The palace walls of Dali are as red as congealed blood, and just like that striking speck of cinnabar on her water sleeves when I first laid eyes on her. I am Zhao Heng, the Emperor of Dali. People say that I ascended the throne in my youth, governed with diligence, and am a wise ruler rarely seen in a century. Yet what they do not know is that my soul was stolen away by Su Wanqing the very day I met her.
It happened during a palace banquet, amid a riot of variety shows and the sound of strings and flutes. Being naturally impatient with such socializing, I casually glanced over and caught sight of a dancing girl practicing alone in a corner. She wore plain white dance attire, unadorned with pearls or jade, her hair tied in a simple knot. Yet when she spun, her robes fluttering around her, it was as if moonlight were flowing across the room, reducing all the gold and jade in the hall to mere vulgarity. Her gaze was clear yet touched with a stubborn streak, like a hardy plum blossom in the snow, causing my heart to give a sharp jolt.
Only later did I learn that her name was Su Wanqing, an obscure dancing girl from the Bureau of Music. I began summoning her to the palace to dance with increasing frequency—from merely watching her from afar at first, to having her dance for me alone in a side hall. Every frown and smile, every graceful gesture of hers, haunted my soul. I knew a monarch should not be entangled in romance, especially not with a low-born dancing girl. The Empress …
Chapter 133