Archery practice (recollection)

Autumn, the fourteenth year of Jianxi.

Xiao Huaijin was ten.

The parasol leaves in the Eastern Palace yellowed and fell, and the palace servants swept them away time after time, but he noticed none of it. All his thoughts were tethered to the training grounds in Northern Park, because his imperial father would be testing the princes' mounted archery on the Double Ninth Festival.

The chief eunuch Liu An brought the news. When it reached the Eastern Palace, Xiao Huaijin was bent over his desk copying the Analects. His brush paused, and a drop of ink fell onto the paper, bleeding into a black circle.

"Your Highness?" Liu An ventured.

Xiao Huaijin looked up, his eyes astonishingly bright. The crown prince had worn that same look three years earlier, when he first answered a policy question at an imperial lecture. Like a spark that had been kindled, waiting to be seen.

"Eunuch Liu," he said, setting down his brush, "will Father come to watch?"

Liu An bowed, smiling solicitously. "His Majesty will preside in person. Naturally, he will come to watch Your Highnesses."

Xiao Huaijin did not press him. He knew what Liu An meant. His father was coming to watch "Your Highnesses," not him alone. Over the years, he had learned better. He had learned to hear the answer hidden inside other people's words.

But he was happy all the same.

He dug out the horn bow he had used for a year, adjusted its string himself, and checked the arrows himself. Even when the bowstring cut two bloody gashes into his fingers, he felt no pain. He set up a straw target in the Eastern Palace's little courtyard and shot from morning until night. His wet nurse stood beneath the veranda with a plate of pastries for an entire afternoon. They went completely cold, and he never came over for a single bite.

For the first three days, seven arrows out of ten missed the target.

On the fourth day, he stopped missing, but the arrowheads were scattered like stars across the sky.

By the seventh day, he could group five arrows within three inches of the bull's-eye from twenty paces away.

Zhou Rucheng came to deliver books and stood at the courtyard entrance watching for a while without speaking. The old man's brows were knitted; there was no telling what he was thinking. After standing there for half a cup of tea's time, he turned and left. Before leaving, he told Xiao Huaijin's personal eunuch, "Have His Highness rest early. He still has lessons tomorrow."

The eunuch agreed, but Xiao Huaijin did not rest.

He shot until the moon stood high overhead. Palace lanterns swayed in the night wind, stretching and shortening the straw target's shadow. He drew his bow, aimed, held his breath-the arrow left the string and lodged squarely in the bull's-eye.

He lowered the bow, looked at the arrow, and suddenly smiled.

"Do I look like Father?"

He asked the eunuch behind him.

The eunuch looked at the densely packed arrow holes in the target, then at the crown prince's fingers, rubbed into blood blisters by the bowstring, and said nothing. He did not know what to say. But the crown prince's stance as he practiced really was exactly like His Majesty's on the training grounds all those years ago.

On the Double Ninth Festival, the sky was high and the clouds were pale.

Banners snapped in the autumn wind over Northern Park's training grounds. The mounts of several imperial clansmen's sons stood side by side before the riding course, their grooms holding the reins and scarcely daring to breathe. Imperial relatives and court officials filled the stands. Noble Consort Shen Mingzhu sat in the most conspicuous place with the second prince, Xiao Yu. Eight years old that year, Xiao Yu had a fair, clean-cut face and two dimples when he smiled. The officials all said the child had a blessed countenance.

Xiao Lin sat in the center. An imperial-yellow cloak, a cold, pale face, no sign of pleasure or anger.

The archery test had two rounds. The first was stationary shooting: a straw target at twenty paces, with five arrows scored. The second was mounted shooting: a moving target at fifty paces, with three arrows deciding the outcome.

There was little suspense in the stationary round. All five of Xiao Huaijin's arrows struck the bull's-eye. Xiao Yu landed two. Several of the others shot well, but none hit with every arrow. The officials in the stands exchanged glances and whispered-the crown prince excelled in both literary and martial pursuits, with the bearing His Majesty had possessed in his youth.

Xiao Huaijin heard those comments. His grip on the bow tightened, and he straightened his back a little more.

He looked toward Xiao Lin.

Xiao Lin was not looking at him. The emperor's gaze rested on the distant targets, and his fingers tapped the armrest twice. It was a habitual gesture when he grew impatient. Beside him, Liu An bent low and offered tea. He took it, sipped, and set it down.

Not a single word of appraisal.

Xiao Huaijin's back sagged half an inch. Then he straightened again, blinked hard, and swung into the saddle. There was still a chance!

The mounted round began.

Xiao Huaijin squeezed his horse's flanks, and his mount charged from the far end of the course. Wind rushed into his ears. He lowered his body and drew the first arrow from his quiver. Hooves flew, and the distant target rapidly grew larger in his sight. He held his breath, drew, aimed, and released-the first arrow struck the bull's-eye dead center. Cheers rose from the stands.

He drew his second arrow.

That was when he saw Xiao Lin. At last, the emperor was looking in his direction. Across those dozens of paces, he could not make out those eyes clearly, but Xiao Huaijin felt that his father was looking at him, and him alone.

He froze for half a breath.

In that half breath, the bow veered.

The second arrow missed the target and buried itself in the grass behind it.

The cheers cut off abruptly. The officials in the stands looked at one another, and the noble consort raised her teacup to conceal the corners of her mouth. Xiao Huaijin heard none of those sounds. He squeezed the horse's flanks hard and drew his third arrow. He still had a chance. Two hits out of three would put him first in the mounted round.

He drew his bow in the saddle. The target came closer. Closer still.

He released the string.

The instant the third arrow flew from his bow, he felt the horse tread on something. Only later did he learn that it was an arrow shaft dropped during the previous mounted round, which the grooms had failed to clear away. The horse stumbled, and he was thrown from its back, slamming heavily into the sandy ground.

The bow flew from his hand, and arrows spilled from his quiver across the ground.

The third arrow barely lodged in the edge of the target, narrowly avoiding a miss. But he had fallen. By the rules of mounted archery, falling from one's horse meant placing last.

A buzzing rose from the stands. Xiao Huaijin could not quite make it out.

He lay on the sandy ground, his knees and elbows burning with pain. He tried to push himself up, but his palms had been scraped raw, and beads of blood seeped out. He lifted his head and looked toward the stands.

Xiao Lin had risen.

When the emperor stood, everyone else rose with him. The noise on the grounds vanished instantly. Even the horses quieted.

Everyone was waiting for His Majesty's reaction.

Xiao Lin glanced at Xiao Huaijin on the sandy ground, his gaze lingering on those scraped palms for less than a breath. Then he turned and descended from the stands.

"Return to the palace."

Only those words.

The imperial palanquin set off. The imperial-yellow procession withdrew from the training grounds, and the officials dropped to their knees in a sweeping rush. No one dared raise their head, and no one dared remind His Majesty-the crown prince was still lying on the sandy ground.

Watching that imperial-yellow figure recede farther and farther, Xiao Huaijin sat back on his heels in the sand and did not stand.

His wet nurse squeezed through the crowd and wiped the dirt and blood from his face with her sleeve, murmuring, "It doesn't hurt, Your Highness. It doesn't hurt." Just as she had when he was four.

But Xiao Huaijin was ten now.

He did not cry. He merely looked in the direction his father had disappeared and asked very softly,

"Nanny, am I not good enough?"

His wet nurse's tears fell. She wanted to say no, His Highness was already very good, His Highness was the best child in all the world. But she could not get the words out, because she knew he was not asking, "Am I good?" He was asking, "Why won't Father look at me?"

She could not give him that answer.

That evening, Xiao Huaijin sat alone on the Eastern Palace steps.

His hands were wrapped in gauze, ointment covered his knees, and a scrape on his face had formed a thin scab. He had allowed no one to stay with him; he had sent even his wet nurse away. He simply sat there, his horn bow lying on the ground before him.

Its string had slackened, but he did not tighten it.

Zhou Rucheng came. Without a word, the old man sat beside him and stayed there a long time as well. The sunset burned from orange-red to gray-purple, and palace lanterns lit one by one, drawing their shadows out very, very long.

"Grand Tutor," Xiao Huaijin suddenly said, "when Father was little, he wrote on the ground with twigs in the Cold Palace. Words on the ground could be wiped away and written again. If he wrote something wrong, no one saw."

Zhou Rucheng said nothing.

"But I can't. I stand where he can see me, and the arrows I shoot fall all over the ground. He sees every one."

His voice was too calm for a ten-year-old child, all his hurt pressed deep into his heart.

Zhou Rucheng looked at him. The old man, who had taught Xiao Lin for thirteen years and Xiao Huaijin for six, suddenly felt that the child before him was remarkably like Xiao Lin back then. In truth, Xiao Huaijin's features took after Empress Xiaoyi's, a beauty that made people feel warm at first glance. But something in his bones was very much like His Majesty: that spirit of not crying when he fell, not complaining of pain when he got up, those bright, stubborn eyes. Exactly the same.

But he could not say it. If he said, "Your Highness resembles His Majesty," this child would be too happy to sleep. And if Xiao Lin discovered that his crown prince resembled him, Zhou Rucheng did not dare imagine what he would do.

He had taught Xiao Lin for thirteen years and knew that man all too well. What that man could least tolerate was seeing his own shadow in someone else. It made him feel he had been seen through. And in his eyes, being seen through meant having his vulnerable spot seized.

"Your Highness," Zhou Rucheng finally said, speaking much more slowly than usual, "there is a kind of person in this world who does not look at you when he looks at someone. He judges you. Judges whether you are like him, whether you will surpass him one day, every flaw you have. He does not do it deliberately. He is simply accustomed to it."

Xiao Huaijin turned to look at him, and the light in his eyes flickered.

"Then what should I do, Grand Tutor?"

Zhou Rucheng fell silent for a long time.

"Your Highness can only wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For a time when he has a use for you."

Xiao Huaijin did not understand. He lowered his head, picked up the bow with its slack string, and plucked it with a finger, producing a soft hum.

"I can wait," he said. "I'm just afraid."

"What are you afraid of, Your Highness?"

He pressed his lips together. That question had circled through his heart countless times, circling for six years, beginning with that cloak when he was four and ending at the Double Ninth Festival's training grounds. He had never asked it aloud.

"Does Father-really not like me?"

Zhou Rucheng could not answer.

The evening wind passed through the Eastern Palace's parasol trees, rustling their leaves. Far away, in the direction of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, lights blazed. Someone was reviewing memorials, someone was keeping the night watch, someone was scheming, someone was dreaming.

And this ten-year-old child sat on the steps and asked the most important question of his life, yet received no answer.

That night, Liu An came to the Eastern Palace with a verbal decree.

"His Majesty asks how the crown prince's injuries are."

Xiao Huaijin climbed off his couch and knelt barefoot on the floor to hear it through. Then he raised his head. It was plainly no more than a simple inquiry, yet his eyes shone as though he had received all the rewards in the world.

"Please report to Father, Eunuch Liu, that his son is unharmed. Tomorrow I will study and practice archery as usual. I will not neglect my lessons."

Liu An looked at this crown prince, his hands wrapped in gauze and his face marked with a bloody scab, yet smiling more beautifully than any other prince, and bowed.

"This servant obeys."

As he withdrew, he paused beneath the entrance veranda. Night wind rushed down his collar, and he hunched his neck.

He had served in the palace for nearly forty years. He had seen too many people, too many things. Just now, halfway through reviewing memorials, His Majesty had suddenly set down his brush and asked, "Was the crown prince badly hurt in the fall?" Then he had remained silent for a long time before sending him to deliver the message.

Liu An sighed.

In this palace, the hardest lot had never belonged to those who knelt, but to those who stood. To the man who stood at the very highest point, wearing a cold expression, whom no one dared approach. Even his concern had to be hidden, hidden until he himself believed it was merely an emperor's routine inquiry after his heir.

And that child could savor even six words like sweets.

Liu An walked into the night. From far away came the watch drum. It was the first watch again.

The Eastern Palace's lamps still burned.

For a very, very long time, they did not go out.