Though she wore a constant, refined smile, there was an unyielding sharpness emanating from her presence—like the edge of a blade that had been honed through decades of experience. Her back remained perfectly straight despite her age, and every time I made a minor blunder, unfamiliar with high-society customs, her slight frown seemed to whisper,
“Minus one point.”
It wasn’t the rigidness of the old cultivators from the Senate—hers was a refined sharpness, a graceful but deadly sword cultivated to perfection. And I found myself suffocating under that entirely different pressure.
To make matters worse, Lady Margaret’s gaze grew subtly colder when she looked at me, no doubt because I had referred to Anthony’s painting earlier as belonging to the “Nude Sect.”
I’ve been disliked enough in life to not always recognize affection—but I’ve become an expert at spotting disdain.
She clearly doesn’t approve of me…
Lady Margaret suddenly asked, “Then tell me, my lady—what kind of art do you prefer?”
“I… I’ve never really had the hobby of appreciating paintings…”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Vivian grinning smugly, clearly enjoying my discomfort, but I didn’t have the energy to glare back. This was going badly. If I’d known, I would’ve come with the steward after all.
I glanced toward Lily.
But even though I was visibly struggling, Lily just stood there like a lifeless puppet, maintaining her expressionless posture and keeping her distance.
“How unfortunate,” Lady Margaret said, her tone barely above a whisper. “Originally, I had considered inviting the young consort of Lord Orléans to the art salon party next week…”
She trailed off as she gently set down the invitation she’d been fingering on the table.
Art salon?
Ah—that’s right. I suddenly remembered the steward mentioning that Lady Margaret was a renowned connoisseur of fine art.
“She has a fondness for gathering beautiful things,”
he had said.
But he never told me this party was an
art salon
, you cursed steward!
Then again… he probably had no time to look into the party details while running around caring for me.
Tch… damn it.
It was the steward who told me to secure an invitation. But Eric himself had told me to deliver his letter to Lady Margaret personally, and thinking back, he clearly meant for me to come back with an invitation to her party.
After all, securing a foothold in high society was the only way I’d have any protection—even if the Senate or the Duke wanted to throw me out of the duchy, I’d have some ground to stand on.
But of all parties, it had to be
her
art salon.
And with my earlier blunder… I had just thrown that precious invitation into the abyss.
Still clutching Eric’s unopened letter, I had no choice but to stand silently and watch as Vivian took out a painting—one of those infernal nude ones—as a so-called gift.
Why do all these blasted nobles love paintings of naked people?!
Vivian chimed in sweetly, “Many of the pieces Lady Margaret collects align with my personal tastes. That’s why I rushed over to gift one of the paintings my father won at auction last week.”
You didn’t rush anywhere! You’re not even sweating!
My inner pettiness boiled beneath the surface.
Though Vivian had fallen slightly in social favor after her blunder at the last royal banquet, she was still far more established than I was. She probably already knew that Lady Margaret’s party was centered around the art salon theme.
Lady Margaret’s face lit up upon seeing the painting.
“Oh my, how generous of you! That must have been quite expensive. Are you sure I can accept it?”
“Of course,” Vivian said with a glowing smile. “I myself am a great admirer of the New Bodily Cultivation artists…”
Blah blah something or other.
And so, I was left to stand there like a statue while Lady Margaret and Vivian had a lengthy and refined discussion about aesthetics, brushwork, and schools of fleshly enlightenment.
“Oh, how delightful it is to meet someone who shares my tastes so perfectly, my lady.”
Vivian, in her usual insincere tone, was desperately trying to establish common ground with Margaret. Meanwhile, Margaret absentmindedly toyed with the invitation slip in her hand. Vivian’s eyes kept flicking toward it, her desire for that invitation barely concealed.
Well, after our clash at the imperial banquet, I doubt Vivian's been invited to any noble ladies' gatherings since.
Not that I’m in a better position myself...
While I was chewing over that thought, Margaret—perhaps feeling awkward at my silence—suddenly turned to me.
“So then, Lady Imeline, what are your interests?”
“Ah, well… I…”
Art, architecture, music—none of those were my thing. If I had to choose…
“Novels?”
Margaret raised a delicate brow, her expression unreadable. Vivian, on the other hand, scoffed as she set down her teacup with a smirk.
“Of course. I know her well—she likes those cheap serialized novels you find in the common papers. She even buys the revised editions with the extra risqué descriptions after the series finishes.”
That’s not me! That’s Philip! I like action-packed cultivation epics!
“…Remember how you got caught reading that during class?”
Vivian narrowed her eyes and recited her falsehood with great care. I was just about to correct her when Margaret quietly interjected.
“I enjoy serialized novels as well. Of course, I prefer ones with some literary value… though, even the dramatic ones can sometimes carry meaning. For example…”
Margaret likes serialized fiction?
A sixty-year-old matriarch reading romance novels?
Well… why not?
Considering how many old nobles around her age are still busy producing illegitimate heirs, it’s far better to be into romance novels than causing that kind of mess.
“Of course,” Vivian said, flipping her stance like turning over her palm. “I didn’t mean to criticize the genre as a whole. I mean, there are plenty of refined stories that someone of Lady Margaret’s taste would appreciate. But if we’re talking about
that
author, Scarlet… well…”
She twisted her lips into a scornful expression.
A novel is a novel. Why does everything have to be graded and weighed by some imaginary noble standard?
Come to think of it, I vaguely remember hearing—maybe in a dream—that Scarlet’s new book would be hitting the shelves soon.
A love story between a mute princess and a prince…
Philip’s voice echoed in my memory, the way he always talked about Scarlet’s novels.
“Why does she use the word ‘pure’ so much? Everything’s ‘pure’ this, ‘pure’ that…”
“And yet you keep reading them. Haven’t you read every book she’s ever written?”
I could still hear my grumbling reply.
Then, just as Vivian continued to critique Scarlet’s writing in that ever-condescending tone—
“…It just feels dirty, somehow.”
Clink!
Margaret suddenly set her teacup down with more force than necessary. The shock sent a spray of tea across the table.
“Kyah!”
Vivian shrieked and recoiled dramatically. But in truth, it was Margaret and I who were both splashed with the hot tea.
Why’s she the one screaming when we’re the ones soaked?
I shot Vivian an incredulous glare.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry. So sorry, Lady Imeline. My apologies, Lady Margaret. You’re quite drenched—you should go upstairs and change.”
Margaret said this as she gently patted the tea off my clothes. At that, Vivian sprang to her feet.
"Yes, please bring the clothes quickly!"
Lady Margaret offered a gentle smile as she calmed Vivian, who had grown flustered.
“I believe a simple towel will do just fine for something like this. …Steward?”
✵
✵
✵
Margaret, despite my earlier blunder, apologized repeatedly and handed me what appeared to be one of her most treasured robes. It looked a bit oversized for me, but judging from the material and embroidery, it was undoubtedly a rare spiritual-grade garment. I quickly assured her it would fit just fine and stepped into the dressing chamber to change.
Her dressing room was even larger than the grand hall we’d just come from. While the hall had been filled with art treasures and immortal artifacts, this room was dedicated entirely to garments—robes, sashes, shoes, accessories—all displayed in a collector’s harmony that screamed
cultivated taste
.
From inside the chamber, I called out, “This room is enormous!”
“It wasn’t always a dressing room,” Margaret replied from beyond the curtain. “It used to be a guest salon. But after my late Dao companion passed, I converted it to hold my robes. A woman must have her own sacred ground, don’t you agree?”
Now that we were alone, her tone shifted, becoming more candid—free from the rigid airs of aristocracy. Ever since I had offhandedly mentioned my love for novels, something had softened in her gaze. Perhaps it was the power of shared cultivation… in literary taste.
She chuckled gently.
“My late husband never understood why I needed so many robes. Yet he’d lose hundreds of thousands of gold on business ventures without blinking.”
“Of course,” I replied. “At least the robes remain. They don’t vanish into thin air.”
Margaret’s laughter deepened. It seemed I’d said something that resonated.
Whew… I might’ve salvaged this disaster a little…
Even if I didn’t make it into this party, there could still be another chance down the road.
As she laughed softly outside, I reached for the dress laid over the petticoat—then paused.
There, sitting atop a nearby shelf, was a book. Its cover was plain, roughly bound in stitched parchment, but the title was etched clearly.
Could it be…?
“This one’s about the mute princess and her prince, right? What was the title again…? ‘A Heart That Cannot Be Spoken’?”
Yes. That was it.
《
A Heart That Cannot Be Spoken
》
I picked it up. This was the very same book I had seen in my dream. If this really was what I thought it was, then…
“Are you dressed yet?”
“Ah—n-not yet!”
I peeked through the curtain at Lady Margaret, standing just beyond it.
If this was truly the same book… then this unshakable matriarch of high society—the wealthiest woman in the capital, feared for her sharp business acumen and peerless taste—was also…
I rushed to finish dressing, loosely tying the sashes and cords, then opened the roughly bound pages of the manuscript.
Fair skin, crimson lips—his features radiated allure even in stillness. A chaste lily in bloom. If one word could capture him, it would be… ethereal purity.
Ethereal purity.
Just from one page, I counted the phrase over ten times. And with a mute princess and noble prince as leads, there could be no mistake.
This was an unpublished work of
Scarlet
, the famed romance novelist.
Now for the quiz.
Who, in this realm, might already have access to a manuscript set to release next week?
A. The editor.
B. The author.
So, which one was Margaret?
I pondered the answer, recalling something Philip once said:
“I’m telling you, Scarlet’s a married woman.”
Philip had a strange obsession with uncovering Scarlet’s identity.
“I understand women better than you, Emelline. Every male lead in her stories marries the heroine—then dies. What does that tell you?”
“That she likes tragic endings?”
“Wrong! She’s either a married cultivator who wants to end her Dao partner, or a widow who already has. Scarlet knows the sweet freedom of solo cultivation. No monogamous ending could ever satisfy her!”
“…That’s ridiculous.”
“Tch. You just don’t understand women, Emelline!”
Now I knew the answer. Without a doubt.
Chapter 62