The Hand Warmer

The weather had been bitterly cold lately. The charcoal braziers in the Hall of Mental Cultivation burned more fiercely than usual, silver-thread charcoal crackling in the copper basins. Liu An replenished them morning and evening every day, but they still could not keep out the north wind pouring through the gaps in the doors. The couch beside the imperial desk had been moved closer to a brazier, and a thick blanket had been added, its border embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons-an old blanket of Xiao Lin's that Liu An had dug out, washed clean, and folded neatly at the foot of the couch.

Xiao Huaijin finished the last few pages of the Thousand Character Classic on the couch, closed the book, and glanced up toward the imperial desk. Xiao Lin was reviewing memorials. The bowl of tea at the corner of his desk had already been replaced three times; each time, he let it go cold as he drank and forgot to have it changed, so Liu An brought him another hot bowl, which he let go cold again.

"Father." Xiao Huaijin slid off the couch and walked over to the imperial desk. "Are your hands cold?"

Xiao Lin raised his head without stopping his brush. "No."

Xiao Huaijin did not leave. Rising on tiptoe, he reached out and pressed his hand against the back of Xiao Lin's brush-holding hand. Xiao Lin's hand was cold, his knuckles faintly red from the chill, the veins standing out clearly on its back. However fiercely the braziers burned in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, their warmth could not reach the imperial desk-it stood farthest from them, and this was the first place the wind struck when it poured through the window cracks.

"They're cold." Xiao Huaijin wrapped both his hands around his father's hand. His hands were small and could only cover half of it. "You're lying, Father."

Xiao Lin looked down at the little hand pressed against his own, set down his brush, and drew his son in front of him. "I'm used to it."

"That doesn't make it all right." Xiao Huaijin ran back to the side hall and returned a little while later carrying something. It was a small copper hand warmer, its casing polished bright, trailing lotus vines engraved on its pierced lid. It was not large, fitting just right in Xiao Huaijin's hands, though it looked tiny in Xiao Lin's. He set it on the imperial desk and pushed it toward his father's hand.

"Nanny used to-Nanny used to give this to me." He paused over the word "Nanny," his voice a shade quieter than before, but quickly continued. "You use it, Father. I'm not cold."

Xiao Lin looked at the hand warmer. It was an old thing, the patterns on its copper casing worn somewhat indistinct, its handle wrapped in a strip of cotton cloth-his wet nurse had sewn it on stitch by stitch, afraid Xiao Huaijin would burn his hands. He picked it up and rested it in his palm. The copper casing was still warm; Xiao Huaijin had filled it with hot water. He did not know when this five-year-old child had learned to fill a hand warmer.

"When did you fill it?"

"Just now. Eunuch Liu taught me. He said to fill it eight-tenths full and screw it tight so it won't leak." Xiao Huaijin pointed at the lid. "Touch it, Father. It won't burn."

Xiao Lin placed the hand warmer at the corner of the desk, half a foot from his tea bowl. He picked up his brush again, wrote two lines on a memorial, then turned his head to glance at the hand warmer once more. It sat there quietly, heat curling up through the pierced lotus pattern in delicate swirls in the candlelight. He picked it up and held it in his left palm, continuing to review memorials with his right hand.

Xiao Huaijin was satisfied. He brought over a little stool, sat beside the imperial desk, and opened his work for the day to begin writing. Zhou Rucheng had assigned a passage from "Summary of the Rules of Propriety" in the Book of Rites: "Keep them warm in winter and cool in summer; settle them at dusk and inquire after them at dawn." When he reached the character for "warm," he stopped his brush and looked up again at his father's hand holding the warmer. The veins still stood out on its back, but the redness had faded from his knuckles. He lowered his head and continued writing, forming the three dots of the water radical in "warm" a little more neatly than usual.

Toward evening, Liu An sent word that the second prince and fourth princess had arrived.

Xiao Yu came in carrying another bundle. He was growing increasingly familiar with visiting the Hall of Mental Cultivation and no longer hesitated outside the threshold. He stepped straight inside, paid his respects to Xiao Lin, and ran to the side hall to find Xiao Huaijin. Xiao Lan followed behind him with a food carrier in her hand. Only after paying her respects to Xiao Lin did she head toward the side hall, her steps more than a beat slower than Xiao Yu's, though her expression was much more relaxed than on her first visit to the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

"Crown Prince Brother!" Xiao Yu set his bundle on the low table and untied it. Inside was a pair of leather gloves edged with rabbit fur, with a layer of soft leather sewn onto the palms. The stitches were not particularly even, but every one was firm. "Mother made these. She said it's cold now, and your hands will get cold when you write. If you wear these, they won't." He paused, then added, "They're for you."

Xiao Huaijin picked up the gloves, turned them over to examine them, then held them against his own hands. The size was just right. He looked up.

"Her Ladyship the Noble Consort's handiwork is different from the Imperial Embroidery Workshop's."

Xiao Yu froze for a moment.

"Are the stitches too coarse? Mother said she hadn't done needlework for years, so she was out of practice."

Xiao Huaijin shook his head.

"They're better than the Imperial Embroidery Workshop's. Their gloves are too stiff. These are soft." He put them on and flexed his fingers, then took off the right glove and handed it to Xiao Yu. "Try it."

Xiao Yu took the glove and slipped it on. His fingers could not reach the tips, and there was a large empty stretch around his palm, making him look just like a child who had stolen an adult's clothes to wear. Xiao Lan could not help laughing beside them, then opened her food carrier. Inside were two bowls of red bean soup with glutinous rice balls, still steaming.

"My mother sent these. It's cold, so have something hot."

Xiao Huaijin accepted one bowl, then asked Eunuch Liu for an empty one and divided half the other bowl into it, setting it to one side.

"This is for Father to have later."

Xiao Yu glanced toward the main hall and whispered, "Will Father have it?"

"Yes." His tone was certain, as though he were stating a fact that had already been verified over and over.

In the main hall, Xiao Lin was listening to Kong Wu's report.

"Administrative Officer Cui has made no unusual moves since arriving in Lingnan. Zhang Qian has returned to his post at the Ministry of Revenue. Minister Sun asked me to relay this-Cui Shen has recently declined all social engagements, saying he is unwell, and has shut his doors to visitors." Kong Wu placed a new list on the imperial desk. It named the people Zhao Bao, a former guard of the Eastern Palace, had recently contacted. The list was short, containing only three names, two of whom were Shen Boyong's students.

"We're still investigating Zhao Bao," Kong Wu said. "He has recently been going in and out through the back gate of the chancellor's residence frequently, once every three days, always toward evening. He times it for the gaps between the Imperial Household Department's vegetable carts entering and leaving the back gate, mingling with the servants so he's difficult to spot. We watched him twice. On one occasion, he took a wooden box inside, but we didn't see it when he came out."

There was no need to guess what was in the wooden box. Xiao Lin folded the list.

"Keep watching. Don't stir the grass and startle the snake."

Kong Wu acknowledged the order and was about to withdraw when Xiao Lin suddenly stopped him.

"Has Shen Boyong submitted a token requesting an audience lately?"

"No."

Xiao Lin tapped a finger lightly against the armrest. With something as serious as the Zhang Qian affair having happened, he was far too composed. The more composed someone was, the greater the upheaval they were waiting for.

"Assign more men to watch the Shen Clan. Also"-Xiao Lin picked up the hand warmer at the corner of the desk and switched hands-"keep a closer eye on the Palace of Nurtured Elegance. Not Shen Mingzhu-the people around her. Who carries letters for her, what routes they take, whom they contact."

"Understood, Your Majesty." Kong Wu paused. "Your Majesty, about the Noble Consort making gloves for the crown prince-"

"I know."

Kong Wu asked no more. As he withdrew past the entrance to the side hall, he glanced inside. The crown prince sat beside the low table eating red bean soup with glutinous rice balls. The second prince sat opposite him, twirling the oversized glove around a finger for fun. The fourth princess said something beside them, and all three burst out laughing. The second prince laughed so hard that he nearly dropped the glove into the bowl of red bean soup. Kong Wu looked away and strode out of the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

That night, Xiao Yu and Xiao Lan each returned to their own palace. When Liu An came in to replenish the charcoal, Xiao Huaijin had already fallen asleep over the low table, the unfinished page of "Keep them warm in winter and cool in summer" still spread beside his hand. Xiao Lin lifted him from the table. He woke groggily for a moment and asked whether his father had had the soup. Xiao Lin said he had. He then asked whether the hand warmer was still hot. Xiao Lin said it was. Reassured, he tilted his head and fell asleep again.

Xiao Lin laid him on the couch, covered him with a quilt, then returned to sit at the imperial desk. The hand warmer at its corner was no longer very warm. He opened the lid; only a scant half-pot of lukewarm water remained inside. He rose and went to the side hall, lifted the copper kettle from the tea stove, refilled the warmer with hot water, screwed the lid tight, and set it back at the corner of the desk. Then he picked up his brush again and continued reviewing memorials.

Outside the window, the north wind howled, rattling the copper bells beneath the covered walkway. After writing a few lines, Xiao Lin suddenly raised his head and glanced toward the couch. Xiao Huaijin was sleeping soundly. He had kicked away one corner of the quilt, exposing a bare little foot. Xiao Lin rose, walked over, and tucked the quilt around him again. Then he stood beside the couch, looking down at his son's sleeping face, tucked the foot back under the quilt, and gently patted its instep.

"Father-" Xiao Huaijin mumbled indistinctly in his sleep. It was unclear whether he was calling to him or merely talking in a dream. Xiao Lin stroked his son's soft hair, turned back to the imperial desk, and sat down to continue reviewing memorials.