The twenty-second year of the Yongle era, ninth month, Beijing.
When Zhu Zhanji was summoned to the Qianqing Palace, I was in the side room brushing Huang Tuan's fur. Eunuch Li came to deliver the message, saying His Majesty had summoned the Crown Prince for discussion. When he left, his pace was neither fast nor slow, the same as every day. I thought it was just a routine meeting—approving memorials, meeting ministers, talking about things I couldn't understand. Huang Tuan flipped over on my lap, exposing his belly, four paws pointing to the sky. I scratched his belly, and he hummed in comfort. The kumquat sprout on the windowsill had grown a little taller, tender green, like a thin needle poking out from the soil. I stared at that sprout for a while, thinking about whether I should sprinkle some kumquat zest on top of the egg tarts next time. Ruo Lan was tidying up nearby, and suddenly said: "Miss, what do you think His Majesty called the Crown Prince for?"
"I don't know." I flipped Huang Tuan over and continued brushing.
"Could it be..." She didn't finish.
"It won't be," I said. Actually, I didn't know if it would be or not. But Ruo Lan's tone made me not want to hear the rest.
She tactfully shut her mouth. The side room was filled only with the sound of Huang Tuan purring.
In the Qianqing Palace, Zhu Gaochi sat at the head, several memorials spread out before him, the vermilion brush resting on the inkstone. He wasn't looking at the memorials. He was looking at Zhu Zhanji. Zhu Zhanji stood below, his back straight, the same as when he stood on the high ground in the north. The hall was very quiet. Tea had been served a while ago, but no one had drunk it.
"You did well in the northern expedition," Zhu Gaochi spoke, his voice not loud, his tone very even. Not praise, but a statement. Like saying "The weather is nice today." Zhu Zhanji bowed his head slightly. "Father overpraises me."
Zhu Gaochi didn't pick up on that. He picked up his tea bowl, drank a sip, and put it down. The movements were very slow, each step steady, as if waiting for something to settle. He glanced at Zhu Zhanji, and in that glance was something—not scrutiny, but confirmation. Confirming whether he was ready.
"But it's not enough."
The hall fell silent for a moment. Zhu Zhanji didn't move, didn't ask "where is it not enough," didn't explain, didn't argue. Just stood there, waiting for the next sentence. Zhu Gaochi's fingers tapped lightly on the table. Once. Stopped. He looked at Zhu Zhanji, his gaze holding something very deep. Not disappointment, but that kind of depth—when you know your son can go further, but you don't know if he wants to.
"What you see is all on the surface. The battles in the north, you can fight. Court affairs, you can see. Human hearts—you can also perceive." He paused, picked up his tea bowl, then put it down again. "But these are all on the surface."
Zhu Zhanji didn't speak. His gaze fell on the tabletop, not looking at anyone. His hand hung by his side, clenched slightly, fingertips curling, then releasing. Zhu Gaochi saw it. He didn't say anything, just stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the eaves of the palace, above the eaves was the sky. He watched for a while, his back to Zhu Zhanji. Sunlight fell on his back, his shadow on the ground motionless.
"This world has two faces. One for others to see, one for yourself to see. The one for others, you've already learned. The one for yourself—" He turned around. "You haven't seen it yet."
The hall was very quiet. Zhu Zhanji stood there, his back still straight, but his breathing was slightly heavier than before. Not fear, but that kind of—knowing that what you're about to hear will change you. Zhu Gaochi walked back to the table, sat down, picked up that bowl of cold tea, and drank a sip. The tea was cold, he didn't frown, just swallowed it.
"Go to the Embroidered Uniform Guard."
Zhu Zhanji looked up. He looked at Zhu Gaochi, Zhu Gaochi also looked at him. Neither spoke. The wind outside the hall stopped, the window lattice no longer rattled. Zhu Gaochi's fingers tapped on the table again. Once. Stopped. The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, but that kind of "I know what you're thinking" understanding.
"How long?" Zhu Zhanji asked. Not "why," not "to do what," only "how long." Zhu Gaochi looked at him, that twitch at the corner of his mouth finally became a slight smile. Very faint, but genuine.
"Depends on you."
When Zhu Zhanji returned to the Eastern Palace, the sky had already darkened. I sat in the side room, changed water for the Great General, fed Huang Tuan, watered the kumquat. After doing these, I didn't know what to do next. Before, at this time, he would come to the side room. Sit down, drink a bowl of tea, say a few words. Sometimes bring a plate of sliced pear, sometimes bring a few kumquats. Today he didn't come. I sat at the table, holding a bowl of tea, not drinking. The tea went cold, I changed it for another bowl, which went cold again. Ruo Lan glanced at me from the side, wanting to say something, then swallowed it back.
Footsteps came from outside. I stood up, walked to the door, lifted the curtain halfway. It was him. He stood in the courtyard, his back to me, looking at that pot of kumquats on the windowsill. Moonlight fell on him, his shadow stretched long. He didn't go in, just stood there, watching for a long time. His left arm was slightly tucked in, tighter than the right. That was where my gauze had been wrapped. He stood there, in the same posture as when he stood in the Qianqing Palace, but I knew it was different. In the Qianqing Palace, he was the Crown Prince. Here, he was himself.
I lowered the curtain, sat back down. The tea was still hot, I drank a sip. Bitter. After a while, the footsteps drew near. The curtain was lifted, he walked in, and sat down opposite me. No plate in his hand. Today there was no sliced pear, no sliced apple. He sat there, looking at the teapot on the table, not moving. His fingers rested on his knees, not tapping, not turning, just resting.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately. He picked up the tea bowl on the table and drank a sip. The tea was already cold, he frowned slightly, but still swallowed it. He put the tea bowl down, his fingers pausing for a moment on the rim.
"Father asked me to go to the Embroidered Uniform Guard."
I was stunned. The Embroidered Uniform Guard. I knew this name. When I was in Australia, I had read Ming history—the Embroidered Uniform Guard were the Emperor's eyes and ears, the blade, the side that couldn't be seen in the light. They arrested people, interrogated people, killed people, without reason, without evidence. They were the Emperor's eyes, and also the Emperor's hand. What those eyes saw, no one would ever know. I didn't know what to say, just looked at him. His expression was very calm, the same as when he stood on the high ground in the north. But his eyes were different. Not warm, not cold, but that kind of—knowing you're going to a place tomorrow, and after going, you won't be the same.
"How long?" I asked.
He looked at me. This question, he had also asked. "Depends on me," he said. I nodded. Didn't ask "why," didn't ask "to do what." He didn't need me to ask him these. What he needed was—someone to know he was going to a place he didn't want to go, and when he came back, he could still sit here and drink tea. I stood up, walked to the table, poured out the cold tea from the teapot, and changed it for hot. Poured a bowl for him, placed it in front of him. The tea soup steamed, scalding hot.
"Drink something hot," I said.
He picked up the tea bowl and drank a sip. Hot. He frowned slightly, didn't put it down. He held that bowl of tea, looking at the tea soup inside, for a long time.
"You said before, when you were abroad, you saw many different things," he suddenly spoke.
"Mm."
"Was there anything—knowing it would change you?"
I thought about it. The Australian lab, Sydney's beaches, my roommate's iron pot cake, the professor saying "your nose is more sensitive than instruments." Those things, he didn't need to know. What he wanted to know was—that kind of thing that once you know, you can never go back. I looked at him. He held the tea bowl, his fingers circling the rim once.
"There is," I said. "But once you know, you can't go back."
He didn't speak. Holding the tea bowl, looking at the tea soup inside. The wind outside the hall stopped, the window lattice no longer rattled. Moonlight came through the window, falling on his hand, his fingers long, knuckles distinct.
After a long time, he put down the tea bowl.
"If I can't go back, then I can't go back."
I looked at him. Moonlight came through the window, falling on half of his face. His expression was very calm, the same as when he stood on the high ground in the north, the same as when he cut apples in the Eastern Palace side room. But I knew, it was different. When he said "if I can't go back, then I can't go back," his tone was very light, like saying "the wind is strong today." But I knew, he wasn't talking about the Embroidered Uniform Guard. He was talking about—he was going to that place, seeing those things, then becoming another person. He knew, he accepted.
"Zhu Zhanji."
"Mm."
"After you go, will you still come back to drink tea?"
He looked at me, suddenly smiled. Not warm, not sly, but that kind of—being asked a simple question, finding it a bit funny smile. His eyes curved slightly, the same as when he reached out to poke Huang Tuan's head in the Eastern Palace side room.
"I will."
I nodded. "Then it's fine."
He stood up, walked to the door. Moonlight fell on his back, his shadow stretched long. He suddenly stopped, didn't turn around.
"Song Yu'an."
"Mm."
"Next time you make egg tarts, make two more."
I was stunned. Then I smiled. "Okay."
He left. This time he walked very slowly, each step very steady, the same as every day. But I knew, starting tomorrow, he was going to a place I didn't know, doing things I didn't know. Then come back, sit here, drink tea. The same as before. I looked down at that half-drunk bowl of tea on the table, the tea soup already cold. I didn't pour it out. Picked it up, drank a sip. Bitter. But very warm. Not the tea warm, but when he said "I will," his tone was too light, so light it was like saying something that didn't need to be doubted. So I believed him. Not because he was the Crown Prince, not because he was the future Emperor. Because he was Zhu Zhanji. Things he promised, he never failed to do.
I put down the empty bowl, blew out the lamp. On the windowsill, the kumquat sprout was thin and tender under the moonlight, like a needle poking out from the soil. I stared at it for a while. It will sprout. He said so. What he says, he will always do.
(End of Chapter 26)