Youyi

My childhood friend, Zhou Yang, has a wicked tongue and loves nothing more than airing my dirty laundry in public. He tells everyone how I nearly burned down the kitchen while brewing sweet soup, and how I pricked my fingers so many times while embroidering that they swelled up like sausages. He recounts the time during the Lantern Festival when I found a lost child, only to get lost myself because I was afraid of the dark, ending up in tears before the child did. At banquets, the noble ladies would listen to these stories, covering their mouths with stifled giggles before quietly setting aside my name card. My reputation was utterly ruined. Today, at the Flower Appreciation Banquet for the prince’s consort selection, Zhou Yang once again brought up the embarrassing story of me getting lost and crying my eyes out. The entire assembly erupted in laughter. I clutched my handkerchief, lowering my head in mortification. His Majesty leafed through the register of noble young ladies, a memory seemingly stirred by the name. “Is this the Miss Cui who found little Qing’er at the Lantern Festival, only to scare herself into tears?” Her Majesty the Empress leaned over to take a look and smiled as well. “It is her. Back then, she held onto our Qing’er’s sleeve, weeping until her face was a mess. “She’s reached marriageable age now. I wonder if she’s still such a crybaby.”