The banquet ended very late.
I was completely full. As I walked out, I was still thinking that the food in the palace was truly delicious. Ruolan was waiting for me ahead, holding a lantern. Seeing me emerge, she let out a sigh of relief. "Miss, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Just ate too much."
She smiled and followed me as we walked back. The night breeze was cool, feeling pleasant against my face, completely different from the bone-chilling cold of the Northern Desert. I looked up at the sky; the moon was full, shining brightly on the glazed tiles of the Eastern Palace.
After walking a few steps, I turned back for a glance. The lights in the hall were still on, with shadows of people flickering inside. Zhu Di stood at the entrance, speaking with Zhu Gaoxu. The wind lifted the hem of his robe; he reached out to press it down, his movement very slow. The lamplight flickered across his face, alternating between light and shadow, making it hard for me to see clearly. Ruolan urged me from behind, "Miss, let's go. It's chilly at night."
I turned back and continued walking with her.
Back in the side room, Huang Tuan pounced on me, circling my feet several times, its tail wagging like a windmill. I squatted down to pet it twice; it licked my hand, its tongue warm. The Great General (the cricket) chirped once from its jar, its voice clear and bright. I walked over to take a look; it was crawling slowly inside the jar, its antennae held high. The pot of kumquats on the windowsill was still there; the soil was moist, watered by Ruolan. No sprouts yet. But I stared at that pot of soil for a while, feeling that the surface was slightly higher than before I left. Perhaps it was my illusion.
I lay down. Huang Tuan curled up beside my neck, warm and cozy. I closed my eyes, thinking about what to do tomorrow—change the water for the Great General, feed Huang Tuan, water the kumquats. Just like before.
I turned over and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, at some unknown hour, more people arrived.
Footsteps. Not the orderly pace of night patrols, but chaotic, urgent. Someone was running. Boots struck the stone slabsclatter, clatter, clatter—coming in waves. Lamps lit up one by one, pushing from the distance toward here, like a rising tide.
I was woken by the noise. Opening my eyes, the tent ceiling was the same, but the sounds outside were wrong. Someone was shouting, though I couldn't make out the words. Someone ran past my door, their footsteps heavy, shaking the ground. Huang Tuan was startled awake; it grunted beside my neck and nudged me.
"What's happening?" I asked.
No one answered. Ruolan wasn't there. I threw on an outer garment and walked to the door, lifting the curtain halfway. Outside, people hurried past; I couldn't see who they were, only backs bent low, moving quickly. Another person walked by, holding a lamp that shook violently, casting light swaying back and forth on the ground like a cat with its tail stepped on. In the distance, there was a buzzing sound, like a beehive exploding.
I stood at the door, clutching the curtain, my heart suddenly feeling empty. It wasn't just a premonition that "something happened"—it was the feeling that everyone else knew what had occurred, except me. It felt like sinking to the bottom of a river; above the surface, everything was in turmoil, but I couldn't reach it.
When I saw Zhu Zhanji, he was already standing at the entrance of the main hall of the Eastern Palace.
Light shone from inside, stretching his shadow long, all the way down to the bottom of the steps. He had changed his clothes; not the banquet attire, but a set of plain, everyday robes. His hair was tied tightly, without a single superfluous ornament. He stood there, very quiet. As if waiting for something, or as if he already knew something.
People were moving around, but no one spoke. Eunuch Li stood behind him, his face pale, lips pressed tight, as if afraid something might leak from his mouth. His hands were trembling, holding a memorial; the edges of the paper quivered gently between his fingers like a leaf in the wind. Several eunuchs stood at a distance, heads bowed, expressions unreadable.
I walked over. My footsteps sounded loud on the stone slabs, but no one stopped me.
"What's happening?" I asked.
He glanced at me. He didn't answer. His gaze was different from usual—not gentle, nor cold like on the battlefield. It was something suppressed. Pressed down deep, so deep that only a tiny bit showed through his eyes, like water seeping through cracks in a rock.
Someone ran out from the hall. It was a eunuch from Zhu Di's side; I forgot his name. He ran to Zhu Zhanji, his legs giving way, and knelt down. His knees hit the stone slab with a dull thud. His voice trembled, shaking so badly he could barely form sentences.
"Your Highness... His Majesty... has passed away."
My entire body froze.
My mind went blank. My lips moved, but nothing came out.No—it's impossible. He was just eating moments ago. He stood at the entrance talking to Zhu Gaoxu; the wind lifted his robe, and he pressed it down slowly. That was only a few hours ago. I even thought he looked a bit tired.
Now you're telling me he's gone?
Eunuch Li beside me had already knelt down, head bowed, shoulders shaking. The memorial slipped from his hand, falling to the ground; the pages scattered with a rustle. Several other eunuchs also knelt, silent, foreheads pressed against the cold stone.
Zhu Zhanji did not move.
He didn't kneel, didn't cry, didn't even step back. He just stood there, looking at that eunuch. Terrifyingly quiet. The lamp was behind him; his face was in the shadows, expression unreadable. But I saw his hand—the one hanging by his side—clench briefly. Not into a fist, just a clench, fingertips gathering then releasing.
Then he spoke.
"Who is in the hall now?"
His voice was very steady. Not a trace of chaos. As if asking about the weather, as if asking if the memorials had been approved, as if asking in the Eastern Palace side room how the Great General was doing.
The kneeling eunuch paused, looked up, his voice still trembling but clearer than before: "The Crown Prince, the Prince of Han, the Third Prince... all are present."
Zhu Zhanji nodded. His jaw moved slightly, as if swallowing something.
"Issue orders: Lock the palace gates. No one is to enter or leave."
Eunuch Li scrambled up from the ground, wiped his face, and responded before leaving. He turned and gave a few more instructions, his voice not loud, but every word clear—who to notify among the imperial clan, who to prepare the funeral rites, who to take over the palace defense. Item by item, as if discussing something long planned, needing only execution.
People around began to move. Some ran this way, some that way; the footsteps became orderly, no longer chaotic. Lamps lit up one by one; the entire Eastern Palace was illuminated.
I stood where I was, watching him.
He still stood there. Same posture, same expression. The lamp behind him, his shadow unmoving.
But I suddenly realized one thing—from this moment on, he was no longer just "him." Not the youth who cut apples in the Eastern Palace side room, not the one who waited on the high ground in the Northern Desert, not the Imperial Grandson teased until his ears turned red at the banquet. He was the one who would now catch everything.
He turned around and saw me.
His gaze paused on my face for an instant. I thought he would say something—tell me to go back, or not to stand here. But he said nothing. He just looked at me. In that look was something I couldn't describe. Not sorrow, not panic, buthe was going to catch that thing, but he knew that after turning around, some things could never return.
Then he turned and walked into the hall. His silhouette was swallowed by the light; the door closed behind him.
I stood at the entrance, still clutching the curtain. Wind rushed in from the corridor, chilling my back. I looked down at my hand; my fingers were cold. They had been warm just moments ago. Just moments ago, I was thinking about changing water for the Great General, feeding Huang Tuan, watering the kumquats tomorrow. Just like before.
Not moments ago. A few hours ago, he was still eating.
I stood there for a long time. No one drove me away, nor did anyone pay attention to me. Everyone was moving; only I was static. Like water flowing past me, I stood at the riverbed, watching people run back and forth on the surface.
I returned to the side room and sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on my knees.
Huang Tuan came over and licked my hand. Its tongue was still warm. The Great General chirped once in its jar, its voice as clear and bright as every day. The pot of kumquats on the windowsill was quiet; moonlight shone upon it, the soil glistening with moisture. The surface was slightly raised, a bit higher than before I left. Perhaps it wasn't my illusion.
But perhaps, tomorrow it will sprout. Perhaps it won't.
I stared at that pot of soil, suddenly recalling how he looked standing at the door just now. When he asked "Who is in the hall now?", his voice was steady. So steady it sounded like he was talking about something unrelated to himself. But I knew it wasn't. He was just catching it. Catching that thing, preventing it from crushing others.
I lay down, staring at the tent ceiling. Huang Tuan curled up beside my neck, warm and cozy. I closed my eyes, thinking about what to do tomorrow—change the water for the Great General, feed Huang Tuan, water the kumquats. Just like before.
But I opened my eyes, then closed them again. I couldn't sleep.
Outside, people were still moving. Footsteps were light, but never stopped. The lamps were still on, leaking through the door crack, drawing a thin line on the floor. I stared at that line for a while.
The pillow was cold. I turned over, burying my face in it. Closed my eyes, then opened them. Dawn hadn't broken yet. But I knew that from today on, many things would be different. Not the kind of difference where "tomorrow it might sprout." But the kind where—you are clearly standing in the same place, but the ground beneath your feet is no longer the same.
I closed my eyes and heard a bell toll in the distance. Very light, very far, as if coming from underwater.
(End of Chapter Twenty-Two)