Year 12 of Yongle, September. Beijing.
Zhu Zhanji never mentioned the drugging incident again.
I waited for three days, but there was no movement. No arrests, no reprimands, no messages sent to the Prince of Han's mansion, and not even a change in the position of the Great General's jar. Everything remained as usual, as if nothing had happened. The only difference was a small porcelain dish placed beside the Great General's jar, containing several slices of apple cut extremely thin—replaced with fresh ones every day, though the Great General hadn't eaten a single bite.
On the fourth day, the Prince of Han came again.
"Miss, the Prince of Han is here again!" Ruolan ran in from outside, panting. "He says he wants to fight crickets again."
I put down the Compendium of Materia Medica in my hands. "The Great General hasn't fully recovered yet."
"Miss, it's not the Great General this time. His Highness has switched to another cricket, called 'Little Green'."
I paused, walked to the door of the side room, and looked out. From the direction of the martial arts field, the Prince of Han's loud voice could be faintly heard, with the same tone and the same triumph as last time.
"Hahaha—This one isn't good either, Zhanji! Switching it made it worse than the Great General!"
I listened for a while, then returned to the table to continue reading. But after flipping three pages, I hadn't absorbed a single word. My gaze fell on the vermilion annotations left by the Third Prince on the edge of the pages. The handwriting was neat and slender, every stroke perfectly placed. Too perfectly placed.
That afternoon, Zhu Zhanji came to the side room to see the Great General.
His expression was calm, showing no trace of having lost a match, but there was some dust on his clothes—not from the martial arts field, but from the study. I could smell the scent of ink, fresh and carrying the fragrance of pine soot. After losing the match, he hadn't gone to practice martial arts to vent his frustration; he had returned to the study.
"How is the Great General?" He sat down opposite me.
"Almost recovered. It can fight normally after two more days of care." I paused, glancing at him. "You switched to another cricket today?"
"Mm."
"Intentional?"
He didn't deny it. "Second Uncle won twice and is very happy. He won again today. When he is happy, he talks a lot."
"So what if he talks a lot?"
"People who talk a lot are prone to slip-ups."
I looked at him. There was little expression on his face, as if he were discussing something ordinary, but his fingers tapped lightly on his knee twice. I noticed that he always made this gesture before saying something important.
"What did he slip up about?"
"He said his 'Iron General' cost five hundred taels of silver bought from Shandong. He said he has four eunuchs in his mansion specifically for raising crickets. He said his luck has been good lately and he plans to buy a painting at Liulichang with the money he won." He paused, picked up his teacup, and took a sip. "He also said he thought the Great General lost because it wasn't in good condition."
I waited for him to continue.
"He didn't mention the mud," he put down the teacup. "Not a single word."
The side room fell silent for a moment. I understood his meaning—if the Prince of Han had tampered with the mud, he wouldn't have failed to mention it. The Prince of Han was the type to boast when he won and curse when he lost; he couldn't hide his words or his triumph. He said nothing. He truly believed he had won by his own skill.
"So it wasn't your Second Uncle."
"No."
"Then have you found out who did it?"
He didn't answer immediately. He stood up, walked over to the Great General's jar, and looked down for a while. The Great General was crawling slowly inside, its antennae trembling slightly, its spirit largely restored, but every time it reached the east side of the jar, it would stop, as if still wary of something.
"The mud in the warehouse was swapped. The person who swapped it was very clean-handed, leaving no traces. Xiao Dengzi truly knew nothing; we questioned him three times, and his story remained the same. The warehouse staff also had no issues; when they went in to retrieve the mud, it was still fine."
"Then when did the problem occur?"
"It happened between the time the mud entered the warehouse and the time Xiao Dengzi went to retrieve it. During that period, no one was guarding the warehouse." He turned to face me. "The Eastern Palace's warehouse is not strictly managed. It is usually locked, but there are several keys. The old eunuch in charge is getting on in years; he goes to bed early at night and often dozes off during the day. It's not hard to get in."
"Then how will you investigate?"
"I can't." His tone was as flat as saying "It's windy today."
I froze. "You can't?"
"Mm. No traces. The mud has already been swapped, and nothing was left behind in the warehouse. No one saw anyone enter, no one remembers which day the warehouse door was unlocked. Even if we question everyone, we won't get an answer."
He sat down again and poured himself a second cup of tea. The tea had gone cold; he took a sip, frowned slightly, but still swallowed it.
"Then what do you plan to do?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He walked to the window and pushed it open. The autumn wind rushed in, carrying the sweet scent of osmanthus and the evening chill. In the courtyard, several young eunuchs were collecting the herbs that had been drying all day; their movements were light, and no one spoke.
"Song Yu'an, what do you think is the most important thing in the palace?"
I thought for a moment. "Surviving?"
He smiled faintly, as if recalling something from long ago. "Surviving is the result, not the method."
"Then what do you think it is?"
"Knowing. Knowing who is doing what, who wants what, and who stands behind whom. You don't need evidence, you don't need to catch them in the act; you just need to know."
I looked at him. The setting sun streamed through the window, falling on half of his face. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a deep, long-suppressed clarity—not innate, but honed by experience.
"Do you know?"
"Probably."
"Who is it?"
He was silent for a long time. Outside the window, a young eunuch accidentally knocked over a herb-drying rack; the eunuch next to him quickly covered his mouth, and the two frantically righted the rack, not daring to breathe loudly. He watched that scene for a long time, then withdrew his gaze.
"What has Third Uncle been up to lately?" he suddenly asked.
I paused. "Your Third Uncle? Isn't he always in his mansion reading books?"
"Reading books." He repeated the phrase, as if savoring it. "Third Uncle does indeed like reading. He has loved it since childhood. Grandfather Emperor says he 'can settle down,' and the Crown Princess says he is 'sensible.' He never fights or grabs; when Second Uncle makes a scene, he watches from the side; when Second Uncle loses, he doesn't laugh. He always stands at a distance that is neither too far nor too near."
"Are you suspecting your Third Uncle?"
He didn't answer. He walked to the table, picked up the Compendium of Materia Medica, and flipped to the pages annotated in vermilion by the Third Prince. The annotations were written carefully, each one hitting the mark, showing that they were read and thought through thoroughly.
"Second Uncle won twice and is very happy. Third Uncle knows Second Uncle won—" He put the book down, "and is also very happy."
"Did he come?"
"No. But he knew. He knew that very night." He paused. "He knows everything that happens in the Eastern Palace."
My fingers tightened slightly. "Do you think Third Uncle tampered with the mud?"
He didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window and stood with his back to me for a long time. So long that I thought he wouldn't answer, before he finally spoke.
"Third Uncle is the type who wouldn't do it himself. He doesn't need to. He only needs to know—what kind of lock is on the warehouse, who holds the keys, and when the old eunuch in charge dozes off. He only needs to know these things, and then wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait for someone who can't control themselves to take the key. Wait for someone who wants to curry favor to swap the mud. Wait for someone who is afraid to speak up. He doesn't need to do anything." He turned around. "The thing happens on its own."
I sat there, listening to him speak these words so calmly, and suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. Not because of the conspiracy itself, but because of the way he spoke—too proficiently. As if he had thought about it many times, each time placing himself in Third Uncle's position, anticipating every move.
"Do you have evidence?" I asked.
"No."
"Just a guess?"
"Yes."
"Then you—"
"I don't know." He interrupted me, his voice light but firm. "That's why I haven't done anything."
I was silent for a moment. "Then what do you plan to do?"
"Nothing."
I froze. "Nothing? Your Second Uncle's mud was tampered with, your cricket was drugged, someone did this right under your nose—and you're going to do nothing?"
He looked at me. My tone was more urgent than usual, my voice higher. I knew he sensed my indignation on his behalf. He smiled, a smile containing something indefinable—not bitterness, but a faint warmth of being understood.
"Speaking up now is useless."
"Why is it useless?"
"Because there is no evidence. Second Uncle won't believe it—he finally won, and you tell him his victory was handed to him by someone else? He won't believe it, nor does he want to. Grandfather Emperor won't believe it—he will think his grandson can't afford to lose and is making excuses. And Third Uncle certainly won't admit it." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Speaking up would only alert the snake."
I opened my mouth to say something, but swallowed it back. Because every word he said was right. I knew it was right. But precisely because I knew it was right, I felt even more stifled.
"So you're just going to let him be?" My voice was much lower than usual.
He didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window. Moonlight streamed in, falling on half of his face. His expression was calm, but his eyes held something deep and steady—not endurance, but calculation. He was waiting.
"I have noted it down."
"Noted it down?"
"Mm. Noted it in my heart. Now is not the time, but one day, the time will come."
I looked at him. In the moonlight, his profile was quiet, like a chess player who had sat before the board for too long, neither impatient nor anxious, waiting for his opponent to reveal a flaw.
"Aren't you angry?" I asked.
"I am angry."
"Then you—"
"Anger is useless." He turned to look at me, his voice light but firm. "My grandfather taught me this. Decisions made in anger are always wrong. When he took me on the Northern Expedition, we once suffered a defeat. A vice-general knelt on the ground begging for punishment, saying he had advanced rashly in a moment of fury. My grandfather didn't punish him; he only said four words—" He paused, "'The angry cannot decide.'"
I didn't speak. I recalled what Ruolan had said—he returned from the Northern Expedition at twelve or thirteen and saw dead bodies. I didn't know exactly what he had seen, but I knew that what he learned on that expedition was not just military strategy. He learned not to make decisions when angry. He was only twelve or thirteen then.
I suddenly felt my throat tighten. "Zhu Zhanji."
"Mm?"
"Isn't this exhausting for you?"
He looked at me, silent for a long time. Waves of osmanthus fragrance drifted in from outside the window, so sweet it was almost cloying. Then he chuckled lightly, a smile containing a fatigue I hadn't seen before—very light, like a thin layer of frost that melts when the sun comes out.
"It is exhausting. But I'm used to it."
He walked to the table, picked up the dish of honey-preserved kumquats, and ate one. He chewed twice, frowned. "Too sweet." Then he ate another.
"Song Yu'an."
"Mm?"
"Do not speak of today's events to anyone."
"I know."
"It's not that I fear you leaking it." He put down the dish and looked at me; the moonlight fell on his face, and his expression suddenly became serious. "It's that I fear you being targeted. Third Uncle knows you spotted the problem with the mud. Right now, he just thinks you are 'interesting'. But if he knows that I know, he will consider you a threat."
My fingers tightened slightly. "Are you worried about me?"
He didn't answer. He stood up and walked to the door; the moonlight stretched his shadow long across the floor.
"My Third Uncle is the type who wouldn't make a move against someone who is merely 'interesting'. He will wait. He will wait until you become uninteresting, or until you become useful." He paused. "So for now, you are safe."
"And you?"
"What?"
"Are you safe?"
He was silent for a moment. The moonlight shone on his back; his shadow on the ground was motionless.
"No," he said, his voice very light. "But I am the Crown Prince. Being unsafe is my duty."
He left. This time, he walked very slowly, each step steady, like someone slowly digesting something in the night.
I stood in the side room, watching his back disappear at the end of the corridor. More than half the dish of honey-preserved kumquats remained on the table. I picked one up and put it in my mouth. Very sweet. Too sweet. Sweet enough to make my throat feel tight. I put down the dish and took a sip of the already cold tea. Bitter. Even more bitter than this afternoon.
I walked to the window. The kumquat pot on the windowsill sat quietly; the soil inside was still moist, watered by Ruolan in the evening. The moonlight shone upon it, making the soil gleam with moisture. I reached out and touched the rim of the pot; it was ice-cold.
"They will sprout," I whispered softly.
This time, I didn't know if I was speaking to the kumquats, to myself, or to his words "unsafe." I remembered the calmness in his tone when he said "unsafe." It was so calm, as if speaking of something he had long grown accustomed to. I had been here less than a month. He had been accustomed to it for many years.
Ruolan popped out from the corner, holding a freshly brewed cup of tea, steam rising from it.
"Miss, has His Highness left?"
"Mm."
"Miss, your complexion doesn't look good."
"It's nothing." I took the tea and drank a sip. Hot, bitter. Holding the teacup, I stood by the window, looking at the moon.
"Ruolan."
"Yes?"
"What was your Highness like when he was a child?"
Ruolan thought for a moment. "When this servant came to the Eastern Palace, His Highness was only eight. Back then, he would run around the courtyard, climb trees, and hide the Grand Tutor's hat. Once, the Crown Princess made him a new outfit. He wore it to climb a tree, got halfway up, hooked his sleeve and tore it. He didn't dare go back, so he hid behind a rockery. Eunuch Li searched for an hour before finding him."
Listening to this, the corner of my mouth curved slightly.
"And later?"
"Later..." Ruolan's voice dropped. "Later, the Emperor took His Highness on the Northern Expedition. After he returned, he didn't run much anymore. He stopped climbing trees. Eunuch Li said that during the Northern Expedition, His Highness saw—saw dead bodies."
The side room fell silent for a long time. I held the teacup, my fingers slowly tracing the rim. The steam from the tea blurred my vision.
"I see," I said, my voice very light. "Go rest."
Ruolan bowed her head and retreated. I stood alone by the window and finished the cup of tea. I placed the teacup on the table, took the tube of lip balm from my sleeve pocket, and clenched it in my palm. The plastic casing was cold, pressing into my palm.
"Zhu Zhanji," I whispered.
No one answered. The moon outside was round and bright, shining on the glazed tiles of the Eastern Palace, glittering. But beneath those glittering tiles, how many unknown things were hidden? A fifteen-year-old boy treating "unsafe" as his duty. Not because he wasn't afraid, but because fear was useless.
I stuffed the lip balm back into my sleeve and blew out the lamp.
Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the glazed tiles of the Eastern Palace. In the cracks between the tiles, a tiny blade of grass grew, swaying gently in the moonlight.
I didn't know when that grass had grown. But I knew—it would survive.
(End of Chapter 8)