Xing Muzheng, flanked by officials, entered the polo field. Its size matched that of Yongan’s, but the spectator seats were broader and more numerous. The wind shelter pavilion had been moved from the top tier to the lowest, now draped in layers of pale green gauze that rippled in the breeze, adding splashes of color.
The beauties who had come along followed after Qian Jiaoniang in high spirits. They too had contributed to the field’s completion, and later would perform a ceremonial dance. They chattered gaily, vying to claim credit.
“Madam, look at that gauze canopy—the color is splendid! You don’t know, those big oafs wanted to use brown instead. Hung up, it looked dreadful!”
“Yes indeed! And they even said that’s what they use in the army camps. As if their eyes weren’t sore enough already!”
Qian Jiaoniang glanced toward the pavilion draped in green gauze and smiled. “That is all thanks to your efforts.”
The women giggled, each insisting they had cut and hung the fabric themselves. After praising them, Qian Jiaoniang recalled what had been said in the carriage and picked out a few who could play polo, instructing them to prepare for a match.
At once the group buzzed with excitement.
“We’re to play too?”
“But madam, there are so many people here!”
“Yes, madam, we’re women, not menfolk. To expose ourselves like this—is it proper?”
Qian Jiaoniang laughed. “And why not? If men can play, why can’t we? Just don’t let our daughters lose face—that will be enough.”
Zhao Yaoqian had also come. Hearing that Qian Jiaoniang herself would take the field, she eagerly volunteered. Qian Jiaoniang was somewhat surprised. Though Zhao Yaoqian played well, she was still a noble lady, with a noblewoman’s reserve. Out of concern for propriety, Qian Jiaoniang had meant to leave her out. But Zhao Yaoqian said firmly: “If Madam, as the Dingxi Marchioness, can take the field, why should I not? Besides, Madam surely has a deeper purpose in playing today. I, Yaoqian, am willing to lend my strength.”
She truly was a girl of ice and snow intelligence. Qian Jiaoniang smiled and gave her consent.
“Madam.” Xing Muzheng halted at the front and turned back to wait for her. The officials and merchants also stopped in their tracks. Qian Jiaoniang stepped forward to join him, at the same time whispering to Hongjuan to arrange seating for Qian Liniang and the Sun family.
Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang sat in the very center wind-screened pavilion of the polo field, while Xie Zhang and the other officials were seated in the neighboring pavilions. Behind Xie Zhang sat Prefect Xiong; sharp-eyed, he noticed that the Sun family had been placed in one of the pavilions. His eyelids twitched. By reason, the Sun family did not have the qualifications to sit in a pavilion. For them to be allowed in could only mean the Marquis truly acknowledged these in-laws.
The ceremony was organized by the military camp, and the opening was crisp and efficient—very much in the Xing army’s usual style. Drums thundered, bells and chimes resounded, masculine vigor filled the air, softened only when the beauties took the stage to offer a dance of celebration. Most of those seated above were commoners, and never had they seen such an exquisite display. They could not help but cheer loudly, applause crashing like waves.
Sun Bai’s eyes were glued to the row of beauties, utterly dazed. But Qian Liniang had no attention to spare for her husband’s vulgarity; she only stared blankly at the two figures behind the central green curtain.
Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang sat together upon the long couch. He tilted his head toward her, seeing the light veil still draped across her face, and said with a suppressed smile: “Let me see if your wound has healed.”
“No need to trouble yourself.” Even through the veil, one could hear the grit of Qian Jiaoniang’s teeth.
Xing Muzheng leaned a little closer, murmuring: “Still angry? I’ve already apologized to you.”
At that moment Xie Zhang came forward to seek instructions. Xing Muzheng straightened his back and told him to start the proceedings. Xie Zhang then stepped to the center of the polo field and delivered a rousing speech, after which fireworks were lit to announce the ceremony had begun. Before long, two competing teams rode in on horseback, banners fluttering, shouts ringing—the spectators roared, their voices reaching the heavens.
Today’s match was between new recruits from the camp and old veterans Xing Muzheng had brought back. Li Shugen, Sima Gou, and others stood among their ranks. The new recruits were all sturdy young men, selected as the first batch of cavalry—excellent in stamina and horsemanship. But the old soldiers, men like Sima Gou and Li Shugen, were seasoned in a hundred battles, with unmatched tacit understanding. Naturally, the recruits could not stand against them. Still, the game was far fiercer and more spectacular than anything played by Yongan’s aristocrats. Only then did Qian Jiaoniang realize the truth of what they had claimed: in comparison, Yongan’s players were no more than weak chickens. Not to mention the veterans—even the recruits would have beaten them.
For the Yuzhou audience, most were seeing a polo match for the first time. Every one of them was captivated by the warriors on the field, their eyes and heads following the little black ball, cheering and shouting without restraint.
In the end, the veterans carried the day, raising the victory banners and circling the field in celebration. But before the excitement faded, another two teams rode in—and this time, they were mixed, men and women both.
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