The first year of the Zhongyuan era, second month.
Spring in Chang'an arrived later than in previous years.
The case of Li Yan was concluded. Execution by cutting in half at the waist yaozhan). On the day of the execution, Liu Che sat in the study all day and did not come out. I didn't know what he was doing inside, but when I went in the evening to deliver food, I saw that roll of gift lists still on the desk, its edges frayed from his constant rubbing.
In the days that followed, the atmosphere in the court changed.
The Emperor's health deteriorated rapidly. In the first month, he could still hold court; by the second month, he was canceling audiences every other day. The Director of the Imperial Physicians entered and exited the Emperor's bedchamber daily, always leaving with his head bowed, his expression growing graver each time. The Crown Prince began acting as regent with increasing frequency. Liu Che started handling state affairs on behalf of the Emperor.
He was no longer just the youth of the Eastern Palace. Every day before dawn, he would rise, change into court robes, and go to the front court to listen to reports. Memorials piled up on his desk, reviewed from morning till night. Sometimes he didn't even have time for lunch; the meals Qingxing sent in would be brought out untouched.
I began to get used to waiting for him in the workshop. Repairing artifacts during the day, waiting for him at night. Sometimes he came, sat opposite me, saying nothing, just closing his eyes. Sometimes he didn't come, and Qingxing would relay the message: "His Highness won't be coming tonight; he asks the Lady to rest early."
I knew he was in the study. The lamp burned until dawn.
The first time I hugged him was on the ninth day of the second month.
He arrived at the workshop very late that night. I was dozing against the workbench when I heard the door creak and opened my eyes. He stood at the doorway, wearing his court robes, his hair crown still on but askew. His face looked very pale under the candlelight, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than in previous days.
"Not asleep yet?" he asked.
"Waiting for you," I said.
He walked in and sat in his usual spot—on the floor opposite the workbench, leaning against the pillar. He said nothing, just closed his eyes and leaned against the column. His breathing was shallow, as if even breathing was exhausting.
I looked at him. His shoulders slumped; the collar of his court robe was loose, revealing a section of his collarbone. His fingers rested on his knees, his knuckles red—from grinding ink and writing on memorials. Those hands, which three months ago had held mine while riding in Shanglin Park, now held only bamboo slips and brush pens.
I stood up, walked to him, and squatted down. I reached out, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and pulled him into my embrace.
His body stiffened for a moment.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"Hugging you," I said.
He didn't move. He stayed rigid, like a tightly drawn string. I felt his breath catch for an instant, then slowly, slowly relax. His forehead rested against my shoulder, his hair brushing against my neck, slightly prickly.
"Rest a while if you're tired," I said.
He said nothing. After a while, his hand rose and gently rested on my back. Not gripping, just resting. Like a drowning person grabbing a piece of driftwood.
"Lu Xingye," his voice was very low.
"Mm."
"Today, the Censorate and the Chancellor's office argued all day. Over the spring plowing taxes for this year. One side said reduce them, the other said they couldn't be reduced. In the end, neither convinced the other."
"What do you think?"
"I want to reduce them," he said. "Last year's harvest was poor; the common people have no surplus grain. If we don't reduce taxes, they can't even plant for spring. But the Chancellor is also right—the treasury is empty, the Xiongnu in the north are still watching; without money and grain, how do we support the army?"
His voice grew lower and lower.
"I don't know what to do."
I held him, gently patting his back. His body was very thin; the sharp angles of his shoulder blades pressed against my palm.
"Then think about it tomorrow," I said. "Rest today."
"Tomorrow has tomorrow's problems."
"Then think about it the day after."
He laughed. The laughter was light, muffled against my shoulder.
"You make it sound so easy."
"Iam easy," I said. "I don't have to attend court."
He said nothing. After a while, his breathing gradually became even. I thought he had fallen asleep.
"Lu Xingye," he suddenly spoke.
"Mm."
"Hug me a little longer."
I tightened my arms. "Okay."
That night, he leaned in my arms for a long time. Long enough for my legs to go numb, long enough for the candle to burn out, long enough for the sky outside the window to begin to whiten. When he stood up, there were still red marks on his face from the folds of his clothes.
"I'm going to court," he said.
"Mm."
He walked to the door and stopped.
"I'll come again tonight," he said.
Then he left.
Fourteenth day of the second month. Liu Che arrived with a smile on his face. Rare.
"What happened today?" I asked.
"The Chancellor didn't argue with me today," he said, sitting in his usual spot, leaning against the pillar, and exhaling deeply. "He's sick. He took leave."
"...Your Highness, the Chancellor is sick, and you're this happy?"
"Not happy," he said, the corner of his mouth curving. "Just peaceful."
I looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but his spirit seemed better than in previous days.
"Your Highness," I walked over and squatted in front of him, "you've worked hard."
He looked at me, saying nothing.
I reached out, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and pulled him into my embrace like I had a few days ago. This time, he didn't stiffen. His hand naturally rested on my back, his chin on my shoulder.
"The Censorate submitted another memorial today," he said, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "Saying the position of Governor of Hedong is vacant and needs to be filled quickly. They recommended three candidates, all of them people of the Princess."
"What will you do?"
"Suppress it," he said. "Don't approve it. Let them wait."
"How long can you suppress it?"
"As long as I can," his voice sounded somewhat weary. "Father's health is getting worse. Empress Dowager Dou isn't managing court affairs much anymore, but the Princess is still jumping around. There are people moving on the Prince of Liang's side too."
He paused.
"I am waiting. Waiting for Father to hand over more power to me. Waiting until I have enough authority in my hands, so I won't have to read anyone's expressions anymore."
His hand gently patted my back, as if comforting himself.
"Your Highness," I said, "you will get there."
"How do you know?"
"Because you are waiting," I said. "Not sleeping.Waiting."
He laughed. This laugh was more genuine than the previous one.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Sing a song for me."
I paused. "What?"
"Sing," he said. "That one you sang last time—what was it?Christmas. Sing it again."
"That's not for this season."
"Then sing one for now."
I thought for a moment. What came to mind wasn't any elegant tune, but the theme song from an animated series I watched as a child. The show was calledBalala the Fairies. The melody was simple, the lyrics childish. But it had played on my grandmother's TV; it was my favorite growing up.
"Don't laugh if I sing badly," I said.
"I won't laugh."
I cleared my throat and began to sing softly."Legend has it there's a Fairy Castle, where a Queen is quite formidable. Every fairy receives her guidance, all hoping for a better world—"
I sang two lines, and I felt his shoulders shaking.
"You said you wouldn't laugh," I stopped.
"I'm not laughing," his voice trembled.
"You're shaking."
"That's because I'm cold."
I continued singing."Balala the Fairies, chant the spell, and unfold a battle for justice. Balala the Fairies, chant the spell, and the most beautiful dream will come true—"
When I finished, the workshop was silent for a moment.
Then he laughed.
Not the muffled laugh against my shoulder from before, but a real laugh, surging from his chest. His shoulders shook with laughter; he laughed until tears almost came out. He lifted his head, looking at me, the corners of his eyes curved, his mouth upturned, his whole person glowing.
"Fairy Castle?" he laughed until he couldn't catch his breath. "Queen?"
"I told you not to laugh!"
"I'm not laughing—haha—"
He laughed, leaning back, the back of his head hitting the pillar with athump. He covered the back of his head, still laughing.
"What kind of tune is this? Something you listened to as a child?"
"Mm. An animation. It's... drawn stories, for children to watch."
"What is the Fairy Castle?"
"It's... a place with lots of magic."
"Magic?"
"Yeah. Sorcery. Immortal arts. The kind that transforms things."
He thought for a moment, then suddenly reached out, making a strange gesture with his fingers in front of me, lowering his voice: Balala the Fairies?"
I glared at him.
He laughed again. This time even harder than before, bending over, clutching his stomach in pain. He leaned against the pillar, holding his belly, tears of laughter still hanging in the corners of his eyes. His laughter echoed through the workshop, making the charcoal fire seem to jump.
"Lu Xingye," he laughed, "you watched this as a child?"
"What of it?"
"Nothing," he wiped the corner of his eye. "Just thinking... your childhood was quite fun."
I looked at him. Traces of laughter remained on his face; his eyes were red-rimmed, his mouth upturned. The dark circles were still there, but that layer of exhaustion had been washed away by laughter. He looked like a fifteen-year-old. Not the Crown Prince, not the Regent, just a youth who heard a strange tune and couldn't stop laughing.
"Your Highness," I said, "you look good when you smile."
He paused. Then turned his head away, the roots of his ears turning red.
"Nonsense."
"Really."
He said nothing. After a while, his hand reached out and took mine. His palm was very hot.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"In the future, when you are unhappy, I will sing songs for you too."
"What do you know how to sing?"
He thought for a moment. "I don't know. But I can learn."
"Learn to singFairy Castle?"
"Not that one," he said, the corner of his mouth curving. "I'll learn something proper."
"What's improper aboutFairy Castle?"
"Everything about it is improper."
I laughed. He laughed too. The workshop was warm; the charcoal fire burned, the wind blew outside the window. The second month in Chang'an was still very cold, but here, it was warm.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Sing for me every day in the future."
"Every day? You'll get tired of it."
"I won't," he said. "I'll listen to whatever you sing."
He leaned against the pillar, closing his eyes. The corner of his mouth still curved, as if savoring something.
Balala the Fairies," he suddenly said, the pronunciation ridiculously off.
"Don't mimic me."
Balala—"
"Your Highness!"
He (laughingly) dodged my hand. Laughing, his voice gradually lowered, turning into something very light, very soft. His hand still held mine, his thumb resting on my pulse.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"It's so good that you are here."
The wind outside the window stopped. The second month in Chang'an was still very cold. But the workshop was warm. The charcoal fire burned, the candle flame danced. A fifteen-year-old youth leaned against the pillar, the corner of his mouth upturned, holding the hand of a woman who traveled from two thousand years in the future.
He didn't know what that spell meant. But he knew that every time it was chanted, someone would laugh. And when that person laughed, he would laugh too.
That was enough.
[End of Chapter 20]