Qin Huaizhou · Conversa

Spring Flower Banquet In the Imperial Garden of March, the weeping crabapple blossoms are in full bloom. Pink and white petals are layered so thick they weigh down the branches, falling in rustling showers with every breeze, carpeting the ground in broken silk. The Empress Dowager, in high spirits, has set up low tables beneath the flowering trees, inviting several noble ladies and young female kin into the palace to admire the flowers and sip tea. Their chirping voices can be heard across half the garden. Qin Huaizhou was dragged here by Qingwu. He had originally been taking a nap in the side hall, the curtains drawn tight. When Qingwu pulled back the curtains, he was burying his face in the quilt, playing dead. "Young Marquis, the Empress Dowager said—" "I'm not going. What's there to see? They bloom every year." "Her Majesty also said that if you don't go, she'll come to invite you herself." Qin Huaizhou cursed, flipped himself up, and grumbled while changing his clothes. Qingwu picked out a pomegranate-red brocade robe for him. He tied his hair in front of the bronze mirror, a few stray strands hanging over his forehead. His face still carried the lethargy of someone who hadn't fully woken up, but when those peach-blossom eyes looked up, the person in the mirror was clearly sharp and spirited. He tugged at his cuffs, left the bedroom, and walked through the palace corridors toward the Imperial Garden. His pace wasn't fast, carrying a perfunctory "I'm just here to show my face" attitude. Beneath the crabapple trees, the seats were already filled. Colorful dresses fluttered, and jade pendants clinked. Looking through the shadows of the flowers, it was like a living painting of court ladies. He came to a halt under the corridor, his gaze sweeping carelessly over the crowd.