The Cross-Dressing Legend Is Excessively Beautiful - Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The winter snow fell with a piercing cold. Heavy flakes swirled in vast sheets, carrying the desolate vastness of the heights as they swept across the boundless landscape.

Yet, as far as the eye could see, the world was filled with a riotous, dazzling red—gaudy, provocative, and eye-catching.

Every household had put up auspicious new Spring Festival couplets and balanced on small stools to paste exquisite paper-cuts onto their windows. The air was festive as everyone prepared to welcome the New Year. With such timely snow, next year’s harvest promised the sweet scent of rice and a bountiful return.

The Palace Banquet

Outside the palace, the lights flickered and shadows moved in the bustling crowds. Inside, the air was filled with the sounds of pipes, zithers, and strings; the singing and dancing never ceased.

Amidst the clinking of wine cups, the guests suddenly felt as if they had entered a dreamlike realm. The clamor died down, and every eye was fixed on a single person.

The figure wore purple robes, with long hair cascading down and a red flame-shaped floral mark (huadian) between the brows. Even the brilliance of peach blossoms in full bloom could not rival the soul-stirring depth of those eyes.

The makeup was heavy and dramatic. The gaze was cold and icy.

It reminded people of a flower blooming in solitary defiance atop a snow-capped peak; she lived there, and though you could look up and see her, you could never possess her. To hold her in one’s arms was but an unreachable dream for the common world.

“So, that is the eldest legitimate daughter of the Song family…””If her health were intact, such beauty… who knows what waves she would stir. What a pity.”

Some were stunned, some sighed, some worried, and some felt pity. The world is a bloody place of struggle where such beautiful dreams cannot linger. Perhaps such a person should drift away before the dream shatters, leaving no room for regret.

Facing such a beauty, the crowd reached a silent consensus not to disturb her. An exquisite flower destined to wither should spend its remaining days in peace and serenity. This unspoken agreement was partly due to Song Ci’s intimidation and partly out of final respect for someone so close to death.

True to Song Ci’s wishes, Song Xi-zhi sat there quietly, causing no trouble.

In his memory of previous cycles, he had never received an invitation to the palace banquet due to his health and Song Ci’s influence. Although he didn’t know what had gone wrong this time to put him on the guest list, he assumed the general direction of events would remain unchanged.

As Song Xi-zhi lowered his head to sip tea, he suddenly felt a gaze sweep over him like a bolt of lightning.

He followed the sensation and looked back, only to see a man conversing warmly with others, possessing extraordinary grace and impeccable manners. It was Crown Prince Jing Jian-hua.

Sensing Song Xi-zhi’s gaze, Jing Jian-hua paused for a moment, offered a polite, slight smile, and then looked away. His reaction was so natural and fluid that if Song Xi-zhi didn’t have his “cheat” (the system) and heightened perception, he would have been fooled into thinking it was just an illusion.

The performances center-stage changed again. Dancers like butterflies moved with grace, rising and falling in perfect beauty. As the music reached a crescendo, a dancer’s eyes sparkled, her form suddenly shifting with incredible flexibility. Her limbs moved like butterfly wings as she executed a breathtaking leap through the air.

When the music stopped, the dance ceased abruptly; her swirling silken skirts settled in layers like a peony in full bloom. The performance stunned the audience, drawing a chorus of applause.

Song Xi-zhi glanced at the beauty in the center and withdrew his gaze, disinterested. Song Xia-lan’s performance of Taya was much better than this.

…

Jing Jian-hua took in the entire scene. Pulling back his wide sleeves, he poured himself a cup of wine—sharp and exhilarating. As he leaned down toward the wine, he saw his own eyes reflected in the shimmering liquid. They were filled with desire—the desire for total control.

Jing Jian-hua chuckled softly.

Compared to Song Xia-lan, the short-lived Song Xi-zhi was clearly a much better choice for a Crown Princess, wasn’t he?

Because of her poor health, he could refuse all “honey traps” and concubines under the guise of not wanting to agitate her. Because she was frail, he naturally wouldn’t have to consummate the marriage, nor would he have to worry about an heir or the interference of powerful in-laws.

Furthermore, Song Xi-zhi was Song Ci’s daughter. Her status was enough to silence the critics. He believed Song Ci would be more than happy to help him clear out those who urged him to take concubines.

As the moon rose and the sun set amidst the golden cups and jade plates, Jing Jian-hua flicked his sleeves and stood up. His words stunned the room:

“Reporting to Imperial Father: your son has long admired the eldest Miss Song. I beg Imperial Father to grant us your blessing.”

The singing stopped. The dancing stopped. The laughter stopped.

Impossible! the guests thought. How could the future Mother of the Nation be a sick person—and a dying one at that?

No one could believe it. The Crown Prince was usually steady and calculating; how could he be so impulsive? No matter how beautiful Song Xi-zhi was, it didn’t change the fact that she was frail. The bright future of the country needed a healthy, vibrant mistress, not a patient who wouldn’t see tomorrow.

For a woman to lead a future ruler astray through emotion—even if she were as ugly as a demon—people would still think of the phrase “the beauty who brings ruin to the state.” It was even truer given Song Xi-zhi’s devastating beauty.

But applying such a phrase to the frail, homebound Song Xi-zhi was indeed too harsh. The crowd sighed, perhaps for the reckless Crown Prince, perhaps for their own soft-heartedness, or perhaps for the magnificent beauty destined to be cut short.

The Emperor had always favored the Crown Prince and naturally wouldn’t allow him to commit such a foolish act. Since the Prince was the Emperor’s son, the blame would inevitably fall on the “seductress” who had bewitched him—Song Xi-zhi.

The officials looked at Song Xi-zhi, sweating on his behalf.

In reality, the person most shocked was Song Xi-zhi himself. He had barely met Jing Jian-hua a handful of times—how could the man have “long admired” him? It was nothing more than an excuse!

Song Xi-zhi sneered inwardly. Misogyny—that’s a disease that needs curing! A grown man like Jing Jian-hua using a sick person as a shield because he didn’t want to marry? What kind of man was that!