Chapter 1

Prince Chen, Li Jinxuan, had once been the late emperor’s most beloved son.

“Cup raised, he gazes at the blue heavens, radiant as a jade tree in the wind”—the old verse might have been written for him.

He had no taste for women.

Why would he, when he himself was beautiful enough? He was famed throughout the realm as the handsome and virtuous prince.

Yet once, reclining beside a window at Qiongxian Pavilion, he watched a street singer below for a very long time.

So long that the music and dancing at the banquet gradually faltered to a stop, and one of the nobles sharing his table finally asked what had distracted him.

Only then did he turn back, take a sip of wine, and sigh. “Beautiful.”

No one privileged enough to drink with a prince was a fool.

They all knew he was not praising the celebrated Suzhou courtesan they had paid lavishly to perform.

He meant the ragged girl singing in the street.

There was ordinarily an unbridgeable gulf between nobles and commoners.

I knew what had happened on their lofty terrace only because, when I packed up that evening, a nobleman stopped me.

After studying me for a long while, he offered to buy me as a household singer.

His opening offer was five hundred taels of gold.

My husband, Lin Qi, stared at the three or five copper coins I had earned after singing myself hoarse all day, his mouth hanging open.

That very night he scrubbed me clean, bundled me into the nobleman’s residence, seized the money, and ran for all he was worth.

My buyer was Zhang Han, son-in-law to the Marquis of Loyalty and Valor and then Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial.

The senior maid in his household was fiercer than my mother-in-law and stronger too.

She bellowed at me to stop crying, pinned me in the bath until she had nearly scrubbed off a layer of skin, combed every strand of my hair smooth, and fumigated me with incense three times before she was satisfied.

Lady Zhang listened to me sing, circled me again and again, and still looked doubtful. “She is pretty, and her voice is sweet. But are you certain His Highness will like an illiterate country girl? What would they even talk about? They cannot spend all night doing nothing but listening to songs and—”

Though she clapped a hand over her mouth in time, her cheeks still flushed and she fell silent.

She was a well-bred lady, taught never to utter anything improper.

To her, the noble and immaculate Prince Chen was high art itself. Even if he entered the pleasure quarters for social obligations, surely he should converse with a famous courtesan steeped in poetry and learning.

Not a rustic like me who knew only a few village ditties.

Lord Zhang, however, brimmed with confidence. He reassured his wife, “Set your mind at ease. Only a man truly understands another man.”

Then he warned me, “You need only guard one secret with your life: no one can know you were married before.”

He arranged a banquet with astonishing speed, pushed me onto the stage, and had me sing in the Suzhou dialect the Purple Bamboo Song I had sung that day.

“Purple bamboo blossoms in the seventh moon,

“A young girl gathers flowers in delight.

“A purple bamboo basket on her arm,

“A purple bamboo blouse upon her shoulders,

“Lovely purple blossoms at her breast.

“Across one hill, then another she goes,

“Like a painted butterfly among the flowers.

“Across one hill, then another she goes,

“Like a painted butterfly among the flowers…”

In truth, Lady Zhang was not the only one lacking confidence. I had even less.

But I dared not sing without putting my whole heart into it. If a great lord took offense, my life might be forfeit.

So I sang with everything I had while fear gnawed at me.

Five or six songs passed. Prince Chen merely drank with lowered lashes, perfectly composed, without sparing me another glance.

Lady Zhang looked at me with equal parts pity and vindication, plus a measure of contempt for her husband’s desperate scheme to curry favor.

My mouth trembled. I almost burst into tears.

Lord Zhang waved me away, and I fled.

Once I reached the back courtyard, my knees gave out and I collapsed to the ground.

Under the moon, I prayed that I might live past sixteen.

My parents had died when I was small. At five, my aunt sold me for three measures of rice to a family named Lin in the neighboring village, to be raised as their son’s future wife.

I did not fear hunger, cold, endless labor, or my mother-in-law’s beatings and curses. All I asked was one bowl of water from rinsing the cooking pot each day.

The adults always said that even a wretched life was better than a good death.

If no one else wanted to die, neither did I.

But Lord Zhang had paid five hundred taels for me, and his expensive plan had failed. Nothing good could await me now. Lin Qi, too, might have taken the money only to lose his life before he could spend it.

I was terrified. Prostrate on the ground, I begged Heaven to protect me.

I could endure toil, pain, even the loss of an arm or leg. Just leave me one breath, I prayed, and let me keep living.

I knocked my head against the stones until blood seeped from my brow without my noticing.

At last, a soft laugh sounded above me. “You have not yet received my favor, and already you are giving thanks?”

My ears rang as a pair of strong hands lifted my trembling body from the ground.

Moonlight brushed the flowers. The fragrance of wine stole through the air.

Prince Chen, pleasantly drunk, made no attempt to hide the teasing amusement in his eyes.

I closed my eyes. For the moment, at least, I probably would not die.

That was more than enough.

“A slender stalk of bamboo grows straight and tall,

“I give it to my brother for a flute.

“The flute touches his lips, his lips touch the flute,

“And from it blooms a tune of flowers.

“Tell me, brother, is this flute to your liking?

“Tell me, brother, is this flute to your liking?”

That night I sang the Purple Bamboo Song for Prince Chen again and again, tossing and turning until the eastern sky paled.

For Lord Zhang, one night of the prince’s company was already worth four hundred and eighty-eight of the five hundred taels he had spent.

A country woman like me was game meat served at a nobleman’s table—interesting as an occasional novelty, but liable to upset the stomach if eaten every day.

He and his wife had agreed to keep me as a singer and bring me out whenever Prince Chen fancied another taste.

As for me, accustomed to missing nine meals out of twelve, such a life was already beyond my wildest dreams. Who was I to complain?

Thus, when Prince Chen woke after a brief doze and prepared to rise, I ignored the ache in my back, scrambled up to dress him, and resolved to see him off with devoted gratitude.

But whether he had become enamored of the Purple Bamboo Song or of me, he seemed reluctant to let go.

When I escorted him out, he took my hand firmly and led me away beside him.

Even when we met Lord Zhang waiting respectfully outside, he did not slow.

“I am taking her,” he said mildly. “You have done well.”

And so, after becoming the first man in the capital to place a woman successfully in Prince Chen’s bed, Lord Zhang immediately earned another distinction: the first to install one in Prince Chen’s inner court.

His expression was the very picture of ecstasy.

From that day on, he would no longer be merely the Marquis of Loyalty and Valor’s son-in-law. He was now one of Prince Chen’s trusted men.

Even his father-in-law would have to show him some respect instead of ordering him about.