Illness (Recollection)

Xiao Huaijin fell ill.

The chill he had brought back from Huainan had never quite cleared, and after returning to the capital, he had spent day after day rushing about-going to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to pay his respects every day, even when he was turned away at the door; catching the wind in the passage outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony on New Year's Eve, then returning to copy out the rites for the sacrifice to Heaven late into the night. On top of that, when the sacrifice was canceled, the tension pent up in his chest suddenly loosened, and he collapsed.

The Imperial Medical Academy was busier in the first lunar month than usual. The physicians took turns hurrying to the Eastern Palace, every one of them looking grave. The crown prince's fever kept returning, subsiding in the morning only to rise again at night. He lay in a stupor, sometimes waking to drink a few mouthfuls of congee, but more often sleeping. In his dreams, he occasionally called out "Father," and sometimes "Mother." When he called for his mother, his brows drew tightly together, as though even in his dreams he was searching for the person he had never met. When he called for his father, he was peaceful instead-his voice very soft, as though calling to someone he believed would turn back someday.

When word reached the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Xiao Lin was reviewing memorials. He listened to Liu An's report without stopping his brush. Only after finishing did he set it down, rise, and walk to the window, his back to the hall. Outside lay a vast expanse of white snow.

"...Convey my verbal decree. The chief and deputy physicians of the Imperial Medical Academy are all to keep night duty at the Eastern Palace.

"All medicinal supplies needed by the Eastern Palace may be used directly, without submitting a report."

"Also-"

His voice suddenly broke off, as though he were hesitating over something.

Liu An waited a long time, his back bent. He thought His Majesty would say something more important, but Xiao Lin merely remained silent and slowly shook his head.

"That is enough. Go."

As Liu An withdrew and reached the doors, he suddenly heard an extremely soft remark behind him, nearly drowned out by the crackle of the charcoal.

"...Little bastard."

Liu An paused without turning around, pretending he had not heard.

The fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the Lantern Festival.

Xiao Huaijin's fever finally broke.

He had lost a great deal of weight, leaving his already slender face almost nothing but its outline. His wet nurse brought a bowl of red date congee to feed him, but after two mouthfuls, he shook his head and said he was full. Her eyes reddening, she took the bowl away. At the doorway, she glanced back once more.

Xiao Huaijin leaned against the head of the bed, his head turned toward the window. Outside, someone was setting off fireworks. They blossomed one after another above the Forbidden City, red and green and purple, casting flickering light over the silent glazed tiles. The lights were lit in every palace, and faint laughter drifted over from afar. The Noble Consort had laid out a Lantern Festival banquet in the Palace of Nurtured Elegance. Xiao Yu and several younger princes were setting lanterns afloat, and the loudest laughter came from their direction.

The Eastern Palace was unlike all the other palaces. It stood in the east of the Forbidden City, separated by a long passage and countless layers of vermilion palace walls, not far from the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Yet the bustle of those palace lanterns and fireworks never seemed to reach it. In previous years, someone would at least hang a few festive lanterns outside the doors to mark the occasion. This year, with Xiao Huaijin ill, the servants feared disturbing him and had not even hung lanterns.

It was as quiet as another imperial palace. Another imperial palace with only one person living in it.

He watched the fireworks for a while, then withdrew his gaze. A book lay on the desk: the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance, which Zhou Rucheng had sent a few days earlier. A slip of paper was tucked between its pages. He opened it and saw Zhou Rucheng's handwriting-"What grinds its bones is not the blade, but the stone."

He looked at it for a long time, then folded the slip and returned it to the book. He understood what the Grand Tutor meant-it was not the blade that sharpened the blade, but the stone. Yet the Grand Tutor had left the second half unsaid: what the stone wore down was not only the blade's edge, but the stone itself.

Another firework burst outside the window. He leaned against the head of the bed with his eyes closed, listening, then rolled over to face the wall and curled himself into a very, very small ball.

A bowl sat on the low table beside his bed. It was empty, perfectly clean. The bowl he had left outside the Hall of Mental Cultivation fifteen days earlier had been returned at some unknown point and placed within his reach. He did not remember when he had brought it back, but he recognized the pattern on its base.

He put the bowl away in the cabinet beside his bed. In its deepest recess lay a neatly folded, faded cloak embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons. His hand paused, then he placed the bowl beside the cloak and shut the cabinet door.

The Lantern Festival fireworks were still going off.

The lights in the Eastern Palace stayed lit until very late.

Early the next morning, Liu An came.

Two young eunuchs followed behind him, carrying a redwood food box. Inside, when it was opened, was a plate of osmanthus cakes. They were nothing precious, but Xiao Huaijin recognized them-they had been his favorite food as a child. Back then, he had still dared to run into the Hall of Mental Cultivation, though his father paid him no attention. Once, leaning over the edge of his father's desk, he had pointed at the plate of pastries and said, "Jin'er wants this." Xiao Lin had waved a hand, and he had run off with the plate.

Later, he stopped running there, and seldom ate osmanthus cakes anymore.

Liu An bowed. "Your Highness, His Majesty said-osmanthus cakes moisten the lungs. Eating a few after an illness will aid your recovery."

Xiao Huaijin looked at the plate of osmanthus cakes for a long time. Then he reached out and took one. The cake was cold. Along that long passage from the Hall of Mental Cultivation to the Eastern Palace, anything hot would turn cold halfway there in winter. But he took a bite, chewed for a long time, and swallowed, feeling as though something else had been swallowed into his belly along with it.

"Eunuch Liu," he said, his voice still a little hoarse, "how has Father's health been these past few days?"

Liu An hesitated. "His Majesty toils day and night, and will not listen even when the physicians urge him to rest. And with Your Highness ill these past few days-" He left the sentence unfinished and immediately changed tack. "There is nothing seriously wrong. Your Highness, please focus on recovering."

But Xiao Huaijin had heard that unfinished half-sentence. He did not call attention to it.

"Please tell Father for me," he said, returning the remaining half of the osmanthus cake to the plate, "that his son will be able to leave his bed tomorrow and will come to pay his respects the day after."

He paused.

"...Please ask Father not to worry."

Liu An's eyelid twitched. He bowed and withdrew, then stood outside the doors for a while.

This fifteen-year-old boy and the man sitting in the Hall of Mental Cultivation both swallowed their words into their bellies, and both believed the other did not know.

Liu An raised his head, looked at the gray sky of the first lunar month, and let out a long sigh.

Spring was still a long way off in the Forbidden City. The northwesterly wind swept between the palace walls, making the bronze bells beneath the corridor ring once, then again, before falling silent.