Hongzhi Year 18, Twenty-First Day of the First Month.
After the court session dispersed.
People scattered quickly. Crimson, cyan, green, pouring out from the hall layer by layer, like receding tide, disappearing at the end of the corridor in a blink. The Fengtian Hall square, just now crowded with people, was suddenly empty.
But the words were still spinning in my head.
State foundation, people's livelihood, border troubles, taxation, discipline—those words spun around in my head like a pot of burnt porridge, stirred together, indistinguishable.
Zhu Houzhao walked fast in front. So fast I almost had to jog to keep up. Gunfu not changed, Yishan crown not removed, dozens of jin heavy clothes pressing on him, but he walked much faster than when coming—like fleeing.
"Where are you going?" I asked, panting.
"Get some air." he said, not looking back.
He didn't return to the Eastern Palace.
He crossed long corridors, went around several doors, walking to an empty courtyard behind the side hall. No one usually came here, withered grass in the corner not yet cleaned, rustling in the wind.
He stopped.
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, back to me. Shoulders heaving heavily—not tired, but stifled.
"Are they like this every day?" he asked.
"Mm."
"Then how do they survive?"
I looked at him. Sunlight shone on his back, golden dragon patterns flashing. His voice was very flat, but the ending note a bit hoarse.
"Maybe they got used to it." I said.
He didn't speak.
Then he sat down heavily on the corridor chair, the chair making a creak. The hem of the Gunfu spread out,铺 (spread) on the chair, like a withered flower.
He took off the Yishan crown, throwing it on the nearby stone table. The gold hairpin fell, rolled twice, stopping at the table edge. Hair fell down, hanging on his forehead, covering half his face.
"I don't want to listen." he said.
Voice not loud.
But heavy.
Not that he didn't understand.
He didn't want to live like that.
I stood at the courtyard entrance, not walking over. Sunlight shone through the eaves' cracks, drawing lines of light and shadow on the ground, like prison bars. He sat in the light and shadow, hair loose, clothes wrinkled, not like the Crown Prince, like a teenager locked up for a long time.
"Your Highness."
A voice came from behind.
I turned around.
Yang Tinghe stood at the courtyard entrance. He didn't know when he came, or how long he had been listening. The crimson official robe in the sunlight was red as blood, the golden pheasant on the rank badge lifting its head, eyes embroidered, but looking like staring at someone.
He walked in. Pace not fast, but every step steady, like a person who walked a lifetime of roads, knowing where every brick was.
"Your Highness," he said, voice neither high nor low. "Court politics are no child's play."
Zhu Houzhao didn't stand up. He leaned against the chair back, hair loose, collar loose, posture lazily unacceptable. But his eyes—those eyes half-hidden by hair—were very bright.
"I don't treat it as play." he said.
Yang Tinghe looked at him. That gaze not heavy, not light, like a scale, weighing how much this sentence weighed.
"Your Highness should know the weight." he said.
Zhu Houzhao stood up. The chair creaked again. He was half a head shorter than Yang Tinghe, but standing there, no intention of looking up.
"I know." he said.
Paused for a moment.
"But what you say, I don't believe."
Yang Tinghe frowned. That frown very light, like wind rippling a lake, wrinkled once, then flattened. But his eyes changed—not anger, a kind of "I didn't expect you to say this" surprise.
"What does Your Highness mean?"
Zhu Houzhao looked at him. Wind blew from the courtyard, stirring his loose hair, revealing his whole face. A teenager's face. Cheekbones not fully developed, jawline still carrying a bit of roundness. But the thing in those eyes, not like a teenager.
"You say how the world is," he said, voice very flat, every word clear. "I want to see for myself."
The courtyard went quiet.
Wind stopped. Withered grass didn't rustle. Sunlight shone on the ground, light and shadow didn't move, like a painting.
Yang Tinghe looked at him. For a long time. So long I thought he would say "Impossible", so long I thought he would say "Absurd".
He didn't.
He stood there, crimson official robe fluttering slightly in the wind. His frown relaxed, lips pressed, as if thinking about something.
"If Your Highness has the heart—" He paused.
A very long pause. So long I heard my own heartbeat.
"Recently there is a case, not yet investigated."
Zhu Houzhao's eyes brightened slightly. Very light, like a spark splashing, then dimming. He didn't speak, waiting for Yang Tinghe to continue.
"Jingjiao Great Camp," Yang Tinghe said, voice lowering. "Last month seventeen soldiers died of illness. The Imperial Hospital reported 'epidemic', but—"
He stopped.
"But what?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
"But symptoms varied. Some said epidemic, some said poisoning." He looked at Zhu Houzhao, gaze carrying something indescribable—not trust, not testing, a kind of "I hand you the knife, you decide whether to take it" weight. "The Imperial Hospital suppressed the report. The Ministry of War doesn't know."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He stood there, hair loose, clothes wrinkled, but posture changed—not lazy, but tensed, like a string plucked by someone.
"What poison?" he asked.
"Don't know. The Imperial Hospital didn't find out."
Zhu Houzhao glanced at me. Very short. So short Yang Tinghe might not have noticed.
But I noticed.
He was asking me. Not asking "Can you do it", but asking "This, can you understand it".
I can.
Epidemic and poisoning, in modern medicine, are two different things. Epidemic is infectious disease, poisoning is chemical damage. Seventeen people dying of illness simultaneously, symptoms varying—if epidemic, symptoms should be similar; if varying, more like poisoning.
But this is the Great Ming. No lab tests, no microscope, no blood routine. What can I do?
I can do anything.
But I said nothing. Just nodded.
Zhu Houzhao turned back.
He stood up. Very decisive. No hesitation, no delay, no "let me think again". When he stood up, the chair didn't creak.
"I'll go." he said.
Yang Tinghe paused. That pause very light, just eyelashes trembling, but he did pause.
"Your Highness need not—"
"Didn't you say you wanted me to learn?" Zhu Houzhao cut him off.
He looked at Yang Tinghe. Wind rose again, stirring his loose hair. His eyes were very bright, much brighter than in Fengtian Hall.
"I'm learning now."
Yang Tinghe looked at him. For a long time. Wind stopped and rose, rose and stopped. Sunlight moved an inch through the eaves' cracks.
Then he smiled.
Very light.
Like wind over a lake. Like someone hearing good news in the deepest night.
"Your Highness," he said, voice lower than before. "This matter should not be publicized."
"I know."
Yang Tinghe nodded. Turned to leave.
Walking to the courtyard entrance, he stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Your Highness," he said. "That maid—"
Zhu Houzhao's hand moved slightly. Very light, just fingers curling.
"She follows." he said. Not a negotiating tone.
Yang Tinghe was silent for a moment.
"Your Highness knows the propriety." he said.
He left. Pace still the same, neither fast nor slow, every step steady. The crimson official robe disappeared at the corridor end, like a drop of blood falling into water, dispersing.
The courtyard was quiet again.
Zhu Houzhao stood under the corridor, hair loose, clothes wrinkled, sunlight shining on him. He didn't look like the Crown Prince. But he looked more like a person than in Fengtian Hall.
He looked at me.
"You stay in the palace."
"No."
He frowned. That frown deeper than Yang Tinghe's.
"There will be danger."
"My major matches the job." I said.
He paused. That expression—not anger, not helplessness, a kind of "I knew you would say this" resignation.
"What major?" he asked.
"...Medicine." I said. "Poisoning and epidemic, I can distinguish."
He looked at me. For a long time. So long I thought he would leave me in the palace.
"Keep close." he said.
Just three words.
Not a commanding tone. But—
I can't describe it. Like a person walking in darkness for a long time, looking back, confirming someone is still behind.
"Okay." I said.
He turned and walked away. This time pace neither fast nor slow. I followed him, walking half a step behind.
Returning to the Eastern Palace, it was already evening.
Liu Jin stood at the door, pacing anxiously. Seeing us return, he pounced: "Your Highness! Where did you go—"
"Change clothes." Zhu Houzhao said, walking around him, entering the sleeping hall.
Liu Jin froze, looking at me: "Change clothes? Change into what?"
I didn't answer.
The sleeping hall door closed. After a while, the door opened.
He walked out.
Not the Crown Prince's clothes.
He wore black. Narrow sleeves,束 (束) waist, agile. The fabric was dark patterned, looking plain if not looked at carefully, but in light, cloud patterns could be seen wandering on the cloth surface. Shoulder line very straight, making his shoulders look wider than usual. A short sword hung on the leather belt at his waist, scabbard black, no decoration.
He didn't wear a crown. Hair simply tied at the back, tied with a black hair ribbon. Stray hairs on his forehead blown up by the wind, revealing a smooth forehead.
He stood there, sunset shining on him. Black dyed with a warm color, like iron in charcoal fire, outside black, inside hot.
I looked at him.
"Looks the part." I said.
His mouth corner twitched up.
"It is the part."
He walked down the steps. Walked two steps, stopped. Turned to look at me.
Sunset behind him, outlining his silhouette with a golden edge. His eyes had light—not candlelight, not moonlight, sunset light, warm, bright.
"Go." he said.
I followed him.
He walked in front, pace neither fast nor slow. Black hem fluttering slightly in the wind, short sword at waist swaying lightly, scabbard hitting the leather belt, making a faint sound.
I walked half a step behind him.
Sunset stretched our two shadows very long, overlapping, indistinguishable whose was whose.
He took off the Crown Prince's clothes.
Changed into something more suitable for him.
Then—
Took me to see this world.
(End of Chapter 10)