Chapter 362 — Attachments
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
The Yingzhenguo Mansion had held noble rank for a hundred years, and over the generations its ties with the great houses of the capital had grown so tangled that no one could hope to unravel them. And the spring banquet was precisely the season for the various mansions to deepen their friendships, mend their ruptures, and reweave their webs of connection. If you thought hosting the Yingzhenguo Mansion's spring banquet was so very difficult, that was not necessarily so—the standards and the etiquette for such banquets all followed precedent, and whoever held charge of the household's coffers need only keep to the book. But if you thought it was that easy, you would be wrong again—last year a certain someone had come to the Yingzhenguo Mansion as a guest and perhaps warranted a first-class seat; this year, perhaps a third-class one was all he deserved.
Song Cen felt that even he found it hard to strike that balance, to say nothing of Dou Yan, who had only just married into the family.
He was quite content to hand the Yingzhenguo Mansion's spring banquet over to Dou Yan.
Dou Zhiwei did not understand these things, true—but she could summon Song Zhiren at any time and on any whim; Yan Che and Zi'ai Peak were both at her command; and beyond that, she had Song Yan.
"This year's spring banquet, I will host it myself." He patted Dou Zhiwei's hand, soothing her, and said to her, "I have already spoken to the Emperor. The Yingzhenguo Mansion's line is thin, and you are with child, unfit for such strain. His Majesty agreed most readily—which is why he has granted me five whole days of leave."
Yet to this moment she still had not been given the register of those the mansion would be feasting these past few days.
Dou Yan laughed, a bright, rippling laugh.
The more she looked at him, the more Song Cen seemed to her like a woman.
Song Yan could not fathom what Song Cen was thinking; but from a woman's vantage, she found it easy enough to guess what Song Cen meant to do.
She would make Song Cen's jaw drop to the floor.
She instructed those around her to breathe not a single word, then settled herself comfortably at home to eat.
So when Zeng Wu, at Song Cen's command, brought over the list of guests to be feasted that day for Dou Yan to review, Dou Yan set down the half-finished bowl of bird's-nest soup, called out in a crisp, ringing voice, "Yantang," and said, "The Zhenguo Lord has brought the list of today's guests. You had best hurry to the upper courtyard. The stewardesses are all waiting there for your instructions!" She added, "It is nearly the noon meal, and the invited guests will soon be arriving. If the guests arrive and the food is not yet ready, that would be a fine disaster."
The tone was that of a mistress giving orders to a steward at her side.
Zeng Wu was aghast.
How dared the madam give orders to the heir apparent in such a manner?
Yet Song Yan answered as though it were the most natural thing in the world: "Understood. I will go at once. It is too cold outside—do not go running about the house, and mind you do not catch a chill."
Zeng Wu felt sweat start on his brow, and a chill run down his spine.
How had he ever come to believe the Zhenguo Lord's words? To go muddling about in this business alongside the Zhenguo Lord.
If the Zhenguo Lord offended the heir apparent, what could the heir apparent possibly do to his own father?
But if Zeng Wu offended the heir apparent, then Lü Zheng was his cautionary example.