dtnovels Chapter 170 The Headless Queen's Gem
Chapter 170 The Headless Queen's Gem
June 24, 1989, 7 p.m.
Place Vendôme, Paris, Royal Suite at the Ritz Hotel.
In front of the huge full-length dressing mirror, the air was filled with the scent of Chanel No. 5 (a very famous perfume).
Ayako Yoshino stood in front of the mirror, making final adjustments to the hem of her Dior haute couture evening gown. It was a vibrant peacock blue silk dress, layers of lace cascading down her legs like ocean waves. Around her neck was a Tiffany diamond necklace, its pavé-set diamonds refracting a dazzling fire under the crystal chandelier.
"Reiko, do you think these earrings of mine are too small?"
Ayako turned her head and asked anxiously.
Reiko Aesop was busy fastening a handbag studded with rhinestones. She was wearing a fuchsia taffeta dress, making her look like a giant, blooming peony.
"No, it matches your necklace perfectly." Reiko glanced at her watch. "Hurry up, the caravan is already waiting downstairs. Tonight is for 'La Traviata,' and I heard many European celebrities will be there."
The two girls, like two peacocks about to spread their tails, twirled in front of the mirror, checking every detail of themselves, afraid that their radiance wouldn't be dazzling enough to illuminate the Parisian night sky.
The bedroom door opened.
Satsuki came out.
The air in the room seemed to freeze for a moment.
She didn't wear those elaborate laces, nor did she choose bright colors.
She wore a minimalist black velvet gown. The neckline was very low, revealing a large expanse of her fair, almost translucent skin. The skirt flowed vertically to the floor, devoid of any superfluous embellishments, like a flowing stream of darkness.
She wasn't wearing any diamonds.
Only around his neck hung a somewhat worn necklace.
It was a thumb-sized ruby, set in a dull, old silver setting. The gem hadn't been cut or polished using modern techniques; its surface was even somewhat hazy. Under bright light, it didn't sparkle like a diamond, but instead displayed a rich, viscous dark red hue.
It looked like a piece of blood that had dried up long ago.
"Um... Satsuki."
Ayako hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on the pendant, which looked somewhat dull and even a little old. She didn't directly comment on the gemstone, but instead spoke with unusual caution, tinged with tentative concern:
"The color of this gem seems...very deep. The lighting in an opera house is quite dim; I'm worried it might be...a bit too understated?"
She glanced at the dazzling yellow diamond necklace in her jewelry box, and lowered her voice even further, as if afraid of offending the other person:
"If needed... I happen to have a spare yellow diamond necklace here. Perhaps its bright brilliance would complement the lights tonight?"
Satsuki walked up to the mirror.
She looked at herself in the mirror. A black dress, fair skin, and a touch of scarlet at the throat.
"No."
She raised her hand, her fingertips gently tracing the cold stone.
Some things don't need to shine.
"Let's go."
Satsuki turned around, her black skirt sweeping silently across the carpet.
……
The Paris Opera (Palais Garnier).
This architectural masterpiece from the time of Napoleon III is brightly lit tonight. Red velvet curtains hang between the massive marble columns.
On the magnificent Grand Escalier, elegantly dressed women mingled.
The girls from Saint Hua Academy were slowly climbing the steps.
Their performance was impeccable.
They wore Dior or Chanel haute couture gowns, long gloves, and gracefully lifted their skirts. Ayako and Reiko were talking in hushed tones, occasionally chuckling while covering their faces with feather fans. The confidence and ease they exuded made them seem less like tourists from a foreign land and more like socialites who belonged to this social scene.
Several old-fashioned French gentlemen around them cast admiring glances. In their eyes, these young women from the East were like a group of exquisite porcelain dolls—young, wealthy, and full of vitality, their diamond jewelry sparkling under the crystal chandeliers.
That belongs to a peaceful era, to a life built on money.
Just then.
The revolving door at the entrance of the hall is turning.
A night breeze swept in, stirring the red curtain at the doorway.
Satsuki stepped into the hall.
Amidst a sea of shimmering beads and vibrant, intricate silks, that striking deep black stands out starkly.
She was like a carefully crafted shadow, or a drop of ink falling into a golden goblet. In this hall full of flowing, glittering light and shadow, her unadorned black dress coldly and silently cut through the floating dust of extravagance in the air.
She began to climb the steps.
One step, two steps.
If Ayako and the others are shining diamonds, then Satsuki is a black hole that devours light.
She walked slowly, each step on some unseen rhythm. That almost oppressive solemnity emanating from her very being acted like an invisible barrier, abruptly cutting through the originally relaxed and pleasant social atmosphere around her.
The French gentlemen, who had been admiring the young women, suddenly froze.
They watched the black figure slowly walk up, and the gem around her neck that emitted a dark red glow amidst the golden light of the room.
Appreciation turned into awe.
That was Marie Antoinette's ruby.
That was the blood-red color of the guillotine.
Surrounded by a group of glamorous modern socialites, this Eastern girl looked like a ghost that had stepped out of an 18th-century oil painting.
This "visual dissonance" instantly caught the eye of all connoisseurs.
"Who is that?"
A gentleman asked his companion in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the dark red pendant.
"That stone...that cut...I feel like I've seen it in a museum catalog somewhere."
The noise in the hall did not disappear, but to these old-fashioned nobles, the world seemed to have quieted down.
Satsuki didn't notice the change in the way people were looking at her.
She climbed the last step, walked through the crowd still taking pictures of the chandelier, and headed straight for the second-floor lounge.
……
Second floor, Grand Foyer.
This is the heart of Parisian social life. The walls are covered in gold leaf, and the ceiling is adorned with murals by Paul Baudelaire.
The bell for halftime had not yet rung, but some big shots who didn't want to watch the show but just wanted to socialize had already gathered here.
An elderly woman sat on the sofa in the center. She wore an old-fashioned but exquisitely made dark purple dress, and her full head of silver hair was neatly combed. She was surrounded by a group of people trying to strike up a conversation, including several smiling Japanese bankers.
She was the Marquise de Clermont, one of the few remaining true "queens" in Parisian society.
She waved her fan wearily, ignoring the compliments around her.
Suddenly, she stopped moving.
Her gaze swept through the crowd and landed on the black figure that had just entered the lounge.
To be precise, they locked onto the necklace around the girl's neck.
The Marquis slammed her fan shut with a sharp snap.
She pushed aside the president of a Japanese trading company who was blocking her way, without even saying "excuse me," and stood up and walked in that direction.
The surrounding crowd parted to make way in surprise.
Satsuki was standing in front of a huge mirror, adjusting her gloves.
"Mademoiselle." (Miss)
An old and dignified voice sounded from behind.
Satsuki turned around leisurely.
The Marquis stood before her, her sharp old eyes fixed on the dark red gem.
"If only my old eyesight hadn't deteriorated..."
The Marquise's voice trembled slightly as she extended her lace-gloved hand and pointed to the necklace.
"The last time I saw it was on a portrait in the Rochefort family ancestral home. It was something Queen Marie Antoinette wore at the Tuileries Palace. It was a tear of the Bourbon dynasty."
The surrounding air froze instantly.
Ayako Yoshino and Reiko Isokawa covered their mouths, staring in shock at the stone around Satsuki's neck that they had just complained about for being "not bright enough".
Queen Mary? The Bourbon dynasty?
Isn't that a name from a history book?
Satsuki looked at the excited Marquis.
She didn't seem frightened by the other person's identity; instead, a hint of hunter's satisfaction as he watched his prey fall into his net flashed deep in her eyes.
Finally, it took the bait.
She stood here tonight, enduring the heavy necklace and tedious small talk, her only target the old woman before her—the Marquise de Clermont.
This lady was not only a queen of the social world, but also a gatekeeper of Europe's "old money" circles. In this closed and arrogant circle, only by gaining her approval could the Saionji family shed the label of "Asian nouveau riche" and be truly accepted by European high society.
This is a good deal.
Once she is won over, SA Group's future acquisitions of European luxury brand workshops or access to secret channels of Swiss banks will no longer be simple business negotiations, but rather resource exchanges between "aristocrats".
It will even benefit the Saionji family's future plans in Europe.
In the blink of an eye, Satsuki's expression remained unchanged.
She simply bowed slightly, performing a standard courtly curtsy—a gesture so refined that it was even more authentic than that of many of the French people present.
"Madame la Marquise." (The Marquise)
Satsuki answered in fluent French.
"You read that right. Count Rochefort believes it's better to bring it back into the light than to let it languish in a moldy safe. After all..."
Satsuki stretched out her fingertips and gently lifted the gem.
"Gemstones have memories. They remember the ball at Versailles, and they remember the razor's edge at the Place de la Concorde."
"I prefer this heavy, bloody sense of history to the sparkle of diamonds."
The Marquis looked at the young Eastern girl before her, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. Such a young face, yet speaking such aged, so "knowledgeable" words.
"You...you are?" the Marquises asked instinctively.
Satsuki slightly raised her chin, looking directly into the Marchioness's eyes, and in a calm and clear tone, announced the name that also represented power in the East:
"La fille du Duc Saionji, Satsuki." (Satsuki, daughter of the Duke of Saionji.)
Without pausing, she handed over a specially made business card bearing the family crest and the SA Group logo.
"The Saionji family has existed in Kyoto for nearly a thousand years. Just as your family has upheld the glory of France, we have always been committed to preserving those traditions that should not be forgotten by time."
"If there is an opportunity in the future, I would love to discuss with you how to ensure that these ancient glories continue to be passed down in this new era."
Duc. A thousand-year history. Guardian of tradition.
These three keywords instantly broke through the Marchioness's psychological defenses.
In the values of old-money Europe, nouveau riche may have money, but they can never have this kind of reverence and empathy for history.
a long time.
The Marquise slowly lowered her head.
She was paying homage to her fellow human beings, or even to some higher level of existence.
"You're right, Mademoiselle."
The Marquise took a half step back, accepted the business card, and carefully put it into her handbag.
"In an era filled with nouveau riche and glass beads, it is my honor to see true 'weight'."
She turned to the stunned French nobles around her and, in a tone befitting the introduction of royalty, announced to the entire Parisian social circle:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce you. This is Miss Saionji, from Japan."
As the Marquis's words fell, those once proud heads all lowered, paying homage to this "noble colleague" from the East.
After the greetings, it was as if an invisible barrier had been broken, and the stagnant air in the hall began to flow again.
Satsuki continued her conversation with the Marchioness.
Waiters in tailcoats, carrying silver platters, moved silently through the crowd once more. Champagne bubbles rose in the glasses, and expensive red wine swirled in the decanter, displaying its intoxicating color. The nobles raised their glasses again, resuming their hushed conversations and elegant social interactions. Only this time, when their gazes swept over the figure in black, their eyes held a newfound understanding and acceptance of a fellow "kindred spirit."
In the dazzling Parisian world of fame and fortune, Saionji Satsuki is no longer a passerby in a foreign land, but has become the most vibrant stroke in this flowing oil painting.
……
"when--"
As the opening bell rang, the heavy velvet curtain was slowly drawn back.
The enormous crystal chandelier rose toward the ceiling, its light gradually dimming, plunging the vast Paris Opera House into a solemn darkness.
Only a pale spotlight shone down on the stage, enveloping the female lead in the white dress.
As Verdi's "La Traviata" overture began, the beautiful and sorrowful melody of the violin echoed under the empty dome, like a series of unspoken sighs.
The private box in the center of the second floor was deathly silent.
Satsuki sat alone in the deep red shadows.
She didn't look at the joys and sorrows unfolding on the stage; the stirring arias seemed to her only as background noise, isolating her from the world around her.
Her left hand supported her chin, while her right hand rested casually on her collarbone. Her fingertips gently caressed the ruby.
Violetta on stage sang the highest notes, her voice so poignant and moving that it brought tears to the eyes of the audience below, who then murmured suppressed sobs.
Just then, the stage lights changed.
A faint ray of refracted light swept across the dark private room and struck the gemstone around her neck with pinpoint accuracy.
"Whoosh."
In the darkness, the sleeping ruby suddenly awoke, flashing a strange and intense blood-red light.
The light flashed and disappeared in an instant.
It was like an invisible guillotine guillotine, falling silently in the square in the dead of night.
It severed the past, and it also cut into the future.