[Political Intrigue + Strong Female Lead + Ensemble of Women + Chancellor + Empress + No Romance] Daiyu buries flowers, and buries her enemies’ whole families too (｡ò ∀ ó｡)
No misogynistic language, no women fighting over men. The ratio of female to male characters is ten to one. All the major characters have their own growth arcs. The story may feel a little episodic, so feedback is welcome.
This is the story of a woman who leaves the inner chambers for the court, transforms from a pawn into a player, and ultimately rewrites an era with her own hands.
She enters the mansion at ten. At the Old Madam’s tea party, she conceals her sharpness, using the art of tea to allude to the governance of the realm.
At twelve, she debates river works. Ten questions stun the court and leave a retired minister publicly ashamed.
At fifteen, she takes charge of the household. In a single night, she settles the power struggle among the five branches of the family, and from then on no one in the Jia household dares underestimate “Miss Lin.”
At seventeen, she puts down the wokou pirates. Though frail, she travels to the coastal frontier herself, where the enemy chieftain falls beneath the imperial sword.
At thirty, she becomes chancellor. At forty, she becomes regent. At fifty, the history books call her “Wencheng.”
She never dreamed of becoming emperor.
But she never stepped aside.
A thousand beauties in full bloom, ten thousand blossoms shining together.
Baochai takes charge of the Ministry of Revenue, Tanchun opens up the seas, Xiangyun guards the frontier, and Fengjie prosecutes corruption.
They died, and they lived.
Their blood nourished an age in which women could hold their heads high and walk freely.
She had vowed to repay kindness with tears, yet fate made her a hand capable of mending the heavens.
The shadows of bamboo in Xiaoxiang became Wu hooks.
Amid the sound of flowers being buried, she reckoned with the sorrows of the people.
Storms rise at midnight behind vermilion gates; golden hairpins join hands to steer the boat.
The weeping willows are pulled up and set upright in midstream.
Mountains and rivers become her scroll, and history records her arched brows.
A golden hairpin hidden in snow, the realm held in her hands. She speaks not of romance, but of ruling the land. See how the young ladies of the Red Chamber turn clouds with one hand and rain with the other.
Content warning: A serious historical drama, not a sweet romance. The story follows its characters from youth into old age.
Then I'll order one for myself 😳 😘