The figure wore a silver belt about her waist, her hair bound without a cap. Her flowing robes streamed like snow; her sweeping sleeves flew like clouds.
Her brows outshone distant mountains, yet held a measure of sword-like sharpness; her eyes gathered the gleam of autumn waters, yet carried a touch of rakish charm.
Her crimson lips seemed steeped in cinnabar-one might call her a wine-loving youth; her pale hands seemed carved from jade-one might call her a young master stroking a zither.
At first sight, she seemed the spirit of Song Yu; on closer inspection, she was Xi Shi made real.
Her bearing could eclipse Wei Shubao; her splendor dared laugh at Pan Anren.
Yet she was a woman.
Wang Yi smiled. "Niece Xiao, the moment you put on men's clothes, you outshine who knows how many young men in my family."
Xiao Baoyue opened her fan and waved it, every inch a noble young gentleman.
"You jest, Uncle Wang. In all Jiangzuo, the Wang and Xie lead in elegance. The Wang Clan has fragrant orchids filling its courtyards and jade trees crowding its halls. Even the imperial family falls short in some respects."
Wang Yi put on an exaggerated look of alarm and waved his hands repeatedly.
"Oh, no, no! You mustn't say that! You mustn't!"
Xiao Baoyue's expression was equally exaggerated, amusement lurking at the corners of her eyes. She tapped the folding fan against her palm and said in a clear, bright voice:
"Why not? Just one of your distant nephews, not yet of age, became famous throughout Jingchu in a mere few months, acclaimed foremost among the talented men of an entire province. Such grandeur in a family-not only my Xiao family, but even the Xie Family cannot match it."
Wang Yi pointed at Xiao