Ink Marks

On the third day of his first lessons, Xiao Huaijin had already begun drawing characters on paper.

They were called characters, but they looked more like pictures. He wrote the two strokes of "person" at different heights, and his hand trembled as he finished, dragging the tail of the right-falling stroke out so far that it looked like a centipede sprawled across the paper. His nursemaid watched beside him, not daring to laugh. He, however, tilted his head and studied it for quite a while, nodded in satisfaction, dipped his brush in ink again, and went on drawing the next one.

Xiao Lin sat nearby, reviewing memorials. He had moved his imperial desk from the Hall of Mental Cultivation to the eastern side room of the imperial study, on the grounds that he could "inspect the crown prince's lessons at close quarters." When Liu An relayed the message with his back bowed, the old officials from the Hanlin Academy waiting for an imperial audience all froze on the spot-the crown prince beginning his education and His Majesty reviewing memorials seemed an odd pairing no matter how one looked at it. But not one of them dared say so.

After drawing "person," Xiao Huaijin drew "big," and after "big," he drew "heaven." When he drew "heaven," he made the top horizontal stroke too short, turning it into a matchstick. Xiao Lin looked up from his memorials and glanced over without speaking. A moment later, he set down his brush, rose, and walked over to the low table. Bending down, he reached his right hand around from behind and enclosed the little dumpling's brush-holding hand.

"This horizontal stroke needs to be level."

His hand was so large that it wrapped entirely around the little one. Xiao Huaijin went rigid for a moment the instant it closed around his. His imperial father's fingers were warm, with thin calluses on their pads. Resting against the back of his hand, they felt like a piece of warm jade.

Xiao Lin guided his hand across the paper, writing "Heaven" stroke by stroke. The first horizontal stroke was level. The second was level too. His wrist turned half a beat slower for the left-falling stroke, and the right-falling stroke finished cleanly and crisply.

"This is 'heaven'-heaven."

Xiao Huaijin stared at the character for a while, then suddenly tipped his head back.

"Father, what's above heaven?"

Xiao Lin paused.

"...Above heaven is still heaven."

The little dumpling blinked, probably not understanding, but asked no further questions. He switched the brush from his right hand to his left-his right hand was a little sore after drawing several characters-then dipped it in ink again and wrote a "heaven" himself, copying the strokes his imperial father had guided him through. It was still crooked, but a little better than the matchstick from before.

"Passable."

Xiao Huaijin's brush stopped. He looked up at Xiao Lin, light shining in his eyes, the kind of light that had been held down for a very, very long time and finally released. At that look, Xiao Lin felt as though someone had cut into his heart with a dull knife. In his previous life, this child had recited the entire Thousand Character Classic outside the Hall of Mental Cultivation, and he had not even glanced at him, only uttered that single word. Back then, he had thought it was an emperor's restraint toward his heir: he did not want him to grow conceited or slacken his efforts. Now he knew that word had been nothing of the sort. It had simply been cold.

He crouched down and rested his hand on Xiao Huaijin's head. His little hair buns were still crooked. These past few days, the more nervous the nursemaid grew, the worse she seemed to tie them; the left bun was always half an inch higher than the right. He reached out and gently pressed the left one down. It would not stay down, and what had been crooked remained crooked.

"...Not passable. Your writing is better than mine was at your age."

Xiao Huaijin blinked. The next instant, he smiled, revealing two little canine teeth, his eyes curving into crescents.

"But-who taught you to write with your left hand?"

The little dumpling looked down at the brush in his left hand, then up at his imperial father, his expression perfectly innocent.

"No one."

Xiao Lin's brow twitched. He took the brush out of the little dumpling's left hand and put it back in his right. The little dumpling held it in his right hand, then secretly switched it back to his left once Xiao Lin straightened and looked away. Xiao Lin caught it out of the corner of his eye but did not call him out. He returned to his desk and continued reviewing memorials.

That evening, Kong Wu arrived.

Kong Wu had been among the first personal guards Xiao Lin promoted after ascending the throne. A man of few words and unwavering loyalty, he now served as commander of the Left Guard in the Imperial Guard. When he entered, Liu An was changing Xiao Lin's tea. At the expression on his face, Liu An's hand paused. He quietly pushed the teacup to the corner of the desk and withdrew behind the screen.

"Your Majesty."

After saluting, Kong Wu came straight to the point. "I have gone through the Eastern Palace's entire guard detail."

Xiao Lin did not look up.

"Speak."

"There are four guards at the Eastern Palace's front gate, two at the rear gate, and six on patrol. Everyone on the roster was transferred from the Imperial Guard. By rights, there should be no problems."

Kong Wu paused.

"But there is one at the front gate named Zhao Bao who originally entered on the Shen Clan's recommendation. I checked his record. He joined the Imperial Guard in the third year of Jianxi and transferred to the Eastern Palace in the sixth. His background is clean, but the reference to the Shen Clan's recommendation has been erased from the Ministry of War's files."

"Deliberately, or was it genuinely left out?"

"The Ministry of War's administrative officer that year was Shen Boyong's pupil."

Shen Boyong. The current chancellor, Shen Mingzhu's father. Xiao Lin tapped a finger against the armrest. In his previous life, the Shen Clan had riddled the Eastern Palace with holes like a sieve before the palace coup. Getting a dragon robe into the Eastern Palace's study and hiding a witchcraft doll in a side chamber had required inside help at every step. In his previous life, he had not known when those agents had been planted. So they had been there from the very beginning.

"Keep investigating. Do not alert anyone."

"Understood."

Kong Wu hesitated. "Your Majesty, should I secretly add a few men to the Eastern Palace-"

"No need."

Xiao Lin cut him off.

"If we add men now, Shen Boyong will know I'm investigating. Let him think I know nothing."

Kong Wu nodded and was about to withdraw when Xiao Lin stopped him again.

"That alley by the Eastern Palace's rear gate," Xiao Lin said. "Have someone repave it and replace all the broken bricks. Keep it quiet."

Kong Wu frowned slightly, not quite understanding. It seemed a trifling matter. He had followed this man for over a decade and knew that some things were the emperor's will when spoken, and remained so when unspoken. He acknowledged the order and withdrew. Outside the hall, the night wind poured down his collar. He hunched his neck, then suddenly understood-the alley by the rear gate was an old path a child of only four had to take. His Majesty had walked such paths in the cold palace as a boy. He knew how large a piece of brick it took to trip a child.

After Kong Wu left, Liu An emerged from behind the screen. He replaced the cold tea with a fresh, hot cup and set it beside Xiao Lin's hand. Xiao Lin did not drink. Looking at the mountain-high stack of memorials on his desk, he suddenly spoke.

"Liu An."

"This servant is here."

"From now on, you need not stay with me until midnight while I review memorials. You're getting old. You cannot endure it."

Liu An opened his mouth. He had spent nearly fifty years in the palace, and no emperor had ever said anything like that to him. He kept his head firmly lowered, his eyelids drooping lower still.

"This servant is quite all right. If Your Majesty does not rest, this servant would not dare to."

Xiao Lin said nothing more. He opened a memorial, wrote a few lines, then closed it again. Liu An bowed and withdrew, but just before he reached the door, Xiao Lin called him back.

"Tell the people at the Eastern Palace to put another quilt over the crown prince tonight. He kicks his covers off so much that the nursemaid cannot keep watch over him alone."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Liu An withdrew and stood beneath the covered walkway for a while in the night wind. His fly whisk rested across his arm, and the wind tousled his graying hair. He gazed toward the Eastern Palace. That lamp was still burning.

Late that night, Xiao Huaijin woke from a dream. He could not remember much of it, only that it had been a nightmare. It seemed someone had taken his imperial father away, and he could not catch up. He opened his eyes and saw that the crabapple blossom on the low table beside his bed was no longer fresh. The edges of its petals had curled a little, and its color had turned from pink to purple. He looked at it for a while, then rolled over.

"Nanny."

His nursemaid came in from the outer room, a garment draped over her shoulders. "What is it, Your Highness?"

"Father praised me today."

The nursemaid froze for a moment, then smiled. She crouched beside the bed and tucked the quilt in again.

"I heard. Your Highness writes even better than His Majesty did as a child-that is not praise just anyone can earn."

Xiao Huaijin said nothing. He burrowed farther beneath the quilt until only his eyes showed. After a while, a muffled voice came from underneath it.

"Nanny, I want to write again tomorrow. Lots and lots of characters. Then Father will praise me again."

The nursemaid reached out and patted the small body beneath the quilt, several times before she stopped.

After breakfast the next day, Xiao Huaijin lay over the low table practicing his writing. He wrote a row of "Heaven" characters, some with level horizontal strokes and straight vertical lines, others with strokes at uneven heights. At the sixth one, he suddenly put down his brush and crawled to the other end of the low table to fetch a fresh sheet of paper. Then he took an unused small brush from the brush pot, dipped it in ink, and drew a very, very large person on the fresh sheet.

The person in the picture was tall, dressed in broad robes with wide sleeves, with something perfectly square on his head. The lines were crooked and wobbly, but one could roughly make out a person wearing a crown. Beside him, Xiao Huaijin drew another very, very small person, standing next to the grown-up and reaching only as high as his legs. When he finished, he studied it and felt something was missing, so he picked up his brush again and drew a short curve at the corner of the grown-up's mouth. Then he lifted the paper and solemnly pressed it into his nursemaid's hands.

"Nanny. This is for Father."