The Temple Fair Beauty

The two sat in silence, feeling the carriage slow as it drew deeper into the heart of the city. Outside, cries and laughter mingled in a lively chorus.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver called out, “Sir, this is the largest temple fair in the western city. Shall we stop here?”

Lingran glanced at Lord Red Silk, who lifted the curtain and stepped out. Turning, he extended a hand to her. “Why, are you not coming?”

His expression was calm as ever, even carrying a hint of spring’s warmth. Lingran, seeing his composure after hearing her outlandish tale, could not help but admire him. Her spirits lifted, and she smiled as she placed her hand in his, leaping from the carriage with joy.

“Indeed, she is different from ordinary women,” thought Red Silk.

But Lingran was already captivated by the bustling scene before her. She looked around eagerly, her eyes darting everywhere.

The sky today was clear and bright, with autumn’s crisp air. Under the dazzling sun, the marketplace teemed with merchants, countless stalls wedged between shops. Steam billowed from enormous pots, and vendors carried their wares, hawking from every corner. People in red and green streamed through the streets.

No sooner had they stepped from the carriage than they drew the gaze of many passersby.

Nearby lay a spacious area filled with carriages and sedan chairs—almost resembling a modern parking lot. Red Silk instructed the driver to wait there.

Lingran plunged headlong into the crowd.

Here, the noise was overwhelming, with the clamor of drums and gongs echoing from all directions. Lingran was beside herself with excitement, touching this stall, peering at that one, wishing she could buy something from every vendor.

The variety of handicrafts was astonishing. The streets were lined with stalls and shops selling cloth, medicines, shoes, hats, jewelry, scented powders, writing implements, oil, salt, sauces, vinegar, farming and craftsman tools. The smithy was ablaze with activity, while teahouses and restaurants bustled with patrons. Farmers hawked chickens and produce, and artists painted or wrote in the open, drawing crowds who cheered them on.

Lingran, in her previous life, had not cared much for such excitement. But since arriving in this era—always confined within grand estates—she was like a bird freed from its cage, drawn irresistibly to crowds.

Each time she glanced back, she saw Lord Red Silk quietly following. Whenever she smiled at him, he returned a gentle smile. His unusual attire today gave him the air of flowing clouds and tranquil waters on porcelain, evoking a sense of peace and happiness, as if life’s quiet joys were right before her.

A painter in scholar’s garb was working on a scroll spread across the street. Kneeling and bending, he had nearly completed the piece, depicting a mythological tale. Unlike traditional paintings, it was vibrant with reds and greens, rich in religious symbolism. Clouds curled, goddesses’ ribbons fluttered, and the Buddha was surrounded by lively disciples. The artist worked swiftly, finishing in moments.

People applauded all around, and Lingran joined in enthusiastically.

Red Silk’s voice sounded in her ear, “Impressive? Have you never seen Wu Wei paint before?”

Lingran blushed—she knew nothing of painting—and slipped away from the crowd. After a few steps, she saw a peculiar wooden box taller than a man, with adults and children pressed against it, peering inside.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing as she hurried over.

Their presence drew even more attention, as if everyone saw them as a pair, gazing with envy.

Lingran didn’t mind. She approached the box and asked a child, “What are you watching? It looks fun!”

“Shadow puppets! Five coins for a quarter hour,” someone piped up, extending a hand toward Lingran.

She had never known shadow puppetry was performed at temple fairs, and was intrigued, but she had no money and was about to leave awkwardly.

Red Silk handed a piece of silver to the vendor. “No need for change. Watch as long as you like.”

Lingran protested, lunging for the silver. “I want change! I’ll just watch a bit, five coins, the rest back to me!”

“The handsome gentleman’s lovely wife is thrifty,” the vendor joked, not bothering to argue, and counted out several strings of copper coins for her.

But Red Silk gently pushed the vendor’s hand away. “No need.”

Lingran glared at him—how could he be so careless? “But I want it!”

“So many hands have touched those coins; they’re filthy.”

Seeing his resolve, the vendor withdrew the coins, and Lingran, resigned, found a bench and leaned into the box’s viewing holes.

Inside, they were performing the lively tale of the Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea, the blue lamp-lit waves shimmering. She realized why the box was needed: in the bright daylight, shadow puppets would be invisible without darkness.

Red Silk sat beside her, not watching the show, but gazing at her absorbed expression as if lost in thought.

Across the street, in a refined private room atop a building.

“Your Highness! Look, it’s Lord Red Silk!” Lu Zigao, who had been watching the bustle from the window, was drawn by the striking couple across the street. As soon as he confirmed the identity of the famously red-robed noble, he exclaimed aloud.

Chu Yu, accompanied by a young nobleman in silk, was sipping tea inside. He raised his brows at the news. “Are you sure?”

“No mistake! The girl is the maid Your Highness brought back from Lanze Mountain yesterday,” Zigao replied. The nobleman rushed to the window, tapping his fan on the sill, and turned back excitedly. “Your Highness, it’s really Red Silk!”

Chu Yu couldn’t resist; he rose and looked across the street.

There he saw a young girl with her hair in a servant’s knot and plain dress, engrossed in the shadow puppet show. And Lord Red Silk—whose face showed no expression except in his father’s presence—sat beside her, staring at her in a daze.

How bizarre!

“It seems Lord Red Silk is smitten with that girl,” the nobleman murmured, voicing his thoughts. “Is she from Your Highness’s residence?”

Chu Yu snorted, not answering.

Zigao replied, “Lord Fang, that girl is now Lady Seven’s maid.”

Lord Fang laughed, “Looks like the household is quite lenient with maids! She must be clever indeed, daring to attract Lord Red Silk’s attention—and succeeded, it seems.”

“Enough nonsense!” Chu Yu shot him a cold look, and Fang immediately fell silent.

Another attendant spoke, “The auspicious hour approaches; the priests at White Cloud Temple are likely ready.”

“To the temple first,” Chu Yu suppressed his rising anger and left the room.

Lord Fang was left bewildered. He turned to Zigao, “Did I say something wrong?”

Zigao scratched his head. “Seems His Highness gets agitated at the sight of Lord Red Silk. Too many people around—he can’t say anything.”

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It’s New Year’s Eve—wishing all dear friends a year of good fortune, dreams fulfilled, and lasting happiness!