Handwriting

Once summer arrived, the capital grew hot earlier with each passing day.

Xiao Huaijin practiced his writing in the eastern side chamber of the imperial study, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. His fingers slipped a little on the brush, and every two characters, he wiped his hand on the hem of his robe. Zhou Rucheng could not bear to watch and sent a eunuch to fetch a basin of ice from the ice cellar and set it beside the low table. White vapor rose from the basin. Xiao Huaijin reached out to touch it, only for Zhou Rucheng to tap the back of his hand lightly with a rolled book.

"Your Highness, ice is not a toy."

Xiao Huaijin withdrew his hand, sat up properly, and went on writing. He had already reached the Thousand Character Classic-"Heaven and earth, dark and yellow; the universe, vast and primeval"-which had more strokes than the Three Character Classic. Some characters still came out crooked after several attempts. He always made the lower component of "desolate" too fat, crammed into its square like a squatting fat man. When Xiao Lin came over from the Hall of Mental Cultivation, he found the boy hanging his head, frowning at a ruined sheet of paper.

"What is it?"

Xiao Huaijin looked up and pushed the crumpled sheet toward his imperial father with a pout.

"'Desolate'-it's too hard to write. The Grand Tutor said to make it slimmer, but your son just can't."

Xiao Lin lowered his eyes to the sheet. Most of the row of "huang" characters inside the squares were indeed fat. One had even spilled out of its square and stuck to the "hong" beside it. He picked up the brush and called the little dumpling over. Xiao Huaijin crawled out from behind the low table and came to his father's side. Xiao Lin held his hand and showed him how to write it, stroke by stroke-dot, horizontal, vertical turn, horizontal, vertical, horizontal turning hook, vertical, horizontal turn, horizontal. At the vertical stroke, he deliberately slowed for half a beat, letting Xiao Huaijin feel the curve as his wrist turned.

"Draw it in here. Drawing it in means-don't let go. Take half a breath and lift the brush a little."

Xiao Huaijin copied him and wrote one. It was still fat, but its fatness had restraint now. At least it did not spill out of the square.

"Better than before. Write five more."

Xiao Huaijin wrote another five. The first was fat, the second so thin it trembled, the third drawn in just right, the fourth fat again, and the fifth-he studied it for a while, then held the paper up for his imperial father to see. Xiao Lin took it and said, "This one will do." He folded the sheet and tucked it into his sleeve, then sat a while longer at the low table. Sunlight shone through the east window. The ice in the basin slowly melted, giving off faint cracking sounds.

Xiao Huaijin suddenly looked up and stared at his imperial father's face, asking,

"Imperial Father, why do you have a line here?"

He pointed a finger between his own eyebrows.

"What line?"

"Here. There's a line. Your son doesn't have one here."

He touched the smooth space between his own eyebrows again, rubbing his finger back and forth twice as he studied it in earnest.

Xiao Lin did not answer. He did not know when that crease had appeared. In his previous life, he had seemingly never cared about such things-his officials had not dared look at his face. Here, only this four-year-old child dared look at him, even pointing between his eyebrows to ask what it was.

"...From frowning too much."

"Why do you frown?"

"Because I'm thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

Xiao Lin fell silent for a moment, then reached out, turned over the ruined sheet before Xiao Huaijin, and wrote two characters on the back: "all under heaven"-all under heaven. Xiao Huaijin tilted his head and studied them for a long while before asking what they meant. Xiao Lin said he would understand when he grew up. Xiao Huaijin did not ask again. He climbed back to the low table, picked up his brush, and copied the two characters his imperial father had written, drawing two rows on the paper.

After writing practice, Xiao Huaijin's nurse took him away for lunch. At the door, he ran back, pulled a piece of osmanthus cake wrapped in oiled paper from his sleeve, and set it beside Xiao Lin's hand. He said his nurse had given it to him that morning, and he had saved it for his imperial father. The cake had been crushed a little, and crumbs clung to the oiled paper. Xiao Lin looked at the piece of osmanthus cake and accepted it.

In mid-May, Sun Jingtang, the Minister of Revenue, submitted a secret memorial.

He stood in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, waiting to see Xiao Lin's expression after he finished reading. After a while, all he saw was Xiao Lin closing the memorial and setting it on the corner of the desk.

"What else have you found about the Hengtai Firm?"

"This is not about the Hengtai Firm."

Sun Jingtang lowered his voice, his graying eyebrows knitting together.

"Your Majesty, last month I mentioned that the fifty thousand taels allocated for repairing military equipment had gone to the Hengtai Firm in Hejian. After returning, I had the Ministry of Revenue's treasury inspectors retrieve all the Ministry of War's silver disbursement accounts for the past three years. Every entry into and out of the treasury balanced. Every single one balanced far too beautifully. This is not someone embezzling silver. Someone is overseeing the embezzlers and making them keep their accounts according to the rules. Those small fry at the Ministry of War could never manage such a thing. It would have to pass through at least three stages-handling, review, and approval. There are only two people in the Ministry of War who can authorize the release of silver from the treasury."

"Who?"

"Cui Shen, the Ministry of War's Right Vice Minister."

Xiao Lin's fingers stilled on the armrest. Cui Shen had just turned forty that year and was an old hand at the Ministry of War. He kept as low a profile as a floor tile, taking no sides, forming no cliques, joining no factions, and never volunteering a report at court. His service record showed that he had transferred from the Hanlin Academy to the Ministry of War in the first year of Jianxi. The recommendation field listed the head of the Hanlin Academy.

The Ministry of War's Left Vice Minister oversaw routine military affairs, while the Right Vice Minister oversaw provisions, pay, and equipment. Cui Shen was in charge of provisions, pay, and equipment, overseeing logistical deployments for the entire nation's forces. If the man in that position belonged to the Shen Clan-then what the Shen Clan could move was far more than fifty thousand taels of silver. It was fodder and grain, military equipment, supply lines to the passes, the lifeblood of the border armies.

"Keep investigating. Find out who is in Cui Shen's family, whether they have marriage ties or dealings with the Shen Clan. Investigate every large transfer of military funds he has handled-anything you uncover, report directly to me. There is no need to go through the Grand Secretariat."

Xiao Lin paused after speaking.

"Sun Jingtang."

"Your servant is here."

"Investigating this may put you in danger. Starting today, leave the palace through the Gate of Divine Might, not the East Glorious Gate. I will have Kong Wu arrange for men to follow you in secret."

Sun Jingtang froze for a moment, then lowered his head. He had spent more than half his life serving at court and knew what it meant when His Majesty said, "may put you in danger." He cupped his hands and withdrew. As he left the hall, he stumbled and had to catch hold of a corridor pillar to steady himself. Once steady, he stood there a little longer before continuing on his way.

After Sun Jingtang left, the hall remained quiet for a time. Xiao Lin opened the list Kong Wu had delivered a few days earlier and wrote "wait" in vermilion beside the name "Zhao Bao, Eastern Palace guard," then drew a circle beside "Shen Boyong." He set down the brush, rose, and walked to the window. Outside lay the direction of the imperial garden. The low branches of those loquat trees had already been pruned. Nothing could be seen from the Hall of Mental Cultivation, but he knew the trees were still there, with a few loquats still hanging from the highest branches, glowing golden yellow in the sunlight.

Some days later, Xiao Huaijin turned five.

No banquet was held at the Eastern Palace on his birthday-Xiao Lin had sent word through Liu An that morning: the crown prince was young, there was no need for extravagance, and he would come to the Eastern Palace that evening. Xiao Huaijin began waiting as soon as he got up. He changed into a newly made little apricot-yellow robe. When his nurse brought it out, he touched the embroidery and said it was a dragon, just like the ones on his imperial father's clothes. His nurse said it was not quite the same; the dragons on His Highness's robe had four claws. Xiao Huaijin lowered his head and counted, then asked why his imperial father had five claws when he did not. His nurse said he would have them when he grew up. After hearing this, Xiao Huaijin studied his own little four-clawed dragons in the mirror, patted his chest, and said, all right, he would show his imperial father once they grew five claws.

Xiao Lin arrived at dusk. He brought no retinue; Liu An followed behind, carrying a small wooden case. Xiao Huaijin knelt at the entrance to pay his respects, only for Xiao Lin to lift him with one hand and settle him beside the stone table. The wooden case opened to reveal a new horn bow. It was an inch shorter than the old one on the windowsill, with a finer string, just right for the strength of a five-year-old's hands.

"This is the one I used as a child."

Imperial Father's bow!

Xiao Huaijin held the bow and turned it over and over several times, then tipped his face up.

"Imperial Father, I'll use this bow to shoot arrows from now on, and hit the bull's-eye. Will you come and watch me shoot?"

As he spoke, his eyes shone just as brightly as they had that day when he ran into the Hall of Mental Cultivation carrying loquats.

Xiao Lin said he would. Xiao Huaijin then asked whether he could shoot once today.

Xiao Lin rose from the stone table and walked into the courtyard. The Eastern Palace's courtyard was not large. Beneath the parasol tree stood an old straw target, a fixture required by the rites for the crown prince to practice archery, though no one had taught him in the preceding years. The night breeze rustled the parasol leaves. He straightened the old straw target, stepped back five paces, and turned to look at Xiao Huaijin.

"Try it."

Xiao Huaijin hopped off the stone stool, took the old bow, and stood five paces away, drawing the string. The bowstring stretched taut. His little arms trembled slightly, and he gritted his teeth and aimed for a long time-the arrow flew out, lodged in the edge of the straw target, and quivered without falling.

"Not the bull's-eye."

Xiao Huaijin sounded a little dejected.

"Mm. Just short."

Xiao Lin walked behind him, bent down, and took hold of his bow-drawing hand.

"Try again."

This arrow lodged beside the bull's-eye.

Xiao Huaijin turned and lifted his face to look at Xiao Lin, and Xiao Lin looked down at the five-year-old child. The parasol tree's shadow fell between them, stretched now long, now short by the lantern light.

"Imperial Father."

"Mm."

"Will you come to the Eastern Palace and watch your son shoot arrows every birthday from now on?"

"Yes."

Xiao Huaijin hugged the bow to his chest and lowered his head, the corners of his mouth curving upward. This time, he did not say, "Thank you, Imperial Father." He had already learned quite a few rules of etiquette, but at that moment, he said nothing. He merely hugged the bow a little tighter.

When Xiao Lin returned to the Hall of Mental Cultivation that night, Liu An was tidying the memorials on the imperial desk. He saw His Majesty take a sheet of paper from his sleeve, spread it on the desk, then pull open the bottommost drawer. Xiao Lin placed that day's sheet inside. On it was a single "barren," its finishing strokes drawn in just right, its childishness out of place among the other treasures.

He closed the drawer, stood for a moment, then said, "Liu An. Have the bow rack in the Eastern Palace replaced tomorrow. The old one is too high. He can't reach it."

Liu An answered, tucked his fly whisk under his arm, and withdrew. He stood beneath the corridor for a while, remembering the little prince who had gone whole days without speaking all those years ago, remembering the characters drawn with a twig on the ground of the cold palace, remembering this man's eyes as he sat on the dragon throne on the day of his accession, looking out at a hall full of court officials. Those eyes had held everything, and yet seemed to hold nothing at all. Then he glanced back at the paper-covered windows of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. The light was still burning, and all was quiet within. He gazed at that lamp in the east that had remained lit, shifted his fly whisk to his other hand, bowed slightly, and softly answered, whether or not the man inside could hear him.

"This old servant will see to it tomorrow."