Volume One Chapter 1: Throwing the Ball to Choose a Father

“Everyone, come and see! There’s an embroidery tower right on Imperial Street!”

On the eighteenth day of the fifth month, in the fifteenth year of the Tianqi era, the early risers of the capital who had ventured out for breakfast were thrown into an uproar.

The reason was simple: on Imperial Street, which had been bustling with people just yesterday, a brand-new, exquisite embroidery tower had appeared overnight as if out of thin air.

Built from the finest golden-threaded nanmu wood, it was adorned with carved beams and painted rafters, dazzling in its opulence. If not for the fact that it blocked the entire street, who wouldn’t pause to sigh in admiration at its splendor?

Even the officials on their way to court stopped in their tracks, their faces stern and cold. “This is Imperial Street! Who would dare to build a tower here? They must have nerves of steel!”

“It was us!” came a voice.

“And me too…”

Two soft, childish voices rang out above their heads.

The officials all looked up and saw a window on the embroidery tower swing open, revealing two tiny heads peeking out.

On the left was a little boy, no more than three or four years old, with large, bright, jet-black eyes that earnestly surveyed the crowd below. His face was so serious, his brows slightly furrowed in a deliberate display of solemnity. Yet that fair little face, with a hint of rosy pink, was so tender it made one’s hands itch to give it a gentle pinch.

On the right was a little girl about the same age, her cheeks round and plump. Seeing the sea of people below, her eyes curved into crescent moons as she smiled, dimples fluttering at the corners of her mouth, making onlookers want to reach up and poke them.

Such adorable children! One could hardly resist the urge to take them home.

“We built this embroidery tower to throw the ball and choose a father,” the little boy announced clearly after clearing his throat.

The words had barely left his lips when a wave of astonishment rolled through the crowd.

What? Choose a father?

They’d heard of throwing the ball to choose a spouse, but never to pick a father!

Since when did blood ties no longer matter when it came to fatherhood?

But that wasn’t all. The little girl, holding up two chubby fingers, piped up in her childish voice, “We only have two requirements for our new father. First, he must be handsome. Second, he must like to take baths.”

“Little sister, how many times have I told you? It’s called being upright and self-respecting, not just liking to take baths.” The little boy looked at his sister, exasperation clear in his tone.

“Brother, I remember! Upright means bathing, and bathing well makes a good man,” the little girl replied earnestly, nodding with all seriousness, sticking firmly to her belief.

The little boy lifted a pudgy hand to cover his eyes and sighed deeply.

The crowd below, delighted by the children, burst into laughter.

“Little ones, are there any other requirements?” someone called out, egging them on.

“He must be good to Mother and put her above all else,” the little boy added solemnly.

“That’s right. Mother says only men with virtue deserve to be our father,” the little girl echoed, trying her best to imitate her brother’s serious face.

Put her above all else? What kind of startlingly unconventional woman raised these children?

The officials at the front, indignant and bristling, felt that if these weren’t mere toddlers, they would have rushed up to voice their outrage.

Only one man, dressed in flamboyant purple, arched his brows in amusement and smiled playfully at the exchange.

“See that red line on the ground? Anyone who’s already married, taken a concubine, or has a companion—step outside the line,” the two children announced sweetly, but their words left the crowd dumbfounded.

Should three-year-olds really know about such things?

Instinctively, the crowd shuffled backward.

“Make way! I’m not married, have no concubines, no companions!” the man in purple declared loudly, pushing his way forward through the crowd, crossing the line.

“Well, Young General Shu, are you so eager to be a father?” someone teased.

A few young gentlemen behind him joined in, “Come on, let’s get involved, too. We can’t let Young General Shu steal all the glory.”

“The Emperor is arriving—!” rang out the eunuch’s sharp voice amid the commotion.

The once boisterous crowd quickly parted to either side, dropping to their knees in unison.

The Emperor, tall and imposing in a dark dragon robe, strode forward, his already commanding presence made all the more formidable.

The little boy’s eyes lit up instantly. Without a second thought, he seized the embroidered ball beside him and hurled it down.

The newly enthroned Emperor, Feng Qingyan, could hardly believe what was happening. He’d been waiting for his ministers to arrive for morning court, surprised by their tardiness. Hearing rumors of an embroidery tower on Imperial Street, he’d left the palace to see for himself, only to be hit squarely by the embroidered ball.

He knew that throwing the embroidered ball was a common folk custom, usually for choosing a spouse.

But he was the Emperor. His empress was to be chosen with the utmost respect—how could such a method be used?

He was just about to explain and politely refuse the match.

Just then, from above came a delighted cry, “Father!”

Feng Qingyan nearly stumbled, almost falling on the spot. Looking up, he met the gaze of two impossibly adorable children.

So, the bride was offering not only herself, but a two-for-one deal with children in tow?

What kind of topsy-turvy world was this?

But before he could recover, the little girl next to the boy puffed out her cheeks and protested loudly, “Hmph! Brother, your taste is terrible. Why’d you pick such a cold, stone-faced man? I don’t like him. I don’t want him as my father.”

“I want to choose another father!”

He—he was being rejected?

Feng Qingyan almost reached up to touch his own face. This was a face adored by countless women—could it really be disliked?

The little girl scanned the crowd carefully, then grabbed another embroidered ball and, with a swift toss, sent it flying—smack onto the head of the man in purple.

“Ow!” the man cried out dramatically, snatching the ball and holding it to his chest.

Feng Qingyan turned to look at him.

“So it’s you, Minister Shu.”

Realizing the crowd was still kneeling, the Emperor finally spoke. “Rise.”

Shu Zijun scrambled to his feet, beaming as he brandished the embroidered ball at the Emperor. “Your Majesty, you and I are today’s prize winners! This is the luckiest I’ve ever been in my life!”

“One in ten thousand! We’re truly one in ten thousand.”

Shu Zijun’s genuine excitement left the Emperor dumbfounded. He pointed to the embroidered ball in Shu Zijun’s hands. “Minister Yan, is that really the embroidered ball?”

A woman seeking two husbands, and he was to be one of them—what was there to be so happy about?

Shu Zijun nodded vigorously. “Your Majesty, it’s definitely the embroidered ball. These two little ones are throwing the ball to choose a father. The two of us get to be fathers together—surprised? Astonished?”

“To choose a what?” The Emperor’s face was turning green.