Autumn harvest

After morning court ended that day, Xiao Lin returned to the Hall of Mental Cultivation and changed into an indigo everyday robe, its cuffs tied with silk cords of the same color and a jade pendant hanging at his waist. Xiao Huaijin was bent over a low table practicing his writing. When he looked up and saw his imperial father dressed like that, his brush stopped in midair.

"Imperial Father, why did you change your clothes?"

Xiao Lin took a silver-blue lined robe from the clothes rack and tossed it to him. "Put this on. I'm taking you out of the palace."

Xiao Huaijin caught the robe, froze for an instant, then sprang up from the low table, nearly knocking over the inkstone.

"Really? Where are we going?"

"To harvest your grain. Who told me during the spring plowing ceremony that he wanted to harvest it himself in autumn?"

Xiao Huaijin kicked on his little leather boots in a few swift movements and slipped into the robe. It was new, and the cuffs fit him just right. He lowered his head and fastened the buttons at lightning speed, only to discover at the last one that he had rushed so much he had lined them up wrong. He undid them and started again.

"Are Second Brother and the others coming?"

"No. I've arranged lessons for all of them."

Xiao Huaijin fastened the last button and ran to look at himself in the bronze mirror. The silver-blue suited him very well, lending him a fresher look than the apricot-yellow he usually wore. He straightened his cuffs and turned to ask, "Which way are we going out?"

"The West Glorious Gate."

Xiao Huaijin followed his imperial father through the passageways with light steps. Liu An had already prepared a carriage outside the West Glorious Gate, an unremarkable one with blue curtains, while Kong Wu and several plainclothes guards followed out of sight. Xiao Huaijin climbed aboard and lifted the curtain to look outside. The capital's streets slowly unfolded beyond the carriage window-the ginkgo trees on either side were just beginning to turn yellow, vendors with shoulder poles called out their autumn pear syrup by the roadside, several children played shuttlecock at an alley entrance, and an old person sat on a doorstep weaving a bamboo basket... It was so lively!

The last time he had left the palace was the day he climbed over the wall on the Qixi Festival, but this time he had come openly through the West Glorious Gate. He lifted the curtain a little higher and poked half his head outside, only for Xiao Lin to catch him by the back of his collar and pull him in.

"Sit properly."

Xiao Huaijin sat back and looked around the carriage, his gaze finally settling on the jade pendant at his imperial father's waist. The jade was dark blue-green, carved with a chi-dragon motif. Its texture was smooth and lustrous, gleaming beautifully in the dim light inside the carriage.

"Imperial Father, I've never seen you wear this jade pendant before."

"I got it at the frontier when I was young. It's been at the bottom of a chest for years."

"What's this design?"

"A chi-dragon. It's a kind of dragon without horns. The ancients said it could subdue water and ward off fire."

Xiao Huaijin reached out and lightly touched the jade. It was warm, warmed by his imperial father's body. He withdrew his hand and turned to look out the window again.

The carriage left the city gates and traveled east along the official road for about an hour. A vast expanse of ritual farmland surrounded the Altar of the First Farmer. Autumn had come, turning the rice fields golden. Heavy ears drooped their heads, rustling whenever the wind blew. Several old farmers from the Court of Agriculture were squatting on a field ridge, talking about something. They were startled when the blue-curtained carriage stopped, then saw a young boy in a silver-blue robe jump down from it-the very crown prince who had performed the ceremonial plowing here with His Majesty in spring.

The old farmers all dropped to their knees.

"Rise, all of you. There's no need for ceremony." Xiao Lin stepped out of the carriage and raised a hand. "I've brought the crown prince to harvest his grain today. Where are the rows he planted in spring?"

One old farmer hurriedly rose to lead the way, taking father and son to a small section marked off at the edge of the fields. The grain there was ripe, its plump ears hanging golden-yellow. Compared with the rice in the vast stretches of government farmland around it, the plants in these few rows were clearly spaced more closely and arranged less neatly, but every stalk had grown sturdy and looked excellent.

"These are the rows Your Highness sowed in spring. They've all grown very well." The old farmer pointed at the rows, wearing the honest smile peculiar to those who worked the land.

Xiao Huaijin walked to the edge of the field and crouched, reaching out to touch an ear of grain. It was heavy, its grains plump, and the lightest brush of his fingertips sent several grains pattering down. He hurriedly caught them, then turned and raised his palm toward his imperial father.

"Imperial Father, look! The seeds I sowed really grew!"

Xiao Lin picked a grain from his hand and examined it against the sunlight. It was plump and golden: a fine harvest indeed. He returned it to his son's palm, then rolled up his sleeves and took a sickle from the old farmer. The Court of Agriculture had prepared that sickle especially for the crown prince. It was shorter than an ordinary one, its blade polished bright.

"Are you going to harvest the grain with me, Imperial Father?"

"I'll show you how. Watch carefully-grip the stalks below the ears with your left hand, then cut diagonally with the sickle in your right at this angle. One stroke will do. Don't use brute force."

He bent down, gripped a bunch of grain stalks in his left hand, and drew the sickle diagonally inward with his right. With a crisp crunch, the rice stalks snapped. He laid the harvested grain on the ridge and handed the sickle to Xiao Huaijin to try for himself.

Xiao Huaijin took the sickle and crouched beside the row. Copying his imperial father, he gripped a bunch of stalks in his left hand and spent a long while positioning the sickle in his right before cutting. He stood with the grain in his hand and laid it on the ridge beside his imperial father's bundle-his imperial father's cut ends were clean and neat, while his looked as though a dog had gnawed them.

Xiao Huaijin's little face fell.

"It's all right. You'll get better after a few tries," Xiao Lin reassured him.

Xiao Huaijin crouched down to cut again. The sickle swept down with a swish, and the ears fell with a crunch. He harvested one handful after another, sweat running down his forehead and dripping onto the ridge, but he did not stop to wipe it away. Now and then he straightened to catch his breath and glanced back at the growing pile of grain on the ridge. Xiao Lin watched from the ridge for a while, then took a sickle and went to help him.

Only after the last bunch of rice had been harvested did Xiao Huaijin straighten and wipe away his sweat. He returned the sickle to the old farmer, then crouched down again to pick up the scattered ears of grain from the ridge one by one.

"Imperial Father, can we make porridge with this grain when we take it back?"

"Yes. I'll have the Imperial Kitchen make a pot of porridge for you alone."

"You have to have some too, Imperial Father. You planted it with me." Xiao Huaijin picked up the last ear and placed it on top of the pile.

"We'll let Second Brother and the others try some when we get back too."

Once they had finished harvesting and returned to the carriage, Liu An had just given orders to set off for the palace when Xiao Lin stopped him.

"Go to the East Market."

Xiao Huaijin was hugging a small cloth bag containing the first handful of grain he had harvested himself, planning to take it back and show off to Xiao Yu and the others. At the words "East Market," he nearly bounced out of his seat with delight.

The carriage passed through the streets, turned east, and stopped at the entrance to the East Market. It was the busiest market in the capital, even grander than the Qixi night market, with everything for sale-food, clothes, everyday goods, and toys. Shops lined the street like scales on a fish and teeth on a comb, while peddlers with shoulder poles threaded through the crowd, calling their wares. The aroma of frying dough sticks mingled with the caramel sweetness of sugar-roasted chestnuts, drifting along the entire street. As soon as Xiao Huaijin stepped down, the sight stunned him. He stood there looking around for quite a while before tugging his imperial father's cuff and pointing at a stall on the street corner with a long queue.

"Imperial Father, look at that! There are so many people queuing. I want to have a look!"

Xiao Lin took his little hand and first corrected him. "We're out incognito today. Address us... just call me Daddy."

Xiao Huaijin paused, then lifted his face in a happy smile.

"All right, Daddy!"

Such an affectionate form of address felt a little unfamiliar to Xiao Lin, yet his heart inexplicably softened, and he thought it the loveliest name in the world. He looked in the direction the child was pointing. It was a wonton stall run by a woman in her fifties. Her apron had been washed pale, but her stove was polished bright, and the stall was very clean. Dozens of wontons rolled about in a large, steaming pot, their thin wrappers bulging with filling as they bobbed in the boiling broth.

"They're selling wontons there. Want some?"

"Yes!"

The wonton stall had only a few benches set beside the road. Xiao Lin sat down in a spot near the corner of a wall, and Xiao Huaijin sat beside him. The old woman brought over two steaming bowls of wontons. Chopped scallions and dried shrimp floated in the broth, its savory fragrance enough to send a shiver through them. Xiao Huaijin scooped up a wonton and took a bite. It was so hot that he kept sucking in air, but he could not bear to spit it out, mumbling, "Delicious." Helpless, Xiao Lin pressed his spoon down.

"Don't eat so fast. What if you burn yourself?"

"It's really good, Daddy. Try some!"

After they finished their wontons, Xiao Huaijin pulled Xiao Lin along the street. At a sugar-figurine stall, he chose a Sun Wukong. The stallholder was an old man with a white beard and excellent craftsmanship. The strands of sugar he pulled were fine and even, and the joints of the arms and legs were shaped so vividly they seemed alive. Xiao Huaijin held up the sugar figurine for Xiao Lin to see, and Xiao Lin glanced at it.

"It'll melt if you leave it too long. Eat it."

Hearing that, Xiao Huaijin hurriedly brought the sugar figurine to his mouth, his eyes narrowing at its sweetness.

When they passed a dough-figurine stall, Xiao Huaijin once again found himself unable to move on. Last time, it was because he had no money that he had missed out on this earthly delicacy. The stallholder was a woman in her forties, shaping a little tiger in her hands. She had just finished its ears, and its whiskers were as fine as hairs. He crouched in front of the stall and watched for a good while, then took a small cloth pouch from his sleeve pocket and poured out a few copper coins.

"Auntie, how much is this?"

"Three cash." The woman looked up at him, then at the tall, slender man standing behind him, his face cold and stern. She had sold dough figurines on this street for over a decade and instinctively felt that these two were no ordinary people, but she asked no further questions, merely handing over the finished little tiger.

"Young master, this tiger was just made and hasn't dried through yet. Be careful not to bump it when you hold it."

Xiao Huaijin took the little tiger and stood up with it carefully cradled in his hands, then drew a few more copper coins from his sleeve pocket.

"Auntie, make another one. A big one-the kind that can wear a crown."

"A crown?" The woman thought for a moment, her fingers already flying as she began shaping it. She made a little figure in long robes, a tall jade crown atop its head, its robes loose and sleeves wide, each fold of the clothing distinctly formed.

Xiao Huaijin placed the two dough figurines side by side in his palm, their destinations clearly arranged. The little tiger was for himself, and the crowned figure was for his imperial father. He wrapped the little tiger in oiled paper and handed the crowned dough figurine to Xiao Lin.

"Daddy, this one's for you to eat!"

At the far end of the East Market was a storytelling stall. A thin, wizened storyteller sat on a high stool, waving a folding fan as he spoke with spittle flying. He was recounting the battle fought by Great Liang's founding emperor, Taizu, at Wild Goose Return Valley. When he reached "Taizu, spear in hand, fought twelve horsemen alone," he snapped his fan shut, and the onlookers cheered in unison. Xiao Huaijin squeezed into the crowd and stood at the very front, listening with his head tilted up. He had heard this story before-Zhou Rucheng had taught it in class. Taizu had defeated a larger force with a smaller one at Wild Goose Return Valley, securing the northern frontier in a single battle.

"Daddy, did Emperor Taizu really fight twelve men all by himself?"

"That's exaggerated. Taizu did personally lead his troops through the enemy lines, but he wasn't fighting alone. Still, he truly was an exceptional commander. What you should learn most is how he employed people. Ask Zhou Rucheng to explain it properly when we return."

Xiao Huaijin nodded thoughtfully. When the storyteller finished a section and came around with a copper plate for tips, Xiao Huaijin fished a copper coin from his sleeve pocket and placed it on the plate.

The sun was sinking westward. It was time to return to the palace.

The carriage stopped outside the West Glorious Gate, and Xiao Lin took Xiao Huaijin back to the Hall of Mental Cultivation on foot. Xiao Huaijin yawned all the way-after harvesting rice and exploring the East Market, he had nearly exhausted his energy. His steps dragged a little, but he still insisted on keeping pace with his imperial father.

Back in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, he placed the small bag of grain he had brought back that day on the corner of the desk.

"Imperial Father, when can we go out of the palace again?" Xiao Huaijin lay over the low table, his eyelids already fighting each other.

"In winter. The East Market has mutton soup in winter."

Xiao Huaijin murmured assent, his head tipped to one side, and he fell asleep over the low table. Xiao Lin shook his head, carried him to the couch, took off his little leather boots, and wiped his hands and face clean with a damp cloth.

After settling the child, Xiao Lin went to sit at the imperial desk. The memorials that had accumulated that day were piled on it. Halfway through reviewing them, he paused and took the dough figurine from his sleeve pocket, setting it on the corner of the desk as his lips curved almost imperceptibly. Then he picked up his vermilion brush again and continued reviewing the memorials. The hall was quiet, with only an occasional soft pop or two from the candle flames.