Hongzhi Year 17, Fifteenth Day of the Twelfth Month.
After nightfall, the Eastern Palace was as quiet as an abandoned city.
In the distance, a dog barked intermittently, as if the sound had drifted over from far away on the wind. The bamboo outside the side room rustled in the north wind, and occasionally the crisp snap of a withered branch breaking sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.
I sat in the side room, staring blankly at the basin of charcoal fire that had been rekindled.
Will he really come?
With splints still on his arm, climbing over a wall to sneak out of the palace on a winter night—if I saw that on an operating table, I'd tie him down myself.
Extremely faint footsteps came from outside the door.
Not Liu Jin. Liu Jin walked with wind; you could hear him three doors away. These footsteps were light, like a cat walking on snow, carrying a deliberate restraint—as if suppressing a cough, or suppressing pain.
The door curtain was lifted from the outside.
Cold wind poured in, and the charcoal flame flickered violently.
Zhu Houzhao stood at the door.
He had changed his appearance—not the bright yellow casual robe from the day, but a moon-white zhiduo (straight robe), covered with a dark cloak. His hood was pulled low, obscuring most of his face. No Yishan crown, no jade belt, none of the things that marked him as the Crown Prince.
He looked just like an ordinary young master from a wealthy family.
But the shoulders under the cloak looked a bit thinner than they did in the daytime. His left hand gripped the collar of the cloak, his knuckles slightly white—not from cold, but because he was enduring something. His right arm was covered tightly by the cloak, the outline of the splint faintly visible.
His silhouette swayed slightly in the candlelight, like bamboo swaying in the wind.
"Go." he said.
One word, clean and crisp, but the ending was a bit tight—as if spoken through gritted teeth.
I stood up.
"Your arm—"
"It's fine." He cut me off, turned and walked away. After two steps, he looked back at me. A section of chin was visible under the hood, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. "Wear more clothes. It's cold outside."
I paused, put on my outer coat, and followed.
He walked in front, his pace neither fast nor slow, but every step was steady. The edge of his cloak swept over the thin snow on the ground, leaving a shallow trail.
Passing the path behind the side room, going around a row of low houses, turning left and right, we arrived at a courtyard wall I had never seen before.
Several stones were piled at the corner of the wall, and a wooden ladder was leaning against the top.
He stepped on the stones, holding the ladder with one hand, and scrambled up to the top of the wall in a few moves. His right arm remained motionless, the splint glaringly white in the moonlight. He used only the strength of his left hand and legs, but his movements were as agile as a monkey.
I stood at the foot of the wall, looking up at him.
He sat on the wall, looking down at me. Moonlight shone on his face, the hood slipping down a bit, revealing a pair of eyes that were excessively bright.
"Come up."
I looked at the top of the wall, then at my own hands and feet.
"...How?"
He extended his hand.
"Grab me."
That hand hung in mid-air. Long fingers, distinct knuckles, neatly trimmed nails. Moonlight fell into his palm, like holding a scoop of water. The sleeve at his wrist slipped down slightly, revealing a small section of pale wrist—thinner than the last time I saw it.
I hesitated for a moment, stood on tiptoe, and grasped his hand.
His fingers tightened. His palm was dry and warm, but his fingertips were a little cool.
"Step on that stone."
I did as I was told.
He pulled hard—I was hoisted up onto the wall. The moment I lost my balance, his arm passed around my waist, steadying me. His palm pressed against my side, the force wasn't heavy, but it was steady.
"Stand firm." he said, his voice right by my ear, his breath brushing my hair.
I didn't dare look down. The distance from the wall top to the ground was much higher than I imagined. Wind blew past my ears, carrying the chill of the winter night. My palms were sweating.
"Don't look down." He seemed to sense something, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Scared?"
"...No."
"Then why are your palms all sweaty?"
"From the heat."
He chuckled. He didn't expose me.
The other side of the wall was a small alley, pitch black, not a soul in sight. He jumped down first, landing steadily, his cloak spreading and gathering in the night wind like a bird folding its wings.
Then he looked up at me.
"Jump down. I'll catch you."
I sat on the wall, looking at the distance to the ground, and swallowed.
Then I closed my eyes and jumped.
He caught me.
His hands pinched my waist, stabilizing my descent. In that instant, his cloak was blown open by the wind, and I saw the splint on his right arm glaringly white in the moonlight—he used only his left hand to take most of my weight, his right arm just blocking vaguely.
—His right hand couldn't exert force.
"You—" As soon as I stood firm, I turned to look at him, wanting to ask if his arm hurt.
He had already let go, gathering his cloak again, and turned to walk out of the alley.
"Hurry up. What are you dawdling for."
His voice drifted from the front, carrying a bit of impatience, but the ending tone went up slightly, as if laughing.
I jogged to catch up.
The warmth of his palm still lingered on my hand.
The end of the alley was another alley. After turning left and right, suddenly there were voices.
And then—light.
Not moonlight, not candlelight, but an overwhelming, warm yellow light.
I stood at the alley entrance, stunned.
The whole street was full of lanterns.
Paper lotus lanterns, silk rabbit lanterns, bamboo-frame goldfish lanterns. Zoetrope lanterns painted with Chang'e flying to the moon, spinning round and round. Hanging under eaves, held up on bamboo poles, carried in children's hands, placed in front of stalls to attract customers—red, yellow, pink, purple, illuminating the whole street like daylight.
There were so many lanterns.
Brighter than any lanterns I had seen in modern times.
Not electric.
Lit by people.
One by one, lit from dusk to deep night, from the head of the street to the end of the alley. There were people guarding the wicks in the cold wind, adding oil, changing paper, preventing the wind from blowing them out. Behind every lantern was a pair of hands, every ball of light was a night endured.
"Lotus lanterns, lotus lanterns—for peace and safety—" An old woman selling lanterns shouted on the street, her voice hoarse but full of vitality. Two scholars squatted in front of a riddle stall, one frowning in deep thought, the other suddenly clapping and laughing, startling the sparrows roosting on the eaves.
I stood there, suddenly speechless.
Zhu Houzhao stood still beside me, not urging me, not speaking. His hood was pulled low, but I could feel him looking at me.
"Pretty?" he asked.
"Pretty." I said.
My voice was a bit hoarse.
He didn't press, turning to walk into the crowd.
I quickly followed.
There were more people on the street than I imagined. A candied hawthorn vendor shouted "Sugar-coated—hawthorn—" at the top of his lungs, his voice drawn out long, the ending trembling in the cold wind. A woman holding a child's hand lowered her head to warn "Don't run around," the child clutching a newly bought rabbit lantern, the candle inside flickering. A scholar who guessed the riddle correctly was teased by his companions, his face as red as a lantern.
Everyone was smiling.
Zhu Houzhao walked half a step in front of me, neither fast nor slow. His hood was pulled low, no different from any other young man in the crowd.
No one recognized him.
No one knelt.
No one called out "Your Highness".
He walked with ease. Shoulders not squared, chin not lifted, back not stiff—like he had taken off an invisible armor.
I saw the corner of his mouth under the cloak slightly upturned, not the mischievous, annoying smile from the Eastern Palace, but a very quiet smile, like water flowing under ice.
He was looking at the lanterns.
The lanterns reflected in his eyes, bright.
He was looking at the people.
Those laughing, playing, living people.
I suddenly felt that he might not have looked at the world like this for a long time.
"What are you spacing out for?" He suddenly turned to look at me.
"Nothing."
"Keep up, don't get lost."
He turned and continued walking. But his pace slowed down a bit, just enough to walk side by side with me.
A large crowd was gathered ahead, three layers deep, cheers rising one after another. I stood on tiptoe to look inside—it was acrobatics.
A shirtless man was juggling fire torches. The torches flew in his hands, drawing arcs of orange-red light, like living snakes. The crowd cheered constantly, a child riding on an adult's neck clapping desperately.
I was pushed forward by the crowd, my back bumping into someone's chest.
It was his.
He didn't push me away.
I subconsciously looked back at him—he was looking down at me, the eyes under the cloak's brim illuminated by the lantern light, bright like they held the light of the whole street.
"Don't wander off." he said.
His voice wasn't loud, half-covered by the surrounding cheers, but I heard it very clearly.
His right hand—that right hand still in a splint—vaguely blocked at my side, preventing others from squeezing in. The splint bumped against my waist, hard, a bit uncomfortable.
I turned my head, pretending to continue watching the acrobatics.
My heart was beating fast.
Must be because there were too many people.
After the acrobatics dispersed, the crowd flowed to both sides. I followed Zhu Houzhao to a small stall by the street.
It was selling sugar figurines.
The vendor was an old man in his fifties, his hands very skillful. A spoonful of melted sugar spun a few times in his hand, turning into a butterfly, a dragon, a rabbit. The sugar figurines were translucent in the lantern light, amber-colored, like solidified honey.
"Sugar figurines—blown sugar figurines—ancestral craft—" The old man's hawking carried an accent, the ending drawn out long.
Zhu Houzhao stood in front of the stall and watched for a while.
"Want one?" he asked me.
"No." I said.
He looked at me.
Then he told the vendor: "That rabbit, give me one."
"Alright—" The vendor scooped up a spoonful of melted sugar, his wrist turning and pulling, the sugar flowing like silk threads in his hand. In less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea, a chubby rabbit took shape. One of the rabbit's ears was long, one short, looking silly.
The vendor handed over the sugar figurine. Zhu Houzhao took it, looked at it, and turned to hand it to me.
"You looked at it a couple more times just now."
I opened my mouth, wanting to refute.
But I had looked at it a couple more times.
I took the sugar figurine. I bit a piece off the rabbit's ear. Sweet, with a hint of caramel bitterness.
"Thanks." I said.
He didn't respond, turning and walking away.
But I saw the tip of his ear under the cloak hood, red in a small patch.
There were more and more people on the street. I followed him through the crowd, looking at lanterns, looking at people, looking at those ordinary people smiling in the Ming Dynasty winter night.
He walked beside me, not too far, not too close. Occasionally when someone squeezed over, he would lean towards me, blocking with his uninjured shoulder.
Later, we ate a bowl of wontons at a small stall by the street.
He insisted on paying, fished out a few copper coins from his cloth bag, and put them on the table. The copper coins were warmed by his body heat, emitting a faint trace of warmth in the cold winter wind.
The wonton stall owner was a plump middle-aged woman, quick on her feet, her mouth不停 (constantly) chattering: "It's cold, drink more soup, soup is free—"
The wontons were very hot, the soup very fresh. I buried my head and ate, he sat opposite watching me eat.
"You're not eating?" I asked.
"Not hungry."
"Then why are you staring at me?"
"Watching you eat."
"..."
I lowered my head, pretending the wontons were delicious.
They really were delicious.
He sat opposite, hands cupped in his sleeves, chin tucked into the cloak collar, only revealing a pair of eyes. The light from the lantern market shone from behind, outlining a warm silhouette on him.
Like an ordinary young man, accompanying someone to eat a bowl of wontons on a winter night.
It was already deep night when we returned to the palace.
Most of the people on the street were gone, the lanterns were still lit, but the candles inside had burned down大半 (mostly), the light dimmer, but the warmth remained.
We walked to the entrance of that alley.
He stopped, turning to look at me.
Lantern light shone from a distance, his face half in light, half in shadow.
"Was it pretty?" he asked.
I thought about it.
"The lanterns were very pretty."
He nodded, not speaking.
Wind blew from the alley entrance, lifting a corner of his cloak. The moon-white zhiduo looked very clean in the night, like it had been washed by moonlight.
I looked at him.
The lanterns were warm.
He was too.
"You were very pretty too." I said.
He paused.
Those eyes widened for an instant.
Then slowly, slowly curved up.
He smiled.
Not the mischievous, annoying smile from the Eastern Palace, nor the lazy smile from the daytime.
It was a real smile, floating up from the bottom of his heart.
A young man's smile.
Clean, bright, like a lantern.
"Let's go." he said.
Turning to walk towards the foot of the wall.
But I saw his ear under the cloak hood, red in a whole patch.
We climbed the wall back.
This time I wasn't that scared. When he extended his hand, I grasped it directly. The temperature of his palm was still the same, dry and warm, but his fingertips were warmer than when we came out.
When he jumped down from the wall, I squatted on the wall looking down.
Moonlight shone on him.
He looked up at me, extending his hand.
"Jump."
I jumped.
He caught me.
This time I didn't stand firm immediately. His arm encircled my waist, my forehead almost touching his shoulder socket. The cloak fabric brushed my face, carrying the chill of the night wind and his body temperature.
His heartbeat transmitted through the fabric.
Fast.
As fast as mine.
"Stand firm." he said, his voice a bit hoarse, like his throat was dried by the wind.
"Mm." I stepped back.
He let go.
In the moonlight, his expression wasn't very clear. But I saw the curve of his mouth, it hadn't gone down.
He walked me back to the side room.
Walking to the door, I pushed it open, turning to look at him.
He stood under the corridor, moonlight shining on him. The cloak hood was already taken off, revealing a young man's clean face. The stray hairs on his forehead were blown up by the wind, revealing a smooth forehead. Eyelashes cast a small shadow in the moonlight, nose straight, lips slightly pursed.
He was prettier than the lanterns.
I suddenly remembered the sugar figurine in my hand—looked down, one of the rabbit's ears was bitten off by me, only one left. Chubby, silly.
"Jiang Li." he called me.
"Mm?"
"Next Lantern Festival," he said, "Will you go again?"
I looked at him.
Moonlight fell on his shoulder, like a thin layer of snow.
"Go."
He smiled.
Turning and walking away.
Moonlight followed behind him, stretching his shadow very, very long. Reaching the corner, he stopped for a moment, turned his head to look at me, then disappeared behind the wall.
I closed the door, leaning against the door panel.
Heart beating fast.
The sugar figurine in my hand was still more than half left, amber-colored, translucent in the candlelight.
Fat rabbit.
Like him.
I stuck the sugar figurine into the crack of the window sill. Candlelight passed through the sugar figurine, casting a blurry shadow on the wall, chubby, silly.
Like him.
I sat on the bed, wrapped in a quilt, staring at that shadow for a long time.
Outside the window there was wind, there was moonlight, there was the sound of the night watchman's drum from a distance.
Third watch.
He should have gone back already.
I lay down, closing my eyes.
But in front of my eyes were still lanterns.
And that young man's smile under the lanterns.
(End of Chapter 4)