The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 15

The Qixi Festival arrived quickly.

Even before the Qiqiao Festival, the streets of Shengjing had already been bustling for days. Countless vendors took advantage of the lively atmosphere to earn as much as they could.

The Emperor also believed that such spirited festivities reflected a prosperous, peaceful realm—a sign of his good governance. So, whenever a major festival approached, the nightly curfew in the capital was not strictly enforced for three to five days.

Naturally, during these nights, the young masters and noble ladies of Shengjing wandered the streets with their maids and servants, enjoying the lively scenes. With every outing, their anticipation for the palace’s Qiqiao Banquet only grew.

Finally, the day of the banquet arrived.

Xuezhi and Aunt Tao had already prepared the outfit that Song Zhaoyan was to wear for the event. At that moment, Xuezhi and the others were helping her dress and style her hair. Pei Shen, standing alone in the hall, could only catch glimpses of Song Zhaoyan’s back as palace women bustled around her.

No one spoke—everyone focused on their duties, unless their mistress chose to speak first.

Song Zhaoyan suddenly said, her tone light and teasing,

“All the princes and princesses will be attending today’s banquet. Ninth Brother is still a prince, after all.”

Though she addressed him as a prince, the mocking undertone was unmistakable.

Hearing her speak, several perceptive palace maids immediately stepped aside so that Song Zhaoyan could see Pei Shen’s reflection in the bronze mirror.

“By all rights, you should be there too. Do you want to go?”

Pei Shen stayed silent. He understood perfectly well—if Song Zhaoyan was asking like this, it meant she didn’t want him to go. She just didn’t want to look like the bad guy now that she had “gotten smarter.”

If Pei Chengyun later asked why Pei Shen wasn’t at the banquet, Pei Shen would have to say it was his choice, not that Song Zhaoyan stopped him.

Still… not going was fine. He wasn’t familiar with the etiquette and rules in that kind of setting, nor did he know many people. He’d only feel uncomfortable if he went.

Thinking about this, Pei Shen answered without changing expression.

“The books Princess ordered me to read aren’t finished yet. I won’t go.”

“Oh my!” Song Zhaoyan exclaimed with an exaggerated surprise. “I forgot that Ninth Brother loves studying so much. But for this banquet, the Empress has made it clear—all princes and princesses must attend. If you refuse, won’t that be a slap to the Empress’s face?”

A flicker of resentment stirred in Pei Shen’s chest. He knew exactly what she was doing—trying to provoke the Empress again by using him as a tool, making it look like he was being disrespectful. And once the Empress got angry, Song Zhaoyan would swoop in with, ‘No one is allowed to bully Pei Shen, or they’re deliberately humiliating me.’

A Song Zhaoyan who had started using her brain was even more unbearable than the one who used to cause trouble without thinking.

“Enough.” Song Zhaoyan clearly found Pei Shen’s answer too dull; her interest in teasing him faded, and she simply gave the conclusion.

“I already made a reluctant promise to the Empress—said that Father is busy, and since you have no birth mother to look after you, I should share Father’s burdens by caring for my little brother. So, you must attend today’s banquet.”

Song Zhaoyan wanted to put on a show again. That was just who she was—disrespectful to others, yet obedient and sweet before the Emperor. No wonder the Emperor adored her so blindly, never suspecting what she was actually like beneath that mask.

And so, it became this: when she forbade him from going, Pei Shen felt a little curious. But now that she insisted he go, he wanted nothing more than to stay far away.

It wasn’t a rebellion. He simply knew her well. Nothing she planned was ever good. If she wanted him at the banquet, it was definitely to make him look ridiculous in public.

Pei Shen deliberately said, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of everyone?”

Zhaoyan turned to look at him, her gaze sharp and icy. “If you ‘accidentally’ embarrass me, aren’t you afraid the one guarding the imperial tomb might ‘accidentally’ lose his life?”

Threats. Bare, undisguised threats—again.

Pei Shen wanted to grind his teeth to dust, but he couldn’t utter a word in protest.

Song Zhaoyan faced her dressing table again, her tone brooking no argument. “Your clothes are ready. Xiao Fuzi—go help the Ninth Prince change.”

The eunuch who had been called stepped forward at once, back bent, and lifted his hand in a gesture asking Pei Shen to follow him out.

Xiao Fuzi led him to a side hall. There were already other young eunuchs waiting inside—new clothes laid out neatly, and even hot water prepared him to bathe.

Seeing all this, Pei Shen couldn’t help feeling bewildered. What exactly was Song Zhaoyan trying to do? Sometimes he even wondered if he had misunderstood her entirely.

Being bathed and attended to was deeply uncomfortable. He hesitated several times before finally saying he wanted to wash himself. But every time, Xiao Fuzi immediately replied that if they served him poorly and the princess found out, she would be angry.

Song Zhaoyan had gone quite some time without hitting or scolding the Chaoyang Palace servants… but who could know when her temper might flare again?

Looking at Xiao Fuzi’s terrified expression, Pei Shen could only give in. In the end, he slowly relaxed and let himself enjoy it.

The clothes she had prepared for him were extravagant—no less fine than what any favored prince might receive.

Then again, that made sense. Anything sent into Chaoyang Palace was bound to be of exquisite quality.

Pei Shen had to admit, although living in Chaoyang Palace meant being ordered around day and night, the daily food, clothing, and living conditions were far better than what he’d had in Duwei Hall.

He had even grown taller—stronger.

Looking at Xiao Fuzi in the bronze mirror as the eunuch gently dried his hair, Pei Shen once again sank into confusion.

What exactly was Song Zhaoyan trying to do? Thinking back over everything she’d done these days, she did seem intent on humiliating him—wounding his pride, trampling his dignity.

But every single outcome… had benefitted him.

Living in Chaoyang Palace.

Reading her books…

Eating her food…

He stared at his reflection. In such a short time, his appearance had changed—noticeably so. But in what way? He couldn’t put it into words.

Pei Shen couldn’t make sense of it. Even when he finally put on the ornate robes, he still didn’t understand.

His hair was already dry when a palace attendant came forward to bind it.

Soon, Song Zhaoyan will be holding her coming-of-age ceremony. And not long after that, it would be his own birthday. He wasn’t yet of the age when commoner boys tied their hair at fifteen.

But royal children usually began tying their hair at twelve to prepare for formal rites.

This year, he turned twelve.

He wondered whether anyone would actually remember his birthday—whether anyone would bother to give him a proper capping ceremony.

After the long, meticulous process of dressing him was finally finished, Pei Shen was brought before Song Zhaoyan. The moment she laid eyes on him again, her gaze brightened; she even froze mid-sip of her tea.

There’s an old saying: people rely on clothes; horses rely on saddles.

The male lead she had fattened up these past weeks, dressed like this… was now truly a handsome young man.

Song Zhaoyan made no effort at all to hide the appreciation in her gaze as it drifted over Pei Shen.

To Pei Shen, the sight was nauseating.

Throughout history, pampered princesses keeping handsome men as personal playthings were hardly rare.

Pei Shen thought that once Song Zhaoyan grew a little older—and once her infatuation with Pei Chengyun faded after enough of his cold indifference—she’d surely lose interest.

Then she would turn her attention to other handsome men, take them in as so-called “advisors” or “tutors,” all while secretly using them for her own debauchery.

Just like that disgusting Crown Prince, who kept a collection of pretty guards in the Eastern Palace.

The thought made irritation surge in Pei Shen’s eyes again. He gave a cold snort, jerked his head to the side, and clenched his teeth hard, refusing to spare Song Zhaoyan another glance.

Song Zhaoyan had no idea what she’d done to make him angry again.

She hadn’t even said anything.

How could a child so young have such a terrible temper?

Was her “villainous princess” persona not convincing enough that he dared throw attitude at her?

But Song Zhaoyan couldn’t be bothered to fuss over it for now. She withdrew her gaze and continued sipping her tea.

“It’s still early. We’ll wait a bit.” After saying that, she calmly resumed eating the pastries on the table.

When she was finally full, she dabbed her lips elegantly with a handkerchief—then deliberately raised a brow and glanced toward Pei Shen.

Pei Shen didn’t speak. He simply stepped forward out of habit and began eating the leftovers from her plate.

Watching her points double, Song Zhaoyan actually wanted to curse him for being ungrateful.

At palace banquets, no one truly ate their fill—if others saw it, they’d mock you for looking like you hadn’t eaten in eight generations.

If he didn’t eat a little beforehand, what—was he planning to faint from low bl00d sugar?

Then he’d really treat everyone to a grand display of “palace etiquette gone wrong.”

Once Pei Shen finished eating, Song Zhaoyan finally got up leisurely.

“It’s about time. Let’s go to Penglai Pavilion for the Empress’s banquet.”

________________

Inside Penglai Pavilion, the imperial consorts were already present.

The court ladies and the sons and daughters of noble families had arrived even earlier.

The only ones still missing were the hostess of the banquet—the Empress—and the famously notorious Zhaohua Princess, Song Zhaoyan.

Just as the banquet was about to begin, the Empress finally entered.

Although it was a palace banquet, the Emperor himself did not attend.

He instead sent a trusted eunuch to deliver a verbal message: first praising the Empress for organizing such a splendid event, then gifting several jars of fine wine.

It was a clear show of harmony and affection between the imperial couple—one meant to brighten the Empress’s reputation.

Hearing this, the Empress’s expression brightened with delight.

The other consorts, however, didn’t look nearly as pleased—some even appeared openly displeased.

The reason was simple: if the Emperor was still so willing to preserve the Empress’s face, it meant the Crown Prince’s position remained stable for now.

It was also a subtle reminder: any prince entertaining certain ambitions should probably give up the idea early.

Hearing all this, the princes couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy toward the Crown Prince—envy that he had such a powerful grandfather and uncle.

If not for that backing, how could someone so utterly useless keep his grip on the Eastern Palace?

A disabled Crown Prince wasn’t the scary part.

Even if he couldn’t produce an heir, they could always select one from the imperial clan.

The real fear was that once a child from the clan was chosen, everyone related to that child—except the child himself—might end up dead.

Unless, of course, the Crown Prince’s entire maternal clan was wiped out…

But Da Qi didn’t have many capable generals to spare.

If the Crown Prince’s maternal relatives were gone, the enemy nations watching from beyond the borders would surely pounce.

Would they be forced to send off another princess in a political marriage, like that poor imperial sister years ago?

These thoughts churned silently among the princes as the eunuch finished delivering the imperial message.

After receiving the decree, the Empress offered thanks, rose gracefully, and glanced toward the seat designated for Song Zhaoyan.

Still empty.

She assumed the girl would not come.

Out of sight, out of mind—if she didn’t have to deal with Song Zhaoyan, her mood naturally lifted.

Her entire demeanor brightened.

“Today is Qixi Festival,” the Empress said warmly. “I have prepared this banquet in Penglai Pavilion to celebrate and pray for skill and ingenuity alongside all the esteemed ladies present.”

Someone immediately chimed in,

“Your Majesty is the model of all women under heaven—your grace and skill are unmatched. It is we who must pray to the Weaver Girl for blessings, so that she might grant us even a fraction of your talent.”

Exaggerated or not, the flattery pleased the Empress immensely.

She lifted her chin ever so slightly, unable to hide the satisfaction that bloomed across her face.

Her eyes curved, her lips softened into a pleased smile—her whole expression unfolding like a flower warmed by a spring breeze.