Ginger soup

The wet nurse fell ill.

She said it was probably a chill. When she got up that morning, her throat felt tight, and she coughed twice before going to serve Xiao Huaijin his breakfast as usual. By noon, her cough had worsened and her forehead was slightly hot. She quietly drank two bowls of ginger soup without telling anyone. When Xiao Huaijin returned from the imperial study for lunch, he heard her stifling her cough in the little kitchen. He ran inside, bowl in hand, and asked, "Nanny, are you ill?" The wet nurse wiped her hands on her apron and said with a smile, "Your Highness, don't come into the kitchen. There's too much cooking smoke. This old servant's throat is just dry. A sip of water will fix it."

After being pushed out of the kitchen, Xiao Huaijin did not leave. He stood beneath the covered walkway and watched through the crack in the door as the wet nurse braced herself against the stove and coughed for a long time before recovering. Once she finished coughing, she put down the bowl in her hand, picked up a rag, and went on wiping the stove. A sudden panic stirred in his heart. He could not say why. The wet nurse had been ill before-one summer, she had caught a summer cold and recovered after two days in bed; last winter, she had caught a cold and recovered after taking medicine for several days. But this time, he kept feeling that something was different.

He did not go to the imperial study that afternoon. When Liu An came to summon him, he stood at the entrance to the Eastern Palace.

"Please tell Father, Eunuch Liu, that his son requests leave today."

Liu An froze for a moment-the crown prince never requested leave unless he was too ill to get out of bed. He glanced into the courtyard and saw the wet nurse leaning against a pillar beneath the covered walkway, waving to indicate that she was fine and that His Highness should hurry to his lessons. After a moment's thought, Liu An went back to report.

After hearing Liu An's report, Xiao Lin put down his brush and asked a question.

"Where is the crown prince feeling unwell?"

Liu An said that it was not the crown prince who was unwell, but the wet nurse. The crown prince was worried and wanted to stay with her. Xiao Lin fell silent for a moment.

"Understood. Let him stay with her."

After Liu An withdrew, Xiao Lin picked up his brush again. He wrote two lines on a memorial, then set it down once more. He remembered how the wet nurse had died in the Eastern Palace in his previous life. By the time the imperial physician he sent arrived, her body was already cold. He had not known it was the Noble Consort's doing until much later, when he investigated old accounts and uncovered it in secret letters from the Palace of Nurtured Elegance-the wet nurse had been slowly worn down and killed by poison because she had tasted a spoonful of soup for the crown prince, found that it tasted wrong, and poured out the entire pot. She had blocked Shen Mingzhu's path, so Shen Mingzhu had taken her life. After Xiao Lin was reborn into this life, he had checked everything in the palace. The Eastern Palace's food, charcoal, incense, clothing fabrics-he had ordered Kong Wu to inspect every last thing in secret. He had thought he had kept her safe. But he had forgotten that the years she spent caring for Xiao Huaijin had already depleted her health. When the chill struck, her constitution was frailer than anyone's.

"Summon an imperial physician." His voice suddenly deepened. "Have the director of the Imperial Medical Academy go to the Eastern Palace in person. Now."

By the time the director arrived at the Eastern Palace, the wet nurse had begun running a fever. She lay on a small couch in the side hall, her face flushed with heat, her lips dry, cracked, and peeling, her voice so hoarse that she could barely speak. Xiao Huaijin had brought over a little stool and sat beside the couch, holding a bowl of water and feeding it to her spoonful by spoonful. After two sips, the wet nurse turned her face away.

"Your Highness, don't sit so close. You'll catch it."

Xiao Huaijin did not move. He held the spoon to her lips again.

"Nanny, I'll leave once you finish this bowl of water."

The wet nurse finished it, but he still did not leave. After taking her pulse, the director's expression changed slightly. He rose, went out beneath the covered walkway, and spoke quietly to Liu An, who had hurried over. As Liu An listened, the color slowly drained from his face. He glanced back at the little figure in apricot yellow sitting motionless beside the couch in the side hall. Without speaking, he merely waved for the physician to hurry and write a prescription.

Xiao Lin came that evening. He did not have Liu An announce him. When he walked alone into the Eastern Palace's side hall, Xiao Huaijin had fallen asleep with his head resting beside the wet nurse's couch, still clutching the spoon he had used to give her water. The wet nurse's eyes were open in a haze. Seeing the figure in bright yellow at the doorway, she struggled to get out of bed and pay her respects. Xiao Lin raised a hand to stop her, walked to the couch, and lifted Xiao Huaijin off the stool. Xiao Huaijin stirred drowsily awake, mumbled "Father," then tilted his head and fell asleep again. Xiao Lin carried his son back to the bedchamber, laid him on the couch, and covered him with a quilt. He stood beside the couch watching him for a while, then returned to the side hall.

The wet nurse leaned against her pillow. Her voice was so hoarse that she could barely form a complete syllable, but she still spoke in fits and starts.

"Your Majesty, this old servant has a few words she would like to say to you."

Xiao Lin sat down on the stool beside the couch. It was the first time since ascending the throne that he had sat at a servant's sickbed. The wet nurse rested for a while, gathered enough strength, and continued-

"This old servant has served His Highness for five years, ever since the day he was born. I have seen all the kindness Your Majesty has shown him lately. Before, I never dared speak, but today, I fear that if I do not speak now, I may never have another chance."

She coughed twice.

"His Highness is a child who carries much in his heart. He hides everything inside. When someone gives him one measure of kindness, he remembers it tenfold. In those earlier years, when Your Majesty seldom visited the Eastern Palace, His Highness hoped every night that you would come."

Xiao Lin sat on the stool without moving. His face was expressionless, but the hand resting on his knee slowly clenched.

"This old servant is not afraid to die. I simply cannot stop worrying about His Highness. This child is far too lonely. While I am here, he still has someone to talk to. Once I am gone, what will he do all alone?"

Her voice grew softer and softer, so soft that the autumn wind outside the window almost swallowed it. Xiao Lin remained silent for so long that the wet nurse thought he would not speak. Then he stood. His voice was no different from usual, but every word came a little more slowly.

"I will keep him by my side."

Tears slipped from the corners of the wet nurse's eyes, trickling along the white hair at her temples and soaking into her pillow.

"This old servant thanks Your Majesty for your grace."

Without looking back, Xiao Lin strode out of the side hall.

The wet nurse passed away three days later.

That morning, the wet nurse suddenly seemed a little more spirited. She drank more than half a bowl of congee and even told Xiao Huaijin that she wanted ginger soup today-the last time His Highness made ginger soup, he had put in so much ginger that it was spicy enough to bring tears to her eyes. Xiao Huaijin was overjoyed.

"Then we'll put in less ginger today!"

He ran into the little kitchen, stood on a small stool, and ladled out a bowl of ginger soup. By the time he brought it back, the wet nurse had fallen asleep. He sat beside the couch holding the bowl and waited for a while. He wanted to wake her but could not bear to, so he set the bowl on the low bedside cabinet and waited for the ginger soup to cool. When the imperial physician came to take her pulse, he stood nearby and watched the physician's fingers rest on the wet nurse's wrist for a very long time. Then the physician lowered his hand, stepped back, and knelt.

"...Your Highness, Nanny has passed away."

Xiao Huaijin stood where he was, looking down at the wet nurse lying on the couch with her eyes closed. Her expression was peaceful, and the corners of her mouth still curved slightly, as though she had seen something good in a dream. He did not cry. He merely reached out and tucked the few white strands that had fallen across her forehead behind her ear. His fingers were steady, his movements gentle, exactly as they had been when he tucked in her quilt the last time she had a fever.

"Nanny, the ginger soup isn't spicy anymore." His voice was level. "Have a taste."

The young palace maid beside him covered her mouth and sobbed aloud. The imperial physician knelt on the floor with his forehead pressed to the ground, not daring to look up.

Xiao Lin received the news during morning court. Liu An hurried in through a side door and whispered a few words in his ear. His hand tightened sharply around the armrest of the dragon throne, his knuckles turning white in an instant. The officials filling the hall were still arguing endlessly over Hejian Prefecture's autumn taxes. Cui Shen, the left vice minister of war, stood at the head of the eastern ranks, speaking at length about how Hejian Prefecture had enjoyed a bountiful harvest this year and should therefore be subject to additional autumn taxes. Xiao Lin ignored him and stood.

"Court is dismissed."

Then he turned and left. Cui Shen's mouth was still open, and the officials throughout the hall looked at one another.

When Xiao Lin reached the Eastern Palace, Xiao Huaijin was sitting at a low table in the main hall, practicing his writing. He was doing the lesson Zhou Rucheng should have come to teach him that day. Though the grand tutor had not come, he had done it all the same. His brush was steady, his characters neat, every level horizontal stroke and straight vertical stroke exactly as usual. Xiao Lin stood in the doorway watching him without approaching. He saw this five-year-old child sitting in the empty main hall, his back perfectly straight, brush in hand, writing one character after another. The person who had stood beside him every day, grinding his ink, bringing him osmanthus cakes, and tying his little tufts of hair crookedly, was gone. He did not cry or make a fuss. He did not fling himself into his father's arms and say he was afraid, as an ordinary child might. He simply kept writing.

"Huaijin."

Xiao Huaijin set down his brush, stood, and turned around. His eyes were dry, his face devoid of expression, his lips tightly pressed together. Xiao Lin crouched, drew him close, and looked into his eyes. His voice was low and deep, utterly unlike his voice at court, as though he were speaking of a secret only the two of them could understand.

"Huaijin, cry if you want to. You can cry here with Father."

Xiao Huaijin's lips moved, and then his tears suddenly fell. His shoulders shook violently, his whole little face crumpled, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He did not wipe them away, only bit his lip fiercely to keep himself from making a sound.

Xiao Lin gathered him into his arms. He was five now, and Xiao Lin had held him many times-lifting him onto his knee while practicing writing in the imperial study, picking him up from the prayer cushion during the rites at the Hall of Ancestral Worship, carrying him onto the imperial seat at the Dragon Boat Festival banquet. But this was the first time he had held him without doing anything else, simply keeping him in his arms, letting his face press against his chest and his tears soak through his dragon robe.

"Father-" Xiao Huaijin's voice came muffled against his chest, broken into pieces. "Nanny's gone-this morning, Nanny said she wanted my ginger soup-I only went to make a pot of ginger soup-just one pot of ginger soup-and she left-she didn't wait for me-"

Xiao Lin said nothing. He held the child trembling uncontrollably in his arms, one hand wrapped tightly around his back and the other cupping the back of his head, burying his whole face against his chest as though he meant to absorb every tear. Xiao Huaijin gripped his father's dragon robe until his knuckles turned white, crying so hard he could not catch his breath. Xiao Lin lowered his gaze to the crown of his head.

"Your nanny said you were the very best child."

Xiao Huaijin's shoulders shook again as he desperately tried to swallow his sobs.

"But I'll never see Nanny again."

Xiao Lin was silent for a long time.

"Nanny will watch over you from heaven. You must let her see you grow up well."

Xiao Huaijin buried his face against his father's chest and nodded hard. The movement was very, very small, but heavy. Xiao Lin held him without saying another word. Outside the hall, the autumn wind swept fallen leaves through the doorway, setting the writing practice sheets on the low table rustling. He reached out to hold the papers down so the wind would not carry them away.

That night, Xiao Lin did not return to the Hall of Mental Cultivation. He sat beside Xiao Huaijin's couch, watching the child who had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from crying. Even in sleep, Xiao Huaijin's brows remained furrowed, his fingers still clutching Xiao Lin's sleeve tightly, as though he feared that if he let go, this person would disappear too. Xiao Lin gently pried his son's fingers loose and tucked his hand beneath the quilt, then stood and walked to the hall entrance.

"Liu An, have the warm chamber beside the Hall of Mental Cultivation put in order tomorrow. The crown prince will move into the Hall of Mental Cultivation."

Liu An froze for a moment and looked up at Xiao Lin-in all the years since His Majesty had ascended the throne, he had never allowed any prince to live in the Hall of Mental Cultivation. It was the emperor's bedchamber. But he asked nothing, only bowed deeply.

"This servant obeys."

Xiao Lin glanced back at Xiao Huaijin, curled up on the couch.

"I will keep him by my side myself until he can face everything alone."