Spring Imprisoned (Recollection)

Spring, the twenty-second year of Jianxi.

The gates of the Eastern Palace were locked from the outside.

The chains the Imperial Guard brought were as thick as a thumb. They wound them around the gates three times and pasted a seal over the lock. The seal bore the stamps of the Ministry of War and the Imperial Clan Court, the cinnabar so brilliantly red it hurt to look at.

Xiao Huaijin stood behind the gates, listening to the chains clatter around the door rings. He did not move. Outside, the commander of the Imperial Guard read out the decree, his voice coming through the wooden doors. Xiao Huaijin could not make out exactly what he said. It was probably "no departure without an imperial decree," "no communication between those within and without," and "violators shall be charged with treason"-he had already heard these words once at court. There was no point repeating them.

He neither answered nor knelt, merely turned and walked back into the hall.

The Eastern Palace was still the same Eastern Palace. The parasol trees were still there, the straw targets were still there, and the bronze bells beneath the covered walkway still rang in the wind. It was simply far too quiet. His former eunuchs, palace maids, and guards had all been replaced overnight. He did not recognize a single new face. Every one of them kept their head lowered and walked like a shadow. When they spoke to him, they stared at the ground, their voices so soft it was as though they feared waking something.

Only his wet nurse remained. When the eunuch in charge came to take everyone away, she clung desperately to a pillar beneath the Eastern Palace's covered walkway and refused to leave. She said she was His Highness's wet nurse, that His Highness had given her her life, and wherever His Highness was, there she would be. In the end, the Imperial Guard could not get her to yield. Thinking an old woman nearing fifty could hardly stir up any waves, they let her stay.

Xiao Huaijin said, "Nanny, you shouldn't have stayed."

His wet nurse did not answer. She set a bowl of congee before him. It was hot, with a rich fragrance of rice. Xiao Huaijin stared at it for a long time before looking up at her.

"Nanny, I can't eat."

His wet nurse turned her back, her shoulders trembling once. Pretending to tidy the cupboard, she washed an already spotless bowl again.

Xiao Huaijin said nothing more. He went to the desk and opened a book. It was the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance, which Zhou Rucheng had left behind on his last visit to give a lesson. The old man had been in a hurry, saying they would cover that section of the Tang annals next time. Now there would be no next time. He turned to the page marked with a slip of paper. Zhou Rucheng's handwriting was still there-"What wears down the bones is not the blade, but the stone." He looked at it for a long time, then closed the book, tucking the slip back into place.

He sat at the desk until dark. He lit no lamp. His wet nurse brought in a candleholder, but he waved her away. He sat in the darkness, a little hazy moonlight filtering through the window to fall inside the empty main hall of the Eastern Palace.

Seventeen years. He had lived in this palace for seventeen years. As a child, he had thought it the place closest to his imperial father in all the world. Later, he learned it was the farthest.

When word reached the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Liu An was grinding ink for Xiao Lin.

"Your Majesty, all the Eastern Palace's attendants have been replaced, and the Imperial Guard has sealed the gates. His Highness the Crown Prince-"

He paused.

"His Highness has not eaten."

The brush in Xiao Lin's hand did not stop. He finished annotating the memorial in his hand, set it down, and picked up another. After writing a few lines, he abruptly set his brush aside.

"What time is it?"

"Your Majesty, it is three quarters past the hour of the dog."

"The Eastern Palace. Are its lamps lit?"

Liu An froze for a moment. He went to the hall's entrance and looked east. With so many palace walls in the way, he could see nothing. Still, he stood there for a little while before returning to report, "Your Majesty, from a distance, it appears no lamps have been lit."

Xiao Lin said nothing. He picked up his brush again and wrote two lines. Then set it down again.

"Have the Imperial Kitchen make some osmanthus cake and send it over tomorrow. There is no need to say it was my order."

"...Yes."

After withdrawing, Liu An stood outside the hall for a long time. Moonlight lay in an ashen-white layer over the glazed tiles of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. He thought there were too many walls in this palace. What there was too much of was not brick, but the barriers in people's hearts.

For the first month, the Eastern Palace received its daily provisions in full, according to the old arrangements. Not a pound of charcoal was missing, nor a pound of rice, and clothes for the changing season were delivered to the gates as usual. When Xiao Huaijin opened the gates to collect them, he saw a plate of osmanthus cake beside the food box.

Holding the plate, he stood at the gates for a long time. He picked up a piece and took a bite. Too sweet. He put the cake down and arranged the rest back on the plate.

In the second month, the provisions began to dwindle.

There was no open reduction. The charcoal came in the same quantity, but damp pieces had been mixed in, filling the rooms with smoke when lit. The rice came in the same quantity, but it had been replaced with old grain, and the congee made from it smelled of mildew. The clothes were still the same clothes, but this time the measurements were wrong. The sleeves were half an inch too short, and the fabric pulled tight across his shoulders.

Xiao Huaijin did not ask why. In silence, he merely folded the clothes and set them aside, left the charcoal beneath the covered walkway to dry in the sun for a day before using it, and finished the congee made from stale rice. He knew this was not his imperial father's intention. Someone must have begun to act.

His wet nurse was not so calm. Holding a bowl of congee, she took one mouthful and spat it out. "Is this fit for anyone to eat!" She carried the bowl toward the gates to argue, but Xiao Huaijin stopped her.

"Nanny," he said evenly, "don't go."

"Your Highness-"

"If you go, they'll know I care." He paused. "We can't let them know I care."

His wet nurse stared blankly at him, then suddenly began to cry. Not daring to make a sound, she covered her mouth with her sleeve and wept until her whole body shook. Xiao Huaijin reached out and patted her shoulder, very gently.

"Nanny, it's late. Go and rest."

In the fourth month, the gates of the Eastern Palace opened once.

The Imperial Guard came again. Unlike last time, they did not rummage through chests and cupboards. Instead, they carried away everything in the study. Books, memorials, letters, copies, drafts of policy essays-they did not even spare the wastepaper from his calligraphy practice.

Xiao Huaijin stood beneath the covered walkway and watched them carry everything away. He wanted to ask why, but held himself back. He knew that if he asked, he would receive an answer that chilled his heart still further.

Before the books were carried away, he reached in and drew one out. The Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance, the copy Zhou Rucheng had left behind. An officer of the Imperial Guard glanced at him but did not stop him, saying only, "Forgive the offense, Your Highness," before continuing. Xiao Huaijin tucked the book into his robes, turned, and went back into the hall.

That evening, Zhou Rucheng came.

Xiao Huaijin did not know how he had gotten in. Perhaps he had bribed the gate guards, perhaps he had invoked his rank as Grand Tutor, or perhaps it was something else. In any case, he appeared at the gates of the Eastern Palace with a flask of wine in his hand. The old man had grown thinner, his beard a little whiter, his back more bent than before, but his eyes still held their spirit.

He stood at the entrance, gazing at the empty Eastern Palace for a moment before stepping inside.

"Your Highness."

Seated beneath the covered walkway, Xiao Huaijin looked up at him and smiled a little. "Grand Tutor, I'm no longer His Highness."

"Bullshit."

Zhou Rucheng thumped the wine flask onto the stone table, lifted his robe, and sat opposite him. He poured two cups of wine and pushed one toward him.

"I taught His Majesty for thirteen years and Your Highness for ten. The heir to Great Liang is whoever I recognize as such."

Xiao Huaijin looked at the cup of wine without moving.

"Grand Tutor, did my imperial father ever trust me at all?"

Zhou Rucheng's hand stilled around his cup. He did not answer. After a long silence, he set it down.

"Your Highness, have you ever felt that the older you grow, the less you understand His Majesty?"

Xiao Huaijin made no sound. But Zhou Rucheng saw his fingers curl against his knee.

"I've been with His Majesty the longest," Zhou Rucheng said, his voice very, very slow. "He crawled out of the cold palace. No one ever taught him what kindness was. When someone treats him well, he thinks it's a blade. When someone is sincere with him, he thinks it's a trap. The more he fears something, the harder he pushes it away. Far, far away, until it no longer dares come near."

He poured another cup of wine and drained it in one swallow.

"Your Highness, you ask whether His Majesty trusts you. Even he himself doesn't know."

Xiao Huaijin lowered his head. Head bowed, he looked at the cup of wine before him. Its surface reflected the solitary lamp beneath the Eastern Palace's covered walkway. His hands clenched on his knees until his knuckles turned white.

"Grand Tutor," he said very softly, "did you know my imperial father once gave me a cloak when I was little?"

Zhou Rucheng said nothing.

"It was the only time he ever did. I thought perhaps my imperial father liked me just a little." His voice caught. "Just a little." He pinched his fingertips and drew a very faint breath. "Afterward, I waited thirteen years. What I got in the end was him deposing me."

He raised his head. There was a gleam in his eyes that did not fall.

"Grand Tutor, it's not that I'm greedy for that position. It's that he won't give me even that little bit."

Zhou Rucheng set down his cup. He rose, walked over to Xiao Huaijin, and drew the youth he had taught for ten years into his arms. The old man smelled of wine and old books. His coarse cloth robe had worn fuzzy, and it prickled against Xiao Huaijin's face.

Xiao Huaijin did not cry. He merely closed his eyes. Seventeen years, and apart from his wet nurse, this was the first time anyone had held him.

After Zhou Rucheng left, the Eastern Palace fell quiet again.

His wet nurse had already gone to bed. Xiao Huaijin sat alone beneath the covered walkway, leafing through the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance. He stopped at the page where Zhou Rucheng had tucked the slip of paper. He had read its words countless times-"What wears down the bones is not the blade, but the stone." He turned the slip over and wrote a line on the back.

"How long must the grinding last?"

He closed the book and tucked it into his robes. Moonlight shone into the Eastern Palace's courtyard, falling on the cluster of parasol trees no one had pruned for many years. Their leaves rustled.

In the distance, the Palace of Nurtured Elegance blazed with light. Someone was playing a zither, its music drifting faintly over. Xiao Huaijin listened for a moment and recognized "Deer Cry"-music for a banquet. The corner of his mouth moved; it was hard to say whether it was a smile. Then he rose, went back into the hall, and closed the door.

The lamps in the Hall of Mental Cultivation were lit as well. Xiao Lin sat at his desk with a memorial spread before him. Submitted by the Ministry of Justice, it stated that none of the letters seized from the Eastern Palace contained any evidence of forming a faction for private gain. All the drafts of policy essays and correspondence were ordinary. There were no partisans, no secret plots. Nothing at all.

He looked at the memorial for a long time. The hall was quiet, so quiet he could hear the faint crackling of the charcoal.

He rose and walked to the window. Outside lay the direction of the Eastern Palace. He stood there for a long time, so long that Liu An changed the shift of eunuchs on night duty outside, then returned to find His Majesty still standing by the window.