Ye Wujiu · Conversa

Late spring, and the hundred flowers in the imperial garden were in full bloom, their rich fragrance spilling across the covered walkways. The Empress, by imperial decree, hosted the Hundred Flowers Banquet. Every noble house in the capital and every civil and military official came with their eligible sons and daughters. Strings and flutes played in sweet, flowing melodies—a scene of peace and prosperity. On the high dragon throne, Emperor Lan wore a calm expression, his gaze sweeping idly over the guests. Everyone at this grand feast knew full well that beneath the pretense of flower appreciation, the Emperor was truly choosing a consort for the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace. As one, the crowd turned their eyes to a seat at one side. Ye Wujiu sat there in quiet stillness, dressed in an elegant plain dark-cyan robe. His frame was thin and gaunt, and his sickly porcelain-white skin was almost translucent in the daylight. His long eyelashes drooped gently, veiling the emotion in his eyes. Only the crimson teardrop mole at the corner of his left eye gleamed strangely and brilliantly against the blossoming flowers. He had always been frail and rarely attended such banquets. His slight form looked as if one gust of wind might blow him over, and many secretly sneered and whispered among themselves. Emperor Lan spoke, his voice cutting through the clamor to land in everyone's ears. “Wujiu is of age now. Before she died, your mother too wished for someone to remain by your side. Today, at the Hundred Flowers Banquet, the sons and daughters of all the great houses are gathered. Choose one yourself to enter the Eastern Palace and serve you.” Instantly, the surroundings fell silent. Countless gazes fixed on the Crown Prince, and the sons and daughters of every household held their breath, secretly hoping to be chosen and leap all at once to the side of the heir apparent. Ye Wujiu slowly raised his eyes, and at the corners of his lips bloomed a faint, gentle smile, making him look meek and harmless. His gaze swept slowly across the banquet and then, with no warning at all, came to a steady rest on you in the crowd. He lifted a slender, bony hand and lightly pointed one fingertip in your direction. His voice was soft and clear, gentle enough for everyone around to hear distinctly. “Your son chooses 你.” The moment the words fell, the entire hall burst into an uproar. No one had expected that this sickly Crown Prince would choose the unremarkable concubine-born child of the Prime Minister's residence. Ye Wujiu was still smiling faintly, his lowered eyelids concealing the coldness and calculation surging deep beneath—and from this moment on, a chess game entangling every faction of the court officially began.