The hall door had just opened.
The wind was cold.
I hadn't walked three steps when the cold wind poured in through the door crack, rushing down my collar, making me shiver. Only the last lantern under the corridor was still lit, its flame swaying unsteadily in the wind, like a person who couldn't stand firm.
I wrapped my outer coat tighter, about to turn back.
A voice came from behind.
"Your Highness, please stay."
Not addressing me.
I turned around.
Zhu Houzhao had just walked out from behind me—when did he follow me out? I didn't hear. He stood at the hall entrance, the moon-white inner garment plastered to his body by the wind, a white edge of the splint on his right arm visible. He wasn't wearing shoes, bare feet on the brick surface, toes red from the cold.
A person stood under the corridor.
He wore a crimson official robe, with a golden pheasant embroidered on the rank badge—Second Rank. He stood there, as if he had been waiting there all along. The wind lifted the corners of his robe, then let them fall, but he didn't move an inch.
His face wasn't very clear in the candlelight, but those eyes were deep, like an ancient well, bottomless.
Yang Tinghe.
I had heard this name in the Eastern Palace. Hanlin出身 (出身 from Hanlin Academy), Crown Prince's tutor, now a Grand Secretary of the Cabinet. When Liu Jin mentioned him, his tone carried a distinct wariness—not fear, but the kind of wariness of "can't afford to provoke".
He stood under the corridor, spine straight, official hat perfectly端正 (端正). He held nothing in his hands, but that posture was like holding an imperial decree.
"Your Highness." He bowed, voice neither high nor low, exceptionally clear in the empty corridor. "His Majesty has commanded."
Zhu Houzhao stood at the hall entrance, moonlight shining on his face. His expression wasn't very clear, but I could feel his body tense slightly—like a string, plucked lightly by someone.
"What is it?" he said.
Tone impatient. But the ending note was a bit tight.
Yang Tinghe was not affected by his tone. His voice remained the same, neither high nor low, like reading a memorial:
"From today, Your Highness must enter the Cabinet for deliberations."
The wind stopped.
The corridor was quiet enough to hear the candle in the lantern burning, the wick making a sizzling sound.
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak.
I looked at him. His silhouette in the moonlight looked very thin, the inner garment too thin, plastered to his body by the wind, revealing the outline of his shoulder blades. He stood there, like a tree bent by the wind but not broken.
"Tomorrow." he said.
Not a negotiating tone. A "I have the final say" tone.
Yang Tinghe didn't move.
"Now."
Two words. Not heavy. But like a stone thrown into water, sinking to the bottom.
Zhu Houzhao's fingers curled slightly. His right hand—that right hand still in a splint—trembled slightly under the sleeve, like pricked by something.
He didn't speak again.
Just frowned slightly.
Very light.
So light that I, standing a few steps away, almost didn't see it. But I saw it—his eyebrows furrowed slightly, then relaxed. Like someone pricked by a needle, not painful, but knowing the needle was there.
He knew.
He knew this wasn't something that could be delayed.
He had just seen his father. He knew the thinness on that chair, the trembling of those hands, knew how much was hidden in that cough.
He knew.
He stood there, moonlight shining on him. The wind rose again, blowing the hem of his inner garment, revealing bare ankles.
Then he looked at me.
Very short.
So short I almost thought it was an illusion. But what was in that look, I saw clearly—not a plea for help, not a farewell, but something I couldn't describe. Like a person looking down from the edge of a cliff, then turning back, moving forward.
He wanted to say something.
But he couldn't.
I knew he couldn't. Yang Tinghe stood there, second-rank official robe, Grand Secretary. He was the Crown Prince, but he couldn't say "Wait a moment, I need to say a word to her". That wouldn't make sense. That was against the rules. That would let everyone know—the Crown Prince had a maid by his side, the Crown Prince cared about her.
So he didn't say.
Just looked at me.
Very short.
Then turned back.
I watched his back. Suddenly felt my throat tighten a bit.
"Go." I said.
Voice not loud. The wind blew half of these two words away, didn't know if he heard.
But he paused.
Shoulders moved slightly—like someone suddenly hearing their name called while walking, body reacting before consciousness.
Then he nodded.
Very light.
Like the wind blew once.
He followed Yang Tinghe away.
Pace not fast.
Nor slow.
Like a person being called back to their position.
He walked under the corridor, moonlight shining on him. The inner garment was too thin, plastered to his body by the wind, revealing thin shoulder blades. The white edge of the splint on his right arm showed under the sleeve, swaying lightly with his steps. Feet stepped on the cold brick surface, no sound.
Yang Tinghe walked half a step in front of him. The crimson official robe looked very deep in the night, like a moving wall.
They didn't speak.
Lanterns under the corridor went dark one by one, their figures getting farther and farther, more and more blurry. Finally, they turned a corner and disappeared.
The person was gone.
The corridor was very quiet.
The wind stopped. The lantern didn't sway anymore. The candle in the last lantern burned quietly, the wick occasionally making a sizzle, like sighing.
That bit of warmth from the hall just now.
Scattered in an instant.
Like it never existed.
I stood under the corridor, hand still gripping the medicine box handle. Knuckles white, palm sweaty. Wind blew over, sweat turned to ice.
Liu Jin didn't know when he had appeared beside me. He didn't speak, just looking in the direction Zhu Houzhao disappeared, lips pressed into a line.
"He... when will he be back?" I asked.
Liu Jin shook his head.
"Don't know." he said. "Cabinet deliberations, sometimes all night."
I looked down at my hands. Fingers still trembling. Not from cold.
I suddenly understood one thing.
That summons.
Wasn't looking at me.
It was—arranging him.
The Emperor asking me "What do you think of the Crown Prince" wasn't to know my answer, but to know who was by the Crown Prince's side. The Empress asking me "Is he happy" wasn't to hear me say it, but to confirm what the Crown Prince still needed.
They weren't looking at me.
They were confirming—after he left, was there someone to catch him.
I stood under the corridor, wind blowing over, cold enough to make me shiver.
He was taken away.
Not because he lost.
But because—
He was the Crown Prince.
I walked back.
Lanterns under the corridor were all out, only moonlight remained. Moonlight was too thin, couldn't light up the path underfoot. I walked on my own shadow, deep foot shallow foot, like walking on cotton.
Walking to the side room door, I pushed it open.
Inside was very dark. Charcoal fire was out, only a pile of ash remained. The two rabbit sugar figurines on the window sill were still there, translucent in the moonlight, amber-colored, like solidified honey. One standing, one leaning, ears one long one short.
I sat on the bed, staring at those two rabbits.
The room was very quiet. Quiet enough to hear my own heartbeat. Beat by beat, muffled, like someone beating a drum far away.
I suddenly remembered how he stood at the hall entrance. Bare feet on bricks, toes red from cold. Inner garment plastered to his body by the wind, shoulder blade outline clearly visible. He turned and looked at me, very short, but what was in that look, I only realized now.
That wasn't a plea for help.
Nor a farewell.
That was—telling me to rest assured.
He knew he had to go. He knew he couldn't dodge it. He was just telling me: It's okay.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling.
The ceiling was wood, old and unrepaired, with several cracks. Moonlight shone through the window crack, drawing a silver-white line on the cracks.
He had to go to Cabinet deliberations.
Sitting with a bunch of forty or fifty-year-old ministers, listening to them discuss state affairs. He was fourteen. Splint still on his arm. No shoes. No ceremonial robe.
How would those ministers see him?
"Your Highness, what do you think?"
What would he say?
Would he lazily say "It's okay" like in the Eastern Palace?
No.
He would sit straight. Would put on airs. Would become that Crown Prince sitting in the high seat. Expressionless, like not listening.
Like New Year's Eve.
I turned over, burying my face in the pillow.
The pillow was hard, stuffed with who knows what, hurting my face.
When will he be back?
Liu Jin said, sometimes all night.
All night.
He had to sit in that cold hall all night. Wearing that heavy ceremonial robe—no, he wasn't wearing the ceremonial robe. He was wearing the inner garment. Yang Tinghe didn't tell him to change. They took him away directly.
He wore the inner garment, barefoot, splint on his arm, going to Cabinet deliberations.
I sat up.
Heart beating fast.
I took a deep breath, lay back down.
What are you anxious for? He is the Crown Prince. Cabinet people wouldn't dare do anything to him. Yang Tinghe is his teacher, wouldn't make things difficult for him.
But what if he's cold? What if his arm hurts? What if those people ask questions he can't answer?
I turned over.
Turned over again.
The rabbit sugar figurines on the window sill were translucent in the moonlight, chubby shadows cast on the wall, like someone watching me.
Like him.
I stared at that shadow, suddenly stopped turning.
He told me to rest assured.
Then I won't be anxious.
I closed my eyes.
After a long time.
Maybe an incense stick's time, maybe an hour.
Distant footsteps came. Very light, like a cat walking on snow. Then the sound of a door being pushed open—not my door, the one next door.
He was back.
I sat up, heart suddenly beating fast.
Should I go look?
I sat on the bed, didn't move.
Footsteps stopped. The door next door closed. Then silence.
He didn't call anyone. Didn't light a lamp. Nothing.
I lay back down.
Staring at the cracks on the ceiling.
Moonlight had moved away, cracks hidden in darkness, invisible.
I closed my eyes.
This time, really fell asleep.
(End of Chapter 8)