Crying in the Night
Xiao Huaijin stayed in the side hall of the Hall of Mental Cultivation for five days, and Xiao Lin did not sleep well for five days. Because Xiao Huaijin would cry in the middle of the night.
On the first night, perhaps because he was tired, he slept deeply until dawn. Xiao Lin came to check on him twice during the night, and both times he was curled quietly beneath the covers, his breathing even and soft. On the second night, it was already past midnight when Xiao Lin finished reviewing the memorials. He had barely lain down when he heard a muffled sound from the side hall. He walked over barefoot and pushed open the door to find Xiao Huaijin sitting on the bed, the quilt slipped to his waist, both hands clutching its corners. His eyes were wide open, and there were no tears on his face, but an indescribable emptiness filled his pupils. Xiao Lin sat down beside the bed and asked him what was wrong. He said nothing was wrong; he had just woken up. Xiao Lin did not press him. He eased him back beneath the quilt, tucked him in, and stayed beside the bed. Xiao Huaijin closed his eyes for a while, then opened them again to make sure his imperial father was still sitting there before closing them once more. He repeated this three times before truly falling asleep.
On the third night, Xiao Lin could not stay seated. While reviewing memorials, he heard a very faint sob from the side hall. He dropped his brush, strode over, and pushed open the door. Xiao Huaijin was crying facedown on his pillow, his whole face buried in the covers, his shoulders shaking. Xiao Lin lifted him out of the quilt, and he clutched Xiao Lin's robes in a daze, calling for Nanny.
Xiao Lin's body stiffened for an instant. Just an instant. Then he sat down beside the bed and gathered Xiao Huaijin entirely into his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other wrapped around his back, holding him against his chest. Xiao Huaijin buried his face in his imperial father's nightclothes, his cries muffled into broken, trembling sounds.
"Father, I dreamed Nanny was coughing in the kitchen. I wanted to pour her some water, but no matter how far I walked, I couldn't reach the kitchen door."
Xiao Lin pressed his son's face into the crook of his neck.
"Father is here."
Xiao Huaijin's tears ran down his neck, scalding hot.
On the fourth night, Xiao Lin did not wait for him to cry. After finishing the memorials, he went straight to the side hall, sat in the chair beside the bed, and dimmed the candle. Xiao Huaijin rolled over drowsily. Sensing someone beside him, he did not open his eyes, only reached a hand out from beneath the covers and felt around. Xiao Lin caught that hand. Xiao Huaijin clasped his index finger and went still. The two hands, one large and one small, remained joined all night. When Liu An came to replenish the charcoal before dawn, he saw the scene through the crack in the door. He withdrew quietly, shifted his fly whisk to his other hand, and stood outside the hall to guard the door for them.
On the fifth morning, Xiao Huaijin woke to find himself on the couch in the main hall. He did not remember how he had made his way from the side hall to the main hall during the night. He sat up wrapped in the quilt and saw Xiao Lin already reviewing memorials behind the imperial desk. A half-finished bowl of strong tea sat beside his hand, and faint blue-gray shadows lay beneath his eyes. Xiao Huaijin thought his imperial father seemed to have grown a little thinner these past few days; the line of his jaw was sharper than before. He threw back the quilt, jumped down from the couch, and walked over to stand beside the imperial desk.
"Father, you didn't sleep again last night."
Xiao Lin did not look up. "I did."
"You're lying. It's blue under your eyes."
Xiao Lin's brush paused over the memorial, and he raised his head to look at his son. Xiao Huaijin was in his nightclothes, his hair tousled from sleep, his bare feet planted on the icy gold bricks, his eyes round and bright. Xiao Lin set down his brush, picked him up and sat him on the couch, then bent to retrieve the shoes from the floor and slip them onto his feet.
"If I say I slept, then I slept."
Xiao Huaijin lowered his head to watch his imperial father's hands putting on his shoes-well-defined joints, thin calluses on the fingertips, movements as deft as when he tied his sash for him. He slid down from the couch, took the half-finished bowl of strong tea off the desk, and placed it on the tea tray. Then he brought over the fresh tea Liu An had just replaced and set it beside his imperial father's hand.
"Drink the hot tea, Father. Cold tea will make your stomach hurt."
Xiao Lin looked at the fresh bowl of tea, picked it up, and took a sip. Then he set it down and told Liu An to have the meal served.
When breakfast was brought in, Xiao Huaijin sat properly beside the low table. Before him were a plate of osmanthus cakes, a bowl of milk, a small plate of beef, and two hard-boiled eggs. He picked up an egg, tapped it against the corner of the table, and began peeling it. He left pits all over it, with several bits of shell stuck to the white. Xiao Lin took the egg, peeled it clean in a few quick movements, and put it back in his bowl. Xiao Huaijin picked it up with his chopsticks, took a bite, chewed, then placed a slice of beef in his imperial father's bowl.
"You eat too, Father. Eunuch Liu said you only had tea this morning."
Xiao Lin did not refuse and ate the slice of beef. Father and son finished breakfast in peace and quiet. Morning sunlight streamed through the east window of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, falling on the low table and the plate of osmanthus cakes, more than half of which had been eaten. The faint sound of the morning court bell drifted in from outside. Xiao Lin stood and straightened his court robes, then looked down to see Xiao Huaijin earnestly peeling the second hard-boiled egg. He reached out and gently stroked the top of Xiao Huaijin's head.
After morning court ended, Xiao Yu came.
He clutched a fresh sheet of handwriting practice, one he had finished yesterday and deliberately saved. His sweaty hands had made the edges of the paper a little damp. Once through the gates of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, he hesitated-the Hall of Mental Cultivation was not the Eastern Palace, but he still stepped inside.
Xiao Huaijin was bent over the low table in the side hall, practicing his characters for the day. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw the little figure in sapphire blue standing in the doorway, both hands clutching his practice sheet, his face trying hard to remain composed but unable to hide his nervousness.
"Second Brother! You're here-what did you write today? Bring it over and let me see."
Xiao Yu breathed a sigh of relief, hurried to the low table, and spread out the paper for him to see. On it were the four characters "Heaven, earth, mysterious, yellow." The first three were passable, but the central vertical stroke in the fourth, "yellow," slanted right outside the practice square. Xiao Huaijin studied it and said this one was good; the crooked one was the best. Xiao Yu thought his crown prince brother was making fun of him and was just about to pout when Xiao Huaijin pointed to a character he had written yesterday-the "sun" component in "summer heat" looked like a fried dough stick, and the whole character sprawled inside its square as though the sun had melted it. After comparing them, Xiao Yu suddenly felt his own "yellow" was not so embarrassing after all. He sat down on the other side of the low table, picked up a brush, and began practicing "yellow" again. Xiao Huaijin cleared half the tabletop for him and pushed his ink a little closer.
This was the scene Xiao Lin saw when he came over from the main hall. The two children were bent over the low table with their heads touching, one writing "yellow," the other "frost." The ink on the table had been knocked over once and set upright again, and a small ink stain marked the corner of the paper. He said nothing and turned back to the main hall.
That evening, after someone sent by Shen Mingzhu took Xiao Yu back, only father and son remained in the side hall of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Xiao Huaijin leaned against the couch, leafing through the Thousand Character Classic. When he reached "The seas are salty, the rivers fresh; the scaled dive, the feathered soar," he suddenly stopped and turned his head.
"Father, are there really dragons in the sea?"
Xiao Lin sat behind the imperial desk, reviewing a newly submitted secret memorial from Sun Jingtang. It reported that the Hengtai Firm in Hejian Prefecture had recently transferred another batch of silver, its destination unknown. He closed the secret memorial and locked it in a drawer.
"There are in the Classic of Mountains and Seas. I've never seen one."
Xiao Huaijin thought for a moment. "Then what Third Sister drew was real. She said Yinglong has a pair of wings and can fly."
He closed the book, set it aside, slid down from the couch, and walked to the imperial desk, standing on tiptoe to watch his imperial father review memorials. The characters on those memorials were tiny and densely packed. He could not recognize all of them, but he knew the character "Shen"-it appeared several times in one memorial. Pointing to it, he asked his imperial father whether this Shen was the same Shen as Second Brother's mother's surname.
Xiao Lin's brush tip paused for an instant, then he said yes. Xiao Huaijin did not ask any further questions; he simply thought the character looked rather pretty. He stood beside the imperial desk for a while, then returned to the couch to leaf through his book. After two pages, he grew sleepy, covered himself with the quilt, and curled into a ball.
It was already midnight when Xiao Lin finished the last memorial. He stood, walked over to the couch, and looked down at his son curled into a ball. Xiao Huaijin's brows were not furrowed, his breathing was even, and the faintest hint of a curve touched the corners of his mouth-perhaps he had dreamed of something nice. He had not cried.
Xiao Lin pulled up the quilt he had kicked down to his feet, tucked it over his shoulders, and stood there a while longer. Then he turned to put out the lamp, only for someone to catch his sleeve from behind. He looked back. Xiao Huaijin had reached out from beneath the quilt and clasped his sleeve. He had not woken, but his fingers held tight, as though by instinct. Xiao Lin did not pry the hand away. He sat down beside the couch, leaned back against its post, and closed his eyes. The palace lamp's flame flickered a few times, casting wavering light over their faces. Outside the window, the autumn wind swept past the bronze bells beneath the covered walkway, drawing out a faint chime, like a sigh that had waited a very, very long time.