Hongzhi Year 18, Twentieth Day of the First Month.
The palace suddenly fell silent.
Not empty. Just... quieted.
Eunuchs walked as if stepping on cotton. Their boot soles made faint squeaks against the bricks, like mice scurrying along the wall roots. Occasionally, a wind chime was stirred, a single ding echoing for a long time in the empty corridor.
Voices were suppressed to the lowest level. Occasionally, a whisper drifted by, like wind through bamboo—rustling, indistinct. No one dared speak loudly—as if the palace housed a patient who could wake at any moment, and everyone held their breath, afraid to disturb anything.
Half the lanterns under the corridor were out. The remaining half hung lonely, their flames swaying unsteadily in the wind, casting broken shadows on the ground.
There was a heavy scent in the air—not floral, but a mix of medicinal herbs and sandalwood, so thick it was suffocating. It seeped out from behind tightly closed doors and windows, like an invisible fog pressing on everyone's chest.
I carried the medicine box toward the sleeping hall, my fingers tightening unconsciously. The splints and gauze inside bumped lightly against each other with my steps, a dull sound exceptionally clear in the silence.
Everyone I met along the way kept their heads down. Steps were fast and light, as if rushing, or hiding. No one looked at me. No one spoke.
Liu Jin stood at the hall entrance, his face a shade paler than usual. Seeing me, his lips moved, wanting to say something, but he swallowed it back. His Adam's apple bobbed, as if swallowing something bitter.
"Where is His Highness?" I asked.
"Inside." His voice was thirty percent lower than usual. "Today... he hasn't spoken much."
I lifted the curtain and entered.
The charcoal fire in the hall burned fiercely, warmth hitting my face. But it wasn't a comfortable warmth—it was stifling, like the thick air before a summer storm.
Zhu Houzhao sat by the window, his back to the door. The window was cracked open, cold wind drilling through the gap, causing his collar to flutter slightly. He wasn't in ceremonial robes, only a moon-white inner garment, a white edge of the splint on his right arm visible beneath the sleeve.
Hearing the movement, he didn't turn around.
"Put it down." he said, voice very flat.
I paused. He thought I was delivering medicine.
"Your Highness, it's time to change the dressing."
Only then did he turn his head.
No expression on his face. Not angry, not sad—just something very flat, like a winter lake, frozen over, hiding what lay beneath. But there was a grayish shadow under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well last night.
"Oh." he said, extending his right arm.
I walked over and squatted in front of him. When my fingers touched the bandage, his arm tensed slightly for an instant—not from pain, but an unconscious reaction, like someone used to enduring.
The splint was removed, gauze peeled away layer by layer. The swelling in the forearm had subsided; the callus felt solid. I pressed lightly on the fracture line with my fingertips to confirm alignment. His fingers curled on his knee, silent.
"Healing well," I said, wrapping the new gauze. "Can remove the splint in a few more days."
"Mm."
I didn't speak again, focusing on the gauze. The hall was quiet enough to hear the charcoal crackle. Wind howled outside the window, like someone weeping. Occasionally, ash floated up from the brazier, spun twice in the air, then fell.
Dressing changed, I packed the gauze and splint back into the box and stood up.
"Your Highness," I said. "Today you..."
"Nothing." He cut me off, tone indifferent. "You may go."
I looked at him.
He sat by the window, back to the light, face indistinct in the shadow. Wind from the window gap stirred the stray hairs on his forehead, revealing a small patch of pale skin.
His hand—his left hand—rested on his knee, fingers slightly curled, knuckles white.
He was exerting force.
Not forceful force. But the kind—when someone is enduring something, fingers unconsciously tighten.
I didn't leave.
"Do you know?" I asked.
He was silent for a moment.
"I know."
"You're not going to see him?"
"Someone will see him."
His voice was very flat, like talking about something unrelated to himself.
But I saw his fingers tighten a bit more. Knuckles white as bone. Nails digging into his palm, leaving shallow crescent marks.
I stood there, suddenly not knowing what to say.
He was the Crown Prince. That man was his father.
But he couldn't go.
Because he was the Crown Prince. Because he had to wait. Because someone would tell him "go" or "don't go". Because if he went, everyone would panic. Imperial physicians would panic, ministers would panic, the whole court would panic.
He didn't turn to look at me. But I saw his shoulders slightly tense, like a tightened string.
I picked up the medicine box and quietly retreated.
At the door, I looked back.
He still sat by the window. Wind blew through the gap, the fluff on his collar fluttering slightly. Charcoal light jumped behind him, his shadow flickered, then steadied.
Like a person sitting in the deepest part of winter.
That afternoon, Liu Jin came to find me.
His face was paler than in the morning, lips pressed into a line, corners downturned, like holding a bitter pill.
"Jiang Li," his voice was pressed extremely low, so low I had to lean in to hear. "Someone wants to see you."
I looked up at him.
He didn't answer, turned and walked out.
I followed. Through long corridors, around several doors, going deeper. Lanterns under the corridor became fewer, light dimmer. Bricks underfoot changed from cyan-gray to dark gray, then from dark gray to black. The sandalwood scent in the air grew stronger, mixed with a bitter medicinal smell seeping from door cracks, like needles pricking the nose.
Liu Jin stopped at a door.
The door was vermilion, paint slightly mottled, revealing wood grain underneath. The door knocker was copper, polished shiny, reflecting dull light in the candlelight.
"Go in." he said, voice a bit hoarse.
He pushed the door open, stepped aside, disappearing into the shadow behind the corridor pillar.
I stood at the door, taking a deep breath.
The hall was very quiet.
Quieter than the Eastern Palace.
Charcoal burned fiercely, blocks in the copper brazier glowing red, occasionally popping a spark. But the hall still felt cold. That cold wasn't temperature-based—it was an empty, lifeless cold. Like a house unoccupied for a long time, everything complete, just no living breath.
Thick gold-woven carpets covered the floor, dark red base embroidered with cloud patterns, candlelight flickering on them, looking alive. Bronze crane incense burners stood on both sides of the pillars, green smoke rising gracefully from the crane beaks, twisting into thin lines in the air, dissipating halfway up.
He sat there.
The Hongzhi Emperor.
Zhu Houzhao's father.
He sat in a large rosewood chair, covered with a thick blanket, edges embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons, gold thread flashing in the candlelight. The chair was too big, making him look small. His hands rested on the armrests, fingers long and slender, knuckles distinct, nails neatly trimmed.
He was—thinner than I imagined.
Cheekbones protruding, eye sockets sunken, skin thin as paper, revealing blue veins pulsing slightly underneath. His lips were bloodless, cracked and peeling, like a dried riverbed in winter.
But his eyes were still bright.
Those eyes looked at me, neither heavy nor light, like a scale weighing me.
Someone sat beside him.
She wore a dark cyan diyi (rank dress), embroidered with golden pheasant patterns, wearing a nine-dragon four-phoenix crown, pearls and jade trembling slightly in the candlelight, making faint sounds like rain on lotus leaves. Her spine was straight, shoulders squared, but her fingers clenched a handkerchief, already crumpled.
The Empress.
Zhu Houzhao's mother.
Her eyes were slightly red, as if she had cried but held it back. She looked at me, gaze complex—scrutiny, wariness, and something I couldn't quite name. Like someone walking in darkness for a long time, suddenly seeing a light, wanting to approach but afraid of being burned.
"You are her?" the Emperor said.
Voice not loud, but every word like a nail hammered into the floor. Not interrogation, not questioning—more like "I know who you are, but I want you to say it yourself."
I knelt. Knees hitting the cold tile, cold seeping through the skirt fabric.
"This servant Jiang Li, greets Your Majesty, greets Her Majesty."
Silence.
Charcoal crackled. A block in the brazier burst, sparks splashing out, falling to the ground, dimming into ash.
"Rise." the Emperor said.
I stood up, hands垂 (hanging), not daring to look up.
"Lift your head."
I lifted my head.
He looked at me. Those eyes, though sunken, held deep light. Not candlelight, not firelight—light polished by years of illness and governance. Like deep winter river water, ice on the surface, flowing underneath.
"You treated the Crown Prince's arm?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Who taught you?"
I paused a second.
"A village doctor in my hometown."
He looked at me. Gaze lingered on my face for a moment—like a knife, not sharp, but accurate. I didn't dodge, didn't lower my head.
He didn't press.
"What do you think of the Crown Prince?"
The question came too suddenly.
The hall was quiet enough to hear ash falling from the charcoal. Green smoke curled from the brazier, drawing invisible circles in the air.
The Empress frowned slightly, glanced at the Emperor, then at me. Her fingers tightened on the handkerchief.
I stood there, a thousand thoughts racing.
Say "Crown Prince is wise and divine"? Too fake.
Say "Crown Prince is benevolent"? He wouldn't believe it.
Say "Crown Prince is good"? Too light.
Words reached my lips, circled three times, finally condensed into one sentence.
"Quite annoying."
The hall went quiet for an instant.
The Empress frowned tighter. Her lips moved, wanting to speak, then swallowed it back.
The Emperor had no expression.
But I saw his mouth corner—twitch slightly. Not a smile, something very faint, like wind rippling a lake, then flattening.
"Annoying?" He repeated the word.
"Mm." I said, words out, couldn't take back. "He climbed a tree and broke his arm, didn't follow medical advice, climbed walls to sneak out of the palace, almost got caught by guards during the Lantern Festival. Imperial physicians dared not treat him, he found them boring, let a sweeping maid like me change his dressings."
I paused.
"Indeed quite annoying."
The hall was quiet again.
Then the Emperor laughed.
Very light.
Like a sigh. Like someone hearing something funny in a dream, mouth corner twitching up, then sinking.
"Houzhao, this child," he said, voice slow, like every word took effort. "Has never been easy to handle since he was little."
He coughed.
Very light. But his whole body shook. Shoulders shook violently, he hunched his back, one hand gripping the armrest, knuckles white, the other covering his mouth. The Empress's hand immediately went to his shoulder, soothing him. Her movement was light, practiced—like done thousands of times.
He waved his hand, signaling he was fine. Recovering, he leaned back, eyes closed, breathing heavy. Chest heaving heavily, like bellows being pushed and pulled.
"When he was little," the Emperor said, eyes still closed, voice like in a dream. "Fell from a tree, scraped his knee, blood running down his leg. Imperial physicians wanted to bandage him, he refused死活 (to death), said 'not painful'."
He opened his eyes, looking into the distance. Gaze passing through me, through the hall door, through several palace walls, landing somewhere I couldn't see.
"He's always been like this. Doesn't say when in pain. Doesn't say when scared."
He turned back to me.
"He went out with you."
Not a question. A statement.
My back stiffened.
He knew.
"Twice." the Emperor said, voice calm. "Fifteenth of the Twelfth Month, Fifteenth of the First Month."
He knew everything.
My fingers tightened on my sleeve. Nails digging into palm, a bit painful.
"Weren't you afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid he'd be discovered. Afraid someone would use it against him. Afraid—" I paused, throat tight. "Afraid he'd lose even this small hope."
The hall was very quiet.
Charcoal light jumped, his shadow on the wall flickered.
The Emperor looked at me. Light in those sunken eyes suddenly softened. Like a crack in ice, revealing flowing water underneath.
"You made him laugh." he said.
Not a question. A judgment.
I paused.
"This servant—"
"He hasn't laughed like that in a long time." the Emperor cut me off, voice very light, like afraid to disturb something.
He glanced at the Empress.
The Empress's eyes reddened. Handkerchief crumpled in hand, knuckles white.
"Sometimes I think," the Emperor said, voice lowering, like talking to himself. "If he were born in an ordinary family, would he—"
He didn't finish.
Coughing came again. Heavier this time, shoulders shaking violently, whole body curling like a shrimp. The Empress's hand pressed on his back, his fingers gripping the armrest, nails scratching thin white marks on the wood.
Recovering, he leaned back, eyes closed, breathing heavy. Blanket slipped a corner, revealing wrist—thin as a withered branch, blue veins winding under thin skin.
"Enough." he said, voice sounding from far away. "You may go."
I bowed and turned to leave.
"Wait."
The Empress's voice.
I stopped, turned to look at her.
She stood up, walked to me. Pearls on the phoenix crown trembled slightly, making faint sounds like rain on lotus leaves. She was a bit shorter than me, but those eyes held something daunting—not majesty, but the weight of seeing too much.
"How is his arm?" she asked.
"Healing well. Can remove splint in a few days, but must move slowly, cannot—"
"Does he sleep well at night?" she asked again.
I paused.
"Not very well." I said. "Sometimes lights are still on late at night."
Her eyelashes trembled. Like a butterfly flapping wings.
"Has he lost weight?"
"...A little."
Her hand tightened on the handkerchief. Knuckles white, creases deeper.
"He..." Her voice suddenly hoarse, like throat blocked. "Is he happy?"
I looked at her.
Empress's eyes red, nose red, but holding back tears. Lips trembling slightly, chin quivering, but spine straight.
I remembered Zhu Houzhao sitting in the high seat on New Year's Eve. Upright, expressionless, like an isolated island.
Remembered him saying "It's okay", ending drawn out long.
Remembered him laughing at the Lantern Festival, showing tiger teeth, eyes curved like crescent moons.
Remembered him sitting by the window, back to light, fingers curled, knuckles white.
"Sometimes." I said.
She nodded.
Turned around, walked back to the Emperor, sat down. Folded the handkerchief, placed it on her knee, spine straight, shoulders squared.
Like nothing happened.
I walked to the hall entrance, about to leave.
The Emperor's voice came from behind, very light, like talking to himself:
"What do you want?"
I stopped.
Turned to look at him.
He leaned back, eyes closed. Thin face expressionless. Blanket slipped a corner, revealing wrist. Candlelight cast half-light half-shadow on his face, making him look like a wax figure about to melt.
What did I want?
Wanted to go back to Thailand to finish my thesis. Wanted to go back to modern times. Wanted a heater. Wanted a bowl of hot wontons.
Wanted him not to sit in this cold hall, carrying the whole world alone.
Wanted him to laugh more.
Wanted him to be like at the Lantern Festival, like an ordinary young man.
I glanced toward the hall door.
Wind outside, moonlight. Distance was the Eastern Palace. Couldn't see the roof from here, but I knew he was there. Sitting by the window, or lying in bed, lights still on.
"I already have it." I said.
The Emperor opened his eyes.
"What?"
"He now," I said. "Is a bit better than before."
The hall was very quiet.
Charcoal in the brazier dimmed a degree, green smoke still rising. Candlelight jumped, then steadied.
The Emperor looked at me.
Long.
So long I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he closed his eyes.
Mouth corner twitched up slightly.
Very light.
Like wind over a lake.
Like water under ice.
Like someone hearing good news in the deepest night.
The Empress also looked at me. Her eyes red, nose red, but mouth corner upturned. Handkerchief on her knee crumpled beyond recognition, she didn't smooth it out.
I bowed and retreated.
Hall door closed behind me. A dull sound, like a stone falling to the ground.
I stood under the corridor, taking a deep breath.
Night wind cold, pouring down collar, making me shiver. But back covered in sweat, inner garment sticking to skin, sticky. Fingers trembling—not from cold.
Liu Jin appeared from nowhere, standing beside me, asking in a low voice: "How was it?"
I shook my head, didn't speak.
We walked back. Only the last lantern under the corridor remained lit, flame swaying unsteadily in the wind, casting broken shadows. Distant night watchman's drum came, beat by beat, muffled.
Walking to the Eastern Palace entrance, I stopped.
Zhu Houzhao stood under the corridor.
Wearing that moon-white inner garment, white edge of the splint visible on his right arm. Moonlight shone on him, stretching his shadow long, all the way to my feet. He wasn't wearing shoes, bare feet on bricks, toes red from cold.
Seeing me, he didn't ask where I went, or who I saw.
Just said:
"Back?"
"Mm."
He nodded, turned to walk back.
Walked a few steps, suddenly stopped.
Didn't turn around.
"Lizi." (Little Pear)
"Mm?"
"Am I—" He paused. Adam's apple bobbed, like swallowing something. "Quite annoying?"
I paused.
He knew.
He knew everything.
I looked at him.
Moonlight fell on his shoulder, like a thin layer of snow. His inner garment fluttered slightly in the wind, fluff on collar blown messy. He stood barefoot in the winter night, like a cat drenched in rain.
He stood there, not like the Crown Prince, not like the future Son of Heaven—like a fourteen-year-old boy, standing in the winter night, asking someone if he was annoying.
"Mm," I said. "Quite annoying."
He turned to look at me.
Moonlight shone on his face, eyelashes casting a small shadow under his eyes. His eyes were bright, like those lanterns at the festival.
"But okay." I added.
He paused.
Then smiled.
Very light.
Like water under ice.
Like the last spark in charcoal.
Like someone hearing good news in the deepest night.
He turned around, continued walking. Didn't stop this time.
Moonlight followed behind him, stretching his shadow very, very long.
I stood there watching his back.
He didn't turn around.
But I saw his steps, a bit lighter than before.
(End of Chapter 7)