The Crown Prince's Private Summons

On the third day after the year-end tournament, an inconspicuous carriage stopped at the back gate of Heaven Dou Royal Academy.

The messenger said only, "His Highness would like to see the student Tang Yin."

Tang Yin rode in the carriage to the imperial palace. He was taken not to the main hall or the grand hall, but to a heated pavilion deep in the imperial garden. The skies had just cleared after the snowfall, and the plum blossoms in the garden were in full bloom. The attendants withdrew halfway there, leaving Tang Yin to walk alone through the thin snow toward the little pavilion, its lattice window half open.

Xue Qinghe sat by the window, brewing tea.

She had changed out of the crown prince's court robes into a plain, pale-blue gown. Her long hair was loosely tied back, and the dignified shell she wore at court was gone. Hearing his footsteps, she looked up, a faint smile touching her lips. "You're here. Sit."

Tang Yin bowed. "Your Highness."

"There's no one else here." Xue Qinghe poured him a cup of tea. "You don't need to call me Your Highness. Just call me... Xue Qinghe."

Tang Yin took the tea but neither drank nor spoke. His eyes were lowered, but he knew perfectly well who lay beneath that face: Qian Renxue, the young master of Spirit Hall. Someone who had worn a mask atop the corpses of the Heaven Dou Imperial Family for over a decade.

"How old are you this year?" Xue Qinghe asked.

"Eight."

"Eight," she repeated, tapping her fingertip lightly against the rim of her cup. "Eight years old, rank twenty-six, and unmatched in the rank-twenty group. Tang Yin, do you know that in the three hundred years since Heaven Dou Academy was founded, it has never had a student like you?"

"Your Highness flatters me."

"I'm not praising you." Xue Qinghe looked at him, the gentle smile in her eyes slowly fading to reveal something sharp beneath. "I'm wondering why a child like you would turn up in a little place like Nuoding. And why, when I looked into your records three months ago, they were as clean as a blank sheet of paper."

Tang Yin's heart skipped a beat, so slightly it was almost imperceptible.

Here it comes. She's probing me.

"My father is a blacksmith." He raised his eyes, his voice as calm as if he were talking about someone else. "I studied in Nuoding for two years. My martial soul is Blue Silver Grass, nothing special at all. I've only gotten this far because I was lucky enough to meet Teacher Qin Ming."

Xue Qinghe stared at him without responding.

The heated pavilion was so quiet they could hear snow falling from the plum branches. She watched Tang Yin for a long time, until half the tea in his cup had gone cold, before she suddenly spoke.

"The way you look at me is different from everyone else."

Tang Yin's fingers tightened, almost imperceptibly.

"When others look at me," Xue Qinghe said softly, "they see the Heaven Dou Crown Prince, the future emperor. Awe, flattery, fear-I've seen them all. But when you look at me..." She paused, as if weighing a word she herself found absurd. "It isn't like you're looking at the crown prince."

Tang Yin fell silent.

He could hardly say, I'm not looking at the crown prince. I'm looking at a woman who will one day have her hair cut off at Jialing Pass, who will yearn for my brother and never have him, and who will ultimately suffer a crushing defeat.

"Your Highness is Your Highness," he said at last, his tone so even it left no opening.

Xue Qinghe looked at him and suddenly smiled.

It was not the perfectly measured, gentle smile she usually wore. It was a hint of genuine amusement that rose from her eyes, carrying a trace of delight at this eight-year-old child that even she had not noticed.

"Tang Yin." She picked up her tea. "You're very good at pretending."

Tang Yin lowered his eyes. "Your Highness overstates it."

"But that's all right." Xue Qinghe took a sip of tea and gazed at the branch of red plum blossoms outside the window, her voice so soft she might have been talking to herself. "In this palace, being good at pretending is a good thing."

She turned back to Tang Yin, the sharpness in her eyes retreating as she became the gentle, refined crown prince once more. "Come to the palace more often from now on. You're a promising young talent of Heaven Dou. As the crown prince, I should see more of you."

Tang Yin bowed and took his leave.

He left the heated pavilion and crossed the imperial garden through the thin snow. Only when the lattice window behind him had vanished from sight did he slowly unclench the hand he had kept tightly shut-his palm was slick with sweat.

Inside the pavilion, Xue Qinghe stood by the window, watching the small figure cross the plum grove and disappear at the far end of the palace wall.

She stood there holding her teacup for a long time.

"Good at pretending..." she repeated softly, the smile still lingering on her lips. In over a decade, so many people had come and gone through the palace, but for the first time, an eight-year-old child had made her feel that she was not speaking to a subject gazing up at the crown prince.