Performing Before the Palace in Hall Forty-Eight

Yan’er was momentarily taken aback, unsure to whom the words were addressed. Beside her, Pin’er still knelt motionless. Yan’er thought to herself—Pin’er had served Pan Yueyang for over a year and might have already met this old general. Then surely, he must be referring to her. Composing herself, Yan’er rose with calm poise and met Pan Zhongtian’s gaze with a slight smile.

“Hmph! What a bewitching face!” Pan Zhongtian scoffed at the sight of Yan’er dressed in rose-pink—it was as if a great butterfly had fluttered into the hall.

“Yes, General, your words are quite right,” Yan’er replied, her heart already resigned to death. What was there left to fear?

“Father,” Pan Yueyang interjected, well aware of his father’s distaste for beautiful women.

“Ah, General Pan, I must say I greatly admire your son,” Emperor Jing quickly cut in, sensing the tension in the air. After all, this grand feast was but the prelude to his own plans for the treasure.

Pan Zhongtian said no more. “Rise,” he commanded.

Pin’er immediately stood and helped Yan’er return to her seat. Yan’er offered Pin’er a grateful smile. Only now did she truly understand this woman. Pin’er was not like those concubines from deep within the grand estates, forever wishing for others’ ruin. Yan’er had suffered much in such struggles herself—her second mother’s face on the day of her own marriage was proof enough. Pin’er, however, possessed her own beauty and proud solitude. She never vied nor quarreled. Even when Pan Yueyang spent every day with Yan’er, Pin’er had never once intruded. Such a woman made Yan’er look at her with new respect.

Pan Yueyang patted Yan’er’s hand, pulling her thoughts back; she sensitively withdrew her hand, knowing this would likely annoy him, yet she cared little.

“Yueyang, since today is your birthday, my third daughter has especially prepared a performance for you,” the Emperor said with a beaming smile.

“My deepest thanks to Your Majesty and to the third princess,” Pan Yueyang replied with courtesy.

Pan Zhongtian’s smile grew deeper at these words—his son truly was among the finest of men.

At that moment, the music sounded again, not the previous melodious strains but a tune of exotic flavor and mysterious melody. The gathering hushed to listen. Suddenly, a group of dancing girls rushed to the center; amidst their swirling forms, a flash of yellow quickly vanished among them. Instantly, the dancers parted, revealing a woman in pale yellow gauze, her figure veiled yet alluring. To the accompaniment of music, she appeared and began her seductive dance. Her movements were dazzling from the start—a twist, a sudden bend at the waist—her voluptuous form displayed completely before Pan Yueyang’s eyes. Yes, this dance was performed for his table alone.

When the music ceased, the audience was left wanting more, momentarily forgetting even to applaud.

“Hahaha! This is my beloved daughter—Orlan,” Emperor Jing announced, delighted to see all present admiring his daughter.

“Truly gifted and graceful,” even Pan Zhongtian could not help but praise Orlan.

Yan’er watched the crowd, wondering if their flattery was genuine. The dance was beautiful, but to call it graceful and dignified seemed a stretch.

Before the excitement faded, the hall was suddenly plunged into darkness. The guests fell silent, unsure if this was a trick. Pan Zhongtian stepped protectively before the Emperor, who only smiled serenely, showing not a hint of fear.

The center of the hall lit up, revealing a woman. Pan Zhongtian relaxed and returned to his seat.

The woman’s face was veiled in light gauze, her attire a pure blue, which could not conceal her regal bearing. With a gentle bow, she drew a flute from her back and began to play. The melody was winding and melodious, touching the hearts of all present.

When the brief tune ended, someone sighed, “Three notes of the flute, and the plum blossom’s heart is startled.”

“Haha, this is my adopted daughter—Qianxue. What do you all think? Qianxue is the apple of my eye,” Emperor Jing proclaimed, intentionally elevating Mu Qianxue’s status. She stood like a swan, chin lifted with pride.

Pan Zhongtian nodded repeatedly; he was delighted with both prospective daughters-in-law. He glanced at Pan Yueyang, his gaze full of approval.

Pan Yueyang offered only a faint smile. He understood better than anyone that tonight’s banquet was merely the beginning of his own sacrifice.

“Yueyang, both my beloved daughters have performed tonight. Are you satisfied?” the Emperor asked, sharp-eyed.

“I am unworthy. Both princesses possess beauty and talent,” Pan Yueyang replied humbly.

“Excellent, excellent. If you are pleased, then all is well. Why not have Yueyang’s two concubines perform as well? Wouldn’t that be lively?” Emperor Jing looked at the two beauties beside Pan Yueyang. Since his own daughters had performed, how could these women of low birth remain mere spectators?

Pan Yueyang said nothing. Pin’er stepped forward and bowed. “This humble maid is dull-witted. Having witnessed the princesses’ talents, I know my own are unworthy of the stage. Yet if the honored guests do not mind, I will offer a performance.” With that, a maid brought forth a guzheng.

Pin’er took the guzheng, sat directly on the floor, and began to gently pluck the strings. The soft music echoed through the hall. Her simple attire and unadorned appearance made her seem even more ethereal, as if a fairy had descended to play in the mortal world. She played an ancient myth, eyes closed, utterly absorbed.

The music was haunting, drifting to the heavens, like rain tapping on plantain leaves—distantly silent, yet near, lingering in the ear. It was as if a loved one departed, their silhouette fading, leaving only distant blessings though unable to remain together.

When the piece ended, Pin’er rose, bowed, and returned to her seat. The guests remained lost in the reverberations. Even Pan Zhongtian, stubborn as he was, could not help but admire her—such talent in so humble a concubine.

“She is truly like her music,” Emperor Jing mused, still lost in the melody, envisioning the white-clad fairy playing beneath a peach tree—so beautiful!

“Your Majesty flatters us. It was merely a humble offering,” Pan Yueyang replied modestly. Pin’er had indeed outshone the two princesses.

“Oh, but there is still another. Yueyang, you are truly fortunate—both women of astonishing beauty. The one in white is like a celestial maiden, pure and untouched by the world, while the one in red dazzles all around, beauty beyond compare.” Since Pan Yueyang had entered with his two concubines, the emperor had been surreptitiously observing them, marveling that he himself, as the emperor, did not have such women in his own harem.

“Your Majesty, I have prepared nothing,” Yan’er said coldly as she stood.

The hall fell silent at her words; every eye fixed on Yan’er. Pan Zhongtian, who already disliked this seductive woman, was further enraged by her audacity.

Emperor Jing glared at Yan’er—such disrespect to the royal family! No matter her beauty, she could not place herself above the emperor.

Seeing the emperor’s anger, Pan Yueyang quickly stood. “Your Majesty, this humble maid is several months pregnant and was unable to prepare a performance. I beg your forgiveness.”

This revelation shocked those present—pregnant? Everyone knew the princess was soon to marry into the Pan family, but now Pan Yueyang claimed his concubine was already several months along? The heir should be born of the principal wife!

“Absurd!” Pan Zhongtian slammed the table in fury.

“Yes, Father, I acknowledge my fault,” Pan Yueyang replied calmly, showing no fear of Pan Zhongtian despite his words.

“Summon the imperial physician,” Emperor Jing ordered, his face cold.

Yan’er watched them with amusement. Pregnant—was that so shocking? She had been wronged by Pan Yueyang first; why did it now seem as if she had seduced the general? If Pin’er had not held her back, she might long ago have confronted the emperor herself.

The imperial physician entered the hall, trembling. Wasn’t this a night banquet? Why summon him so suddenly—was there an assassin?

“Go examine her,” Emperor Jing commanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The physician hurried to the indicated place, momentarily confused by the two women. Yan’er smiled and extended her wrist.

“Your Majesty, this woman is physically frail, her blood and energy depleted, and she is three and a half months pregnant,” the physician reported truthfully.

“Very well, you may go,” Emperor Jing waved him away. The atmosphere in the hall grew tense once more.

“Your Majesty! Even if this wretched maid is with child, she cannot bring shame to the court. She must perform!” Pan Zhongtian glared at his son.

“General Pan is quite right,” the ministers chorused. What a farce—this was supposed to be a contest between royal relatives, and now they had to speak up for propriety.

“You!” Pan Zhongtian pointed at Yan’er. “You must perform!”

Yan’er was cowed by Pan Zhongtian’s imposing presence. She had meant to seek death, but realized her resolve was weak—just facing Pan Zhongtian left her trembling.

“Yan’er, don’t be stubborn,” Pin’er tugged at her sleeve.

“Your Majesty, in truth we had prepared. It’s just that, having witnessed the princesses’ grace and skill, we felt unworthy and dared not perform,” Pin’er suddenly pulled Yan’er forward, kneeling on the carpet to plead for her.

Yan’er glanced at Pin’er. If she did nothing, she might achieve her own end, but would unjustly drag Pin’er down with her—that would be wrong. So she smiled and followed Pin’er’s lead. “Your Majesty, this humble maid will now offer a performance for the honored guests.”

“Pin’er, would you play for me?” Yan’er asked—only Pin’er could help her now.

“Of course. What melody would you like?” Pin’er was already at the guzheng.

“Improvise to match my dance,” Yan’er replied, trusting Pin’er’s talent after witnessing it that very day.

The previously silent hall burst into low murmurs. Improvise a dance? Without a set tune or rehearsal, she dared perform before the court—was this true skill, or mere bravado?

Pin’er nodded and began to play a gentle, free-flowing melody, waiting for Yan’er to dance so she could accompany her.

Yan’er glanced at Pan Yueyang—how deeply had this man loved her? Then, with a soft, lingering voice, she began to sing:

I still recall your eyes, tender with pity, through the mist and rain
I sent you on your way, you tied up my hair for me
In times of chaos, we were torn apart, unable to share our days
And I could only watch you, beloved, at the city wall, with a beauty at your side
On the banks where peach and willow bloom—was that you and I, in years gone by?
Now, the pity in your eyes falls upon her brow instead
Strings and flutes play a melody of longing
When the song ends, a few tears fall
Through the ages, the lantern lights grow dim—who dances still to the music?
And who stands on the riverside, turning back, unable to see through the years?