Chapter 2. Daughter of Concubine Xiang (2)

Concubine Xiang was starting to suspect the girl across from her wasn't just bold—she might actually be insane. The conversation circled endlessly, returning to where it began—frustrating and fruitless, like chasing smoke through her fingers.

Concubine Xiang leaned back slightly, folding her fan with a snap that echoed like a warning shot. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, studied the girl as if trying to peer straight through her skin and into whatever scheme she was hiding.

The girl's face was oval-shaped, the kind of gentle, symmetrical face that painters liked. Her features were balanced—soft around the edges, but with just enough definition to suggest she might know how to win an argument without raising her voice. Her eyes, almond-shaped and clear, held a gentle light in them—bright enough to be noticed, but never piercing or bold. There was a softness in her gaze that felt almost soothing.

Her skin was smooth and fair, carrying the healthy glow of youth. Long, black hair flowed down her back in gentle waves, unadorned but elegant in its simplicity. She sat with quiet poise, taller than Concubine Xiang's own daughter, and slender in frame—graceful, yet not fragile. She didn't look like the type to cry over a broken nail—more like the type who'd break it on purpose and blame it on a rival.

She wasn't the type of beauty that would make people trip over their robes in the hallway. She didn't dazzle. But there was something about her—an understated charm, a quiet elegance—that drew the eye and lingered in the mind.

Not striking, perhaps. But memorable. If, of course, that was her real face.

And with the way this day was going, Concubine Xiang wouldn't have been surprised if the girl peeled off a mask next and claimed to be the Empress herself.

There was always the chance it wasn't. After all, 'Jade Dust Powder' existed—a rare and luxurious cosmetic crafted by skilled alchemists. Made from crushed white jade, pearl dust, and a pinch of mystery herbs (probably picked under a full moon by monks with perfect skin), it could smooth out features and subtly alter skin tone and face shape, giving the wearer an almost unrecognizable look.

It was no ordinary cosmetic, only few could afford such a luxury. Only nobles, star performers, and the dangerously well-funded could afford it. If you wore jade dust powder, you didn't just put on makeup—you put on identity confusion.

Whether the girl had actually altered her features, or simply painted them to perfection and how she managed to get her hands on such an expensive product, was a question that Concubine Xiang wasn't the least bit concerned with. It didn't change a thing. Real or painted, borrowed or bought—it didn't matter. What mattered was that the girl looked the part.

At that moment, the young girl reached for the teacup placed before her by a silent maidservant. Her movements were unhurried, almost lazy, yet there was a quiet elegance in the way her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain that screamed, I've done this before… probably while being admired.

She lifted the cup gently, tilting it first to the right, then slowly to the left, as if studying a rare treasure rather than an ordinary cup of tea. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, watching the liquid swirl gently inside. As if the swirling liquid might spell out secrets, or maybe just tell her if it had enough jasmine.

The way she held the teacup—steady, graceful, without effort—seemed less like habit and more like instinct, as though elegance came naturally to her.

She brought the cup close to her lips, savoring the scent slightly. And just like that, she set the cup back down in its original spot, untouched.

Not a single sip.

Her gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes. It wasn't just the way she moved—it was the way she controlled herself, with a quiet grace that hinted at something more.

Did she think there was poison in the tea? The thought had crossed her mind, of course, but Concubine Xiang wasn't the type to act on such impulses. A hasty move, especially one driven by suspicion, wasn't her style. She was far too clever for that. She knew better than to make such a careless mistake.

Concubine Xiang's fan slowed in her hand as she gave the girl another long, careful look—this time, not as a nuisance or a lunatic, but as a potential asset.

Straight back. Calm expression. That annoying little air of nobility that came as naturally as breathing. The girl didn't just act the part—she embodied it. Every movement, every glance said, "I belong here." If you dressed her up in silk and paraded her through the palace halls, not a single soul would question her lineage.

Yes, Concubine Xiang thought silently, she could pass for my child with no one the wiser.

This girl… she really was suitable.

Even if the girl turned out to be a thief, a con artist, or even an assassin, that was still manageable. Concubine Xiang had survived court politics for years. She knew exactly how to cry in front of a crowd, how to twist sympathy into protection, and how to play the role of "grieving mother of a doomed girl" with award-winning talent. Shift the blame, pretend to be unaware, and mourn the "tragic fate" of her lost daughter—if disaster ever struck. It was a foolproof plan, after all.

Still, she had to be sure.

"Young Lady," Concubine Xiang began, her voice slow and measured, "Do you truly understand the weight of the words you're saying? My daughter is to be wed to the King of Shulin. If you take her place… that means going to the far south, to marry him."

Concubine Xiang leaned in slightly, her gaze sharp and skeptical. "Tell me—what could you possibly gain from this?"

The girl didn't flinch. She looked almost amused.

"Don't worry," she said lightly. "What I want, and what I gain, has nothing to do with you." Her smile didn't waver. "Concubine Xiang, you don't even have to accompany me to the south or visit the imperial palace. I'll take care of this matter. All you need to do is stay here, enjoy tea and make sure the real one doesn't show up and make troubles later."

Her words were calm, yet they carried an unspoken authority, as if the matter had already been settled in her mind.

Concubine Xiang's lips tightened. "I won't guarantee your safety. If you—"

"If I die," the girl cut in smoothly, lifting her chin with a playful glint in her eyes, "then please send lots of flowers and gold. I'd like a grand funeral, Mother."

She smiled—bright and radiant, as if she had just requested a garden party, not spoken of her own possible death.

Concubine Xiang couldn't decide if the girl was fearless… or completely mad.

Maybe both.