Ninth Royal Uncle?
Everyone exchanged glances, you look at me, I look at you.
What shocked them wasn’t his identity as Ninth Royal Uncle, but rather...
The great clans’ poetry salons never invite royals or high-ranking nobles—not because they can’t, but because the scholar-gentry look down on the upstart Dongling Dynasty.
The so-called new nobles of Eastlyn have barely a hundred years of history, not even three generations. The great clans simply don’t recognize them. You can’t get into a salon like this just by rank—if the young lords and ladies of the Four Dukedoms don’t have real talent, they can’t enter Hundred-Herb Garden at all. These invitations are even more coveted than Princess Anping’s Peach Blossom Banquet.
Ninth Royal Uncle—his status isn’t something the great clans dare offend, but they certainly don’t seek him out. As for the man himself, he’s admired by all. In appearance-obsessed Eastlyn, his looks alone put every other man to shame.
In past years, the salons did send invitations to Ninth Royal Uncle, but he never once appeared. Eventually, they stopped even trying.
At the great clans’ salons, he was the first to receive an invitation—and never attend.
So why is he here this time?
Could it be that this year’s salon is truly different?
The crowd’s eyes sparkled, especially the noble girls—their gazes full of longing, wishing they could rush out for just a glimpse of Ninth Royal Uncle, even if only for a moment.
But when they stepped outside, everyone froze—Ninth Royal Uncle was actually standing beside his carriage, helping a woman down?
Who was the woman Ninth Royal Uncle helped down from the carriage?
Her outfit, her bearing...
“Serena Feng?”
“How could it be her?”
Someone blurted it out, and everyone forgot to greet Ninth Royal Uncle.
“Her outfit is just…” The rest went unsaid, because ‘beautiful’ didn’t even begin to describe Serena Feng’s presence at that moment.
Serena Feng’s beauty wasn’t just in her looks, but in her bearing—she could stand beside Ninth Royal Uncle and not fade at all.
Serena Feng wasn’t like the current fashionable women, all dressed up in layers. She wore a purple under-robe, topped with a red gauze skirt.
Her skirt was wide but didn’t drag on the ground, with not a single ornament on her body—just a broad black belt at her waist, highlighting her slim figure in a simple, elegant way.
Her sleeves were loose and flowing; whenever she moved, they rippled like water, layer upon layer, giving her a carefree and striking look.
Serena Feng’s long hair wasn’t pinned up or left loose, but tied back with a black ribbon. Her forehead was bare, no bangs at all, and one lock of hair fell over her left chest. When the wind blew, her hair danced—a look so unrestrained and charming you almost wanted to reach out and tuck that strand away for her.
Unrestrained and debonair—a true literati’s bearing. It had been ages since Eastlyn’s great clans had seen such presence.
Clearly, Serena Feng’s outfit was tailored for this poetry salon. No matter the occasion, Serena Feng never lost her poise.
Ninth Royal Uncle nodded in satisfaction, as if he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. He swept his gaze over the crowd—just like always, cold and indifferent, as if no one else existed.
Before she got out of the carriage, he leaned close and murmured in Serena Feng’s ear: “Don’t disgrace me.”
Serena Feng had felt a bit awkward at first, but after hearing those words, she nodded, quickly collecting herself and facing everyone with composure.
“I understand,” Serena replied.
She would never disgrace Ninth Royal Uncle.
“Let’s go…”
Serena only looked at the crowd after watching Ninth Royal Uncle leave. The most dazzling among them was William Wang Jinling; she gave him a faint smile—a subtle greeting.
When she looked at the rest, the brilliance in her eyes was so sharp it made people squint—everyone was dazzled.
“Is that Serena Feng?” a young woman exclaimed, even more shocked than when Ninth Royal Uncle arrived.
How could Serena Feng be so beautiful?
How could the spirit of a great clan’s daughter show in her like this?
“Sorry I’m late. Please forgive me,” Serena said with casual grace, ignoring their shock and walking into Hundred-Herb Garden as the young lords parted to let her through.
“Serena Feng, how did you end up with Ninth Royal Uncle?” Ethan Hsieh was the first to recover, pointing at the departing prince’s retinue, utterly stunned.
Her way forward was blocked by the young ladies, so Serena Feng stopped, unconcerned. “My carriage broke down. I ran into Ninth Royal Uncle, and he gave me a lift.”
“Your carriage broke down, and Ninth Royal Uncle gave you a ride?” Ethan Hsieh nearly stumbled in disbelief.
Since when was Ninth Royal Uncle so helpful? Wasn’t he the type who wouldn’t lift a finger even if someone died right in front of him?
“Why? Is there a problem?” Serena’s amber eyes narrowed, less sharp now but tinged with pride.
“No, no, of course not,” Ethan Hsieh nodded rapidly.
“What trick did you use to get Ninth Royal Uncle to escort you?” Yvonne Simm stepped forward, glaring at Serena Feng through gritted teeth.
If only she’d known, she would have kindly brought Serena herself—then Serena wouldn’t be stealing the spotlight now.
“Trick? Do I need one?” Serena Feng laughed softly, then, seeing Madam Hsieh standing at the front, stepped forward with a smile. “Madam Hsieh, apologies for arriving late.”
Serena’s gaze swept over the crowd, carrying a hint of coldness.
Today, with Ninth Royal Uncle escorting her, she represented him—she couldn’t lose the bearing of a general’s daughter, nor the dignity of his noble status.
This Peach Blossom Banquet, this poetry salon—so boring. She’d make sure these people learned not to provoke Serena Feng so easily.
“No harm done. But since you’re late, Miss Feng, you’ll have to accept a little punishment.” Madam Hsieh smiled, casting a glance at Yvonne Simm to silence her, then turned to Serena with a hint of goodwill in her eyes.
“I’ll do as you say,” Serena replied smoothly.
The young lords from each house chimed in, “Yes, yes, a penalty! What should it be? Three cups for coming late, and since it’s a poetry salon, Miss Feng should compose an extra poem!”
“Wine is fine, but poetry? Everyone in Eastlyn knows Miss Feng can’t read, much less write poetry. One poem’s doable—she could prepare in advance. Two is just making things hard.” The girl in pale blue palace dress, Miss Wynn, giggled, pretending to defend Serena but really putting her down.
“Miss Wynn’s right. Making Serena Feng write poetry—who knows if it’ll even be presentable. You’re all too wicked.”
Jealousy—once the girls snapped out of it, their eyes were full of envy as they looked at Serena Feng.
Why did Serena Feng get her carriage fixed by Ninth Royal Uncle himself?
Why was Serena Feng, in a simple dress with no jewelry, able to outshine all their carefully chosen outfits?
If they couldn’t beat Serena Feng in luck or looks, then they’d crush her with talent—make her see this poetry salon wasn’t for people like her.
Serena Feng chuckled, half reproachful, half knowing. “Gossiping behind someone’s back is petty; speaking out in front of them is noble. Eastlyn’s noble ladies—I’ve seen it now. You’re lovelier than the flowers, but your words are sharper than blades.”
Serena Feng wasn’t afraid of offending anyone.
The great clans prided themselves on their purity, but unlike the royal family or the Four Great Dukedoms, it wasn’t easy for them to move against her.
“Serena Feng, how dare you insult us!” Yvonne Simm ignored Madam Hsieh’s warning and stepped out to accuse her, face full of outrage…