Startled from a Dream

It was an ordinary night, until a torrential rain began in the small hours.

Xiao Huaijin was woken by thunder. A bolt of lightning flashed, turning the paper windows of the side hall stark white, and thunder rolled past, enough to make the heart quake. He turned over and tugged the quilt over his head, then suddenly heard a very low thud from the main hall, as though something had been knocked over.

He threw back the quilt and climbed out of bed barefoot. The door to the side hall swung open, and wind poured through the gap, making the candle flame sway violently on its stand. No lamps were lit in the main hall. It was too dark to make anything out, save when lightning outside occasionally split the darkness with white light, making the hall flicker between light and shadow. In that brief light, he saw his imperial father sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand braced against its edge, the other gripping a bedpost. A large patch on the back of his nightclothes was soaked with cold sweat. The low table beside the bed had been knocked askew, and an empty medicine bowl that had sat on it lay overturned on the floor. Medicine had spilled across the golden floor tiles and had long since gone cold.

"Father!"

Xiao Huaijin hurried over. Xiao Lin turned his head, his gaze blank for an instant, as though he had not yet fully broken free of his dream. His breathing was rapid, his forehead covered in cold sweat, and the knuckles of the hand gripping the bedpost were white. Xiao Huaijin reached out to touch the back of his hand and found his hands frighteningly cold.

"Father, did you have a nightmare? Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. I'm here."

Xiao Huaijin laid his small hand over the back of his father's. His hand was still little, barely able to cover most of his father's palm, but he held on tightly, as though he wanted to pass all his warmth to the person before him.

Xiao Lin looked down at him.

By the white flash of lightning, he saw that face clearly-clean and warm, its eyes holding fear, but more than that, concern. Not the bloodstained face in his dream, not the boy from his previous life who would never move again, no matter how he called to him. Alive. Warm. His child. His child!

He suddenly reached out and dragged Xiao Huaijin into his arms with such force that the child gave a muffled grunt. He pressed Xiao Huaijin's face against his chest, holding him against its still-heaving rise and fall, as though confirming that the warm, soft little body in his arms, with its flesh and bones, was real, truly alive and well beside him.

Caught off guard by the pull, Xiao Huaijin bumped his nose against his father's hard chest. It stung so badly that tears nearly came to his eyes. He instinctively struggled, then felt his father trembling and immediately went still. He nestled farther into his father's embrace, slipped both hands beneath his father's arms, and tried hard to wrap them around his back.

"Don't be afraid, Father. I'm here."

He thought his father had merely had a nightmare, and a little comforting would make everything better.

Xiao Lin said nothing. He lowered his head and buried his face in his son's hair. He caught a faint scent of soap pods, picked from the soap-pod trees in the Imperial Garden, much lighter than the fragrances used in the palace. He held his son tighter, like a drowning man clutching a tree root on the bank.

"What did you dream about, Father?" When he remained silent for a long time, Xiao Huaijin lifted his head from his embrace, resting his chin against his chest.

Xiao Lin lowered his eyes to him.

"War. I dreamed that many people died."

That did not count as lying to him. The palace coup in his previous life had indeed been a battle, only the battlefield had been within the palace walls, and the enemy had been his other son.

Xiao Yu. He closed his eyes briefly, unwilling to place the guilt of his previous life upon a child who knew nothing in this one.

Xiao Huaijin nodded. He did not press for details, only buried his face against his father's chest again. A while passed before he spoke, his voice a little softer than before.

"I've had nightmares too. In the days after Nanny passed away, I dreamed of her every night. I dreamed she was standing in the kitchen with her back to me, chopping vegetables. No matter how I called to her, she wouldn't turn around." He moved his hands from his father's back and laid them over the back of his hand, his fingertips gently picking at his father's knuckles.

"But one night, Nanny suddenly spoke to me. She told me not to blame myself, to grow up well, and that she was doing very well in another world too. Father, so many people died in your dream. Are you blaming yourself too?"

Another flash of lightning outside lit Xiao Lin's face.

"Yes," he heard his own voice say. "I blame myself. I blame myself for failing to protect-the person I should have protected."

"But Father, you've already protected so many people. When the Ministry of War submitted a memorial asking for more troops on the northern frontier, you approved it. When there weren't enough provisions, you had Minister Sun transfer the tribute grain from Jiangnan." He counted these things off one by one, his expression earnest.

"Father, you protect other people every day. So tonight, don't blame yourself. Let me protect you once. Just once."

"It was only a dream."

Thunder rumbled past outside the window. Xiao Lin looked down at the child in his arms. He was clutching Xiao Lin's nightclothes so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The thin cut on his hand, made by broken porcelain when he had gone out to play wildly a few days earlier, had already scabbed over. His eyes shone astonishingly bright in the darkness, allowing Xiao Lin's feelings to ease as well.

"Who taught you to say things like that?" Xiao Lin's voice was hoarse beyond recognition.

This little brat had one comforting line after another.

Thinking he had said something wrong, Xiao Huaijin looked up at his father's face. He reached out and lightly touched the corner of his father's eye, his fingertip catching a little warmth.

"I just said what came to mind." He drew his finger back, his voice soft.

"Father, are you sleepy?"

The little fellow was already yawning.

"Yes."

"Then sleep a little longer, Father. I'll stay here and watch over you."

Xiao Lin did not do as he said. He picked Xiao Huaijin up and set him on the bed, tucked him beneath the quilt, and sat leaning against the headboard himself. One hand held his, while the other rested on his head, fingers slowly combing through his hair. His hair was very soft, a little thicker than when he had been younger, but still just as fine, cool against his fingertips.

"You hardly ever hold me, Father," Xiao Huaijin suddenly said, leaning against the pillow.

Xiao Lin's fingers stilled in his hair.

"Aren't I holding you now?"

"But-but you don't do it enough."

Xiao Lin was silent for a long time, so long that Xiao Huaijin thought he would not answer again.

"Huaijin," his voice was low in the darkness, "I grew up in the Cold Palace. My mother was in poor health. She had no strength to hold me. Later, she died, and I was taken out. I was surrounded by strangers, and hardly anyone touched me when I was happy, sad, or afraid."

"So I'm not used to holding other people."

"I... don't know how to be good to you."

Xiao Huaijin reached out from beneath the quilt, took the hand resting on his head, and wrapped both hands around its palm, pressing it to his cheek.

"Then hold me more, Father, and you'll get used to it. When you hold me, I'm holding you too. Whenever you're unhappy, I'll come keep you company."

His eyes curved as he spoke, the corners of his mouth lifted, as though he were promising something that could not have been simpler.

Xiao Lin looked down at the child, feeling something strange surge up his throat, aching and tight. He did not pull his hand away. Instead, he laid his other hand over theirs as well, enclosing both of Xiao Huaijin's hands in his palms. He held them for a while, then let go and tucked him back beneath the quilt.

"Go to sleep."

His voice was muffled.

Xiao Huaijin lay on the bed wrapped in the quilt, with only his eyes showing.

"You sleep too, Father."

Xiao Lin was indeed tired. That all-too-real dream had drained him of every ounce of strength, and at the child's reminder, exhaustion washed over him. He lay down with his head on his own arm and watched Xiao Huaijin's profile. The child's eyes were closed, his lashes still trembling faintly. He probably had not fallen asleep yet, but his breathing was slowly growing even.

At some point, the downpour outside had stopped. The thunder had faded too far away to hear, leaving only rainwater beneath the covered walkway still dripping onto the bluestone paving. Liu An rose in the middle of the night to check the lamps. Through the gap in the door, he saw two figures lying side by side on the bed in the main hall, the quilt draped slantwise over them both. The crown prince's little foot stuck out from beneath a corner of the quilt and rested on His Majesty's calf. He quietly closed the door, turned up one of the lanterns beneath the covered walkway, then withdrew to continue his night watch.