder brother, this isn’t about picking sides. The Censorate is supposed to draft and safeguard the laws and oversee all officials—a grave responsibility. Minor matters like Prince An’s escapades need not trouble them.”

Xu Chengzhen clearly disagreed, gesticulating in agitation. “So no one’s to hold him accountable?”

Xu Guiyi stood as well, unwilling to yield. “If anyone is to, it should be Princess An. If he spends his nights in brothels and she takes up a blade to confront him, I wouldn’t utter a word in protest.”

Xu Chengzhen fumed, “A woman storming a brothel with a blade—what of royal dignity and public decency?”

Xu Guiyi was puzzled. “But isn’t the greater impropriety the husband frequenting brothels? How is the wife at fault? Besides, if he himself cares nothing for royal dignity, why should idle officials fret over it?”

Xu Chengzhen’s face flushed red with anger. “Only petty men and women are hard to keep in line!”

Xu Guiyi fixed him with a long, steady gaze and said gently, “Elder brother, you shouldn’t let your friendship with the Chief Censor sway your judgments.”

Xu Chengzhen shouted, “Nonsense! I am not swayed by anyone!”

Xu Guiyi, now seated, smiled languidly. “Is that so? Next time, I’ll ask Second Sister in my letter.”

This startled Xu Chengzhen. “Dear sister, have mercy—don’t tell your second sister! If she finds out, I’ll be in real trouble.”

The Eastern Palace carriage rolled down Vermilion Bird Avenue. Xu Guiyi lifted the curtain and beheld a world of dazzling prosperity. Dusk had fallen, lanterns were ablaze, and the streets teemed with passersby, exuberant vendors, twinkling lights, and vibrant fabrics—an endless, dazzling array.

“Xiyue, is there a festival today?” Xu Guiyi, gazing at this lively scene so different from the secluded palace, felt a warm surge within her.

Xiyue smiled, “No festival, I suppose. It’s just that the capital is so prosperous—every day is like this.”

Indeed, with peace across the realm, what place did not flourish—how much more so the imperial capital?

As Xu Guiyi lost herself in the colorful world beyond the carriage, she suddenly felt her sleeve tugged. Turning to Xiyue, she saw her pointing toward the southeastern corner outside.

“Is that… Prince An?” Xu Guiyi was uncertain; the crowd was thick.

Xiyue, skilled in embroidery and even keener of sight, replied, “Your Highness, it is indeed Prince An, but the lady beside him doesn’t look like Princess An.”

The smile faded from Xu Guiyi’s face. She recognized the woman—Qu Anlan, eldest daughter of General Qu Zhe.

Xiyue, recognizing her as well, was astonished. “Your Highness, didn’t you just say yesterday that the Marchioness of Yongjia planned to visit General Qu’s residence after the Mid-Autumn Festival to propose a match for the heir? What’s going on?”

On the eve of her seventeenth birthday, Qu Anlan received a letter inviting her to meet by the Weishui River. At a glance, she knew the handwriting.

Beneath the starry sky, Qu Anlan saw a figure bent by the riverside, apparently trying to retrieve something with both hands. As she approached, she realized he was trying to free flower lanterns entangled in water weeds, but for fear of breaking the stems, he was handling them so gingerly that he made no progress. Qu Anlan watched for a while, then, unable to bear it, stepped forward to help. She quickly separated the weeds from the lanterns, leaving him looking puzzled as she smiled in silence.

He took no offense, his lips curving as he said in a clear voice, “You’re here.”

She looked at his striking face, still breathtakingly handsome, and smiled, “You simply arrived too early.”

“Is that a fault as well? Very well, punish me as you see fit,” he replied, bowing slightly in mock apology.

“Your Highness Prince An, you are ever the jester,” Qu Anlan remarked, then rose and looked out at the river, aglow with floating lanterns, dazzling the eye.

They walked with the throng along the streets, by the river, past flower halls and wine shops—countless revelers lighting their way, raising cups in merriment. The flower market shone as bright as day; moon and lanterns mirrored their brilliance. In front of Yanshe Tower, the city was as splendid as ever.

They stood quietly amid the crowd, gazing upward.

Before long, a waiter from within the tower came out to greet them. The reason was simple: Fu Jingchu’s looks were exceptional, his bearing even more so. Dressed in casual moon-white brocade, he stood out even in repose, radiating a brilliance that drew every gaze. In Fu Jingchu’s presence, Qu Anlan’s heart could find no calm.

She looked to the liveliest part of the crowd, where merchants had built a platform to auction musical instruments. With a festival approaching, many young men would generously bid for the instruments to win favor with their beloveds. Even if they couldn’t play, these were prized for their beauty.

Soon, a young lord won a fine guqin for the maiden at his side, to the cheers of the crowd. Fu Jingchu and Qu Anlan merely smiled.

Years ago, such a scene had played out once before.

Qu Anlan had been only thirteen then, bold from a young age, and had sneaked out with her second brother to join the festivities at Qixi. At the foot of Yanshe Tower, dazzled by the array of instruments, she had unexpectedly bumped into Fu Jingchu and a group of young nobles.

The sons of Guangling’s great families were a small circle; all knew each other. But it was the first time they saw such a daring young girl, and they teased, “Qu Er, hiding such a pretty little sister, you’ve been keeping secrets!”

In truth, at thirteen, a girl’s features had barely formed—such talk was mere banter among the idle sons of nobility.

After jesting with Qu Er, they turned to Fu Jingchu, saying that with a young lady present, if she fancied an instrument, it would be up to His Highness Prince An to win it for her. Only then did Qu Anlan realize the strikingly handsome youth beside her brother was the emperor’s own nephew.

But she was truly fearless; in front of everyone, she selected a rare and beautiful guqin.

Holding the instrument, she looked to Fu Jingchu with clear, bright eyes, while all the young men watched to see if he would humble himself to win the prize.

What followed became the talk of the capital: on that Qixi night, a youth in white matched the famed qin maiden Xianle of Yanshe Tower in a duet. Though neither prevailed, in the end, Qu Anlan returned home with the guqin.

If that first Qixi was a chance encounter, their second meeting convinced her that their bond ran deeper.

The following early spring, she had contracted a chill that turned to lung sickness, and the physicians gave little hope. Her family sent her to Xinghua Temple outside the city to recuperate. In those long, lonely days—when she coughed until she wept and the taste of bitter medicine dulled all her senses—Fu Jingchu appeared.

He explained that his birth mother was buried at Xinghua Temple, and every spring he came to pay respects.

Perched atop Fenghua Mountain, known as the pinnacle of Guangling, Xinghua Temple was shrouded in mist and crowned with jade peaks. In the tranquil mountain days, they talked idly; he spoke of his travels and the customs of distant lands, and recounted youthful follies with a gentle humor. The Qu family, being military, raised their daughters to wield weapons, not books—classics were strangers to them.

But Fu Jingchu was different—well-read, widely traveled. The dry words of books came alive in his telling: vivid, tender, expansive, magnificent.

From then on, Qu Anlan realized that the thousand landscapes described in books paled beside the splendor of the world as he had seen it. She remembered how he described the gentle beauty of the Huai River in spring, the sky and water merging, flocks of swallows returning, the golden sunrise painting every atom of dust with color. In that moment, the vast, distant world seemed to unfold before her eyes, inviting endless longing.

Fu Jingchu’s presence became, in those quiet days, the brightest blaze of color—setting the late peach blossoms aflame in the courtyard. Beneath the peach tree, the two of them conversed freely, untouched by any care.