Quick Wear Dream Qiqi

On the Spring Equinox of the 28th year of Qianlong's reign, Xiaoyanzi sat alone under the grape trellis in Shufangzhai, clutching a half-broken hairpin in her hand - it was a birthday gift given to her by Yongqi when she was ten years old. It was made of broken jade and engraved with the word "Yan".

The moonlight filtered through the vines, weaving mottled shadows on her face, very much like the broken shadow puppets she had seen at the Lantern Festival last year.

"Little Swallow, it's time to go to bed." Ziwei's voice came from the window, filled with worry.

She didn't respond, but just looked at the lights of the Shangyi Bureau in the distance.

Meng Qiqi's figure was reflected on the window paper, and she was writing and drawing on a pile of account books. Yong Qi's profile occasionally flashed by, and he seemed to be holding a newly made butterfly secret letter tube in his hand.

They always stood close to each other when they talked, like two symbiotic orchids, and every time I intruded, I was like a sparrow that accidentally stumbled into a bush, clumsily startling a flock of butterflies.

Her fingertips stroked the cracks on the hairpin, and she recalled the scene in the Imperial Garden three days ago: Yongqi and Meng Qiqi were discussing the South Sea spice trade, and when they were talking excitedly, he actually reached out to brush away the fallen flowers on her shoulder.

The action was as natural as breathing, and I was about to hand over the freshly roasted chestnuts, my hand hanging in the air, when I suddenly lost my strength.

"It turns out that some likes really do expire." She whispered to the moon, her voice shattered by the spring breeze and scattered among the grape leaves.

At the beginning of the morning hour, Xiaoyanzi buried the broken hairpin under the swing frame and piled up pebbles to form a small grave.

She was wearing the same coarse cloth clothes she wore when she first met Yongqi, and was carrying a small bundle on her back, with half of a copy of "The Book of Jianghu Business" sticking out from the corner - that was her plan to open a teahouse among the people.

"Princess, are you really leaving?" Mingyue cried and pulled her sleeve.

"Silly girl," she smiled and wiped away Chuntao's tears, "the canaries in the Forbidden City shouldn't be kept in cages. Tell Ziwei for me that I'm going to see if the butterflies outside are as pretty as ours."

As she passed by the Shangyi Bureau, she heard Meng Qiqi's voice: "This batch of benzoin needs to be mixed with 30% mint. It's hot in the South Seas, and women use it to refresh themselves."

Yongqi said, "I will accompany the Emperor on his southern tour tomorrow. I will take the 'Spice Tariff' you wrote with me."

Xiaoyanzi touched the butterfly whistle at her waist, but didn't blow it in the end.

The endings of some stories are determined by the division of roles from the very beginning - some people are destined to turn the tide in the court, while others are destined to travel the world in the martial arts world.

When we walked out of Shenwu Gate, the morning fog was thick.

She took a deep breath, smelled the aroma from the bun shop outside the wall, and heard the peddler's shouting.

The butterfly whistle in his hand swayed gently, making a crisp sound, which sounded very much like the sound of the wind under the grape trellis in Shufangzhai.

She suddenly smiled, raised her whistle towards the foggy sky and blew a tuneless song - it was her farewell song to herself and also a farewell to the past.

During the Grain Rain season, the Tonggiya clan ancestral hall is filled with the scent of sandalwood.

Meng Qiqi knelt in front of the ancestral tablet with the "Tonggiya Female Instructions" in front of her. Between the pages was the blood-written note by the original owner Xinrong - that was the "Three Obediences and Four Virtues" oath she was forced to write at the age of fourteen, and the handwriting had long been blurred by tears.

"Master of the family," she stood up and faced her uncle on the high seat, "Xinrong is willing to pledge half a year's earnings from the Shangyi Bureau in exchange for the right to make decisions on clan affairs."

The uncle sneered, tapping the family tree with his pipe: "You are just a woman, what do you know about family management? Your father died young because he allowed women to show up in public!"

She was well prepared, unfolding the Jiangnan Embroidery Workshop Profit Report. "This is the dividend from the women's craft workshop, 30% of which comes from the women of the clan participating in the shareholding. They trade their embroidery needles for silver and use scented ink to keep accounts. They are a hundred times better off than the men who hide in the deep house fighting crickets."

My uncle's expression changed, and his eyes fell on the butterfly seal on the report - it was the word "Tong" engraved in women's script, with its wings spread out like pages of a book.

Meng Qiqi knew clearly that what he was thinking about at the moment was that the family's treasury was becoming increasingly depleted, while her perfume and ink trade was making a fortune.

"I'll give you three months," the uncle finally said, "If you can't double the family's assets, you'll stay in your boudoir and never show your face again!"

As she kowtowed, her fingertips touched the cracks in the ancestral hall's floor tiles, where the fingernail marks of the original owner, Xinrong, were hidden - those were left when she was fourteen years old and was imprisoned here to copy the "Female Training".

Now, she wants to use these cracks to pry open the iron curtain of the entire family.

On the day of Grain Full, Meng Qiqi appeared at the Tonggiya family banquet wearing the newly made imperial robes.

The gold thread on the shawl is no longer embroidered with the traditional phoenix, but with butterflies with spread wings. The name of the tribe’s industries is embroidered in women’s script on the wings of each butterfly: “Embroidery Workshop”, “Spice Shop”, and “Women’s Craft Studio”.

"How shameless!" The uncle slammed the table and stood up. "The phoenix is ​​the king of birds, and you're replacing it with a butterfly. Are you plotting rebellion?"

She took off her shawl calmly, revealing the riding and shooting skirt underneath: "Although the butterfly is small, it can fly across the ocean. Uncle, look at this skirt——"

She turned the peace pouch at her waist, revealing the account book inside. "The hidden pocket at the corner of the skirt can hide the land deeds, and the pinholes on the sleeves can record secret accounts. It is a hundred times more practical than a wide robe with big sleeves."

The women let out low cries of surprise, and some of them secretly touched the hems of their skirts.

Many of them had been punished for hiding their own money, and what was flashing in their eyes at this moment was a burning desire.

"From now on," she took out the share certificates of the women in the clan, "all the women of the Tonggiya clan can invest in the company by using their embroidery or spice formulas, and receive dividends based on their shares at the end of the year. If anyone obstructs—"

She pointed to the "Women's Instructions" on the wall and said, "I will present to the Emperor all the old rules of our clan that treat women harshly."

My uncle's face turned from red to white, and he finally walked away angrily.

Meng Qiqi looked at his back and suddenly remembered what the original owner Xinrong had written in her diary: "The cracks in the bricks of the ancestral hall are filled with the cries of countless women."

Now, she wants to turn these cries into the roar of flapping wings.

On the eve of Grain in Ear, Meng Qiqi knelt outside the Yangxin Palace, holding the divorce papers in her hands.

A system notification chimed in: "A historical deviation has been detected. The original owner, Xinrong, had a 'dead end'. The current change is +60%, and the divorce success rate is +35%.

"Are you sure you want to divorce Yongqi?" Qianlong's voice came from behind the curtain, with a rare gentleness. "He has been mentioning your spice tax frequently in court recently."

"Your Majesty," she held the divorce agreement above her head, "My wife and the Fifth Prince were originally married for political reasons. Now we each have our own ambitions. Forcing them together would only harm our futures."

The curtains moved slightly. Qianlong looked at the butterfly seal on the divorce agreement and suddenly remembered the letter Xiaoyanzi had left him before she disappeared: "Father, Xiaoyanzi has gone to be a common butterfly. It's time for a real phoenix to fly in your throne room."

He turned to look at Yongqi and saw that he had clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"I agree." Qianlong finally said, "But..." He looked at Meng Qiqi, "The Shangyi Bureau cannot do without you. Come with me on my southern tour tomorrow and continue to run your spice shop."

At three quarters past midnight, Yongqi rushed into the imperial study and saw Meng Qiqi packing up the scented ink for the southern tour.

She no longer had the golden swallow hairpin in her hair, but instead had a simple butterfly hairpin. The fluorescent pink on the hairpin glowed slightly in the night.

"Why?" He grabbed her wrist. "We worked well together, why are we getting divorced?"

She looked up and saw the anxiety in his eyes, and suddenly remembered the scene when he saved Xiaoyanzi on the ice three months ago - at that time, there was a light in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"Because what I want," she gently pulled her wrist away, "is not to be trapped in the identity of 'Fifth Lady', but to stand upright in the court as Xinrong."

Yongqi took a half step back and bumped into the bookshelf. Several copies of "Haiguo Tuzhi" fell to the ground, revealing the butterfly secret letter tucked inside.

Those were the pieces of information she taught him to write with scented ink, and each one was marked "Personally from Yongqi."

"Do you think the divorce is the end?" She picked up the book and ran her fingertips over his notes. "During this southern tour, we want to build a steam embroidery workshop in Jiangnan and a women's trading port on the coast. How can we accomplish these things without you and me working together?"

He suddenly grabbed her hand, much more gently this time: "I have never regarded you as the 'Fifth Lady'. From the day you painted butterflies with scented ink in the imperial garden, you have been mine--" He paused, not knowing how to describe this bond that transcended that of husband and wife.

Meng Qiqi looked at his panic and suddenly chuckled: "We are allies, confidants, and people who will change the world together. But first, I have to be myself."

She stuffed the divorce papers into his arms and said, "Keep this. When you figure it out, we can talk about cooperation again."

Walking out of the imperial study, the night breeze blew on her face, and she touched the butterfly hairpin - this was the one Xiaoyanzi gave her before she left, and the word "freedom" was engraved on the end of the hairpin in women's script.

In the distance, Yongqi's figure was still standing in front of the window, and the divorce letter trembled gently in his hand, like a butterfly wanting to spread its wings.