The meals in the Eastern Palace—ten more, and Chun Feng could hardly finish them all.
Inside the main hall, Chang Ying announced the start of the meal. Palace maids, dressed in identical attire, carried lacquered trays and placed each dish on the table with barely a sound.
Chun Feng was seated at the second place to Li Xuan’s left. Her hands rested neatly on her lap, eyes following each dish as it was set down, rising and falling with curiosity. Her true intent was to use this meal as an excuse to retrieve her lessons, but she was also genuinely curious about what the Eastern Palace served. After all, Furong Pavilion ate so well—surely the Eastern Palace would be no worse. The fragrance of food stirred her anticipation, but as steamed mandarin fish, pigeon soup, braised lamb with mushrooms, steamed yam, and boiled greens appeared one after another.
She began to feel uneasy.
It is said: “From luxury to frugality is hard.” For the old Chun Feng, these dishes would have been dreamlike delicacies. But now, Furong Pavilion offered not only rich meats but also rare spices like pepper, as if they cost nothing. Faced with such plain fare, she grew doubtful and stole glances at Li Xuan.
Chang Ying served the dishes. Li Xuan held a thin porcelain bowl, chopsticks in hand, his movements calm and unhurried. He tasted every dish, neither too much nor too little. His cool expression betrayed nothing—whether he found it delicious or not, whether he liked it or not.
Nanny Huang had once taught Chun Feng the rule of “no talking at meals.” She dared not chatter here, but her wide eyes betrayed all her thoughts. The first bite seemed fine, but the more she ate, the dimmer her gaze became. Not all dishes were so bland—one grilled fish roe dish was richly flavored, distinctly fresh and savory. She signaled Xiang Rui to serve it, and soon the plate was empty.
Chang Ying looked to Li Xuan, who gave a slight nod.
Before long, another grilled fish roe dish was brought out.
After the meal, Chun Feng rinsed her mouth, satisfied, but did not forget her purpose—her mind already calculating. She did not mention returning, and Li Xuan said nothing. Naturally, the attendants brought two cups of tea.
At Furong Pavilion, the post-meal tea was scented with honey water, sweet and fragrant. Here, she unsuspectingly took a large sip—her tongue met saltiness. Shocked, she forced it down with difficulty.
Heavens! Why was the tea salty? She wrinkled her nose, set down the cup slowly, and swore never to drink another drop of Eastern Palace tea.
Li Xuan, meanwhile, sipped his tea with measured calm.
When Chun Feng had suddenly asked to dine together, he had indeed felt a flicker of puzzlement. He quickly guessed that such unusual behavior must hide mischief. Someone who usually had to be dragged to the Eastern Palace suddenly came of her own accord—she must have a purpose. He recalled how, at Shouyang Palace, he had taken one of her assignments. Clearly, the problem lay with her coursework. If she had written it herself, she wouldn’t fear discovery. Since she did, it meant someone else had written it for her.
Chun Feng’s hands twisted together, then loosened, as if she remembered she could not act freely in the Eastern Palace. Her small face, flushed with the soft pink of a recent meal, shone with bright eyes and fluttering lashes—surely full of schemes.
Li Xuan’s brows moved slightly. He set down his teacup and called to Chang Ying: “Bring the princess’s coursework.”
Chang Ying: “Yes.”
At the mention of coursework, her back stiffened.
Li Xuan shook the stack of papers, and she flinched for no reason. He opened the first page.
Chun Feng stammered: “Royal Brother, I… I didn’t write it well. Could I take it back and revise it before showing you?”
Li Xuan: “No need. You are gifted—no revisions required.”
Chun Feng couldn’t tell if he was praising her or not. She leaned forward, trying to change the subject: “Royal Brother, that dish just now—it was quite good.”
Li Xuan turned to the fourth page. The tiny, ant-like characters were indeed hers. Dividing his attention, he said: “Chang Ying, send the remaining fish roe to Furong Pavilion.”
Chang Ying: “Yes.”
Blocked again, Chun Feng watched him flip another page. She gave up struggling and sank in defeat. Then, with a sudden “hula,” Li Xuan closed the entire stack.
Chun Feng’s eyes widened in disbelief. She had just been wondering if she could snatch it back and tear it up!
Li Xuan handed the papers back to her, saying lightly, “Next time, write better.”
Chun Feng: “Ah—cough, cough—certainly.” It was as if she had choked on her own schemes. Relieved, she could not stay another moment and rose to take her leave.
Chang Ying carried the fish roe to see her out.
Chun Feng, now triumphant, grew talkative. Pointing at the dish, she asked: “This is so delicious. Why have I never had it at Furong Pavilion?”
Chang Ying smiled: “Little Ancestor, this is spring roe from Wu Commandery. There isn’t much this year. Only the Eastern Palace and Shouyang Palace have it.”
…
That night, octagonal palace lanterns hung throughout the Eastern Palace, spinning silently in the northern wind.
Li Xuan, draped in a stone-blue cloak, carried a lantern up to Qingke Pavilion. He asked Jin Yun: “Which book did she take?”
Jin Yun: “The Treatise on Rivers and Mountains by the Recluse of Heyang.”
Li Xuan needed no further thought. If it was that book, then Mr. Zou must have written the coursework for her. His brows lowered. “Tomorrow, tell Zou Huan that Treatise on Rivers and Mountains is borrowed until the first month after the New Year. As for the rest of the coursework, it should proceed as usual.”
Jin Yun: “Yes.”
As he was about to leave, Li Xuan stopped him: “Wait. Tell Mr. Zou it was he himself who came to report to me.”
Mr. Zou was a stubborn stone, proud of his reputation. All the court knew he had returned for the sake of his descendants. Yet he propped himself up as a man of ‘pure integrity,’ repeatedly admonishing the Crown Prince not to overstep the Emperor, determined to teach only in the Eastern Palace and serve nowhere else.
Since this person was so stubborn, he couldn’t very well ask to borrow books from the Eastern Palace. He wanted to use the princess as cover to read, but the Eastern Palace exposed him—in their eyes, that was a fine outcome.
Yet Jin Yun found it odd: why insist that Mr. Zou claim he had reported directly to the Crown Prince?
Chang Ying patted Jin Yun’s shoulder and said, “If Mr. Zou’s Treatise on Rivers and Mountains were to be made public, who would be the first to ‘suffer’?”
Jin Yun wasn’t foolish. “Princess Yuning.”
“Exactly,” said Chang Ying. “The princess ought to know the reason. If she learns it was His Highness who revealed it, she’ll be angry with him. But if Mr. Zou says he reported it of his own accord, she’ll only be angry with Mr. Zou.”
Jin Yun understood—though not completely. Why would the Crown Prince want to redirect the princess’s anger onto Mr. Zou?
Inside the residence, the wind rustled. Li Xuan flipped through a book, catching something bouncing in the corner of his eye. He set the book down and glanced out the window.
Not far away, Furong Pavilion shone bright as day. A tiny figure waved a stack of papers, sometimes planting her fists on her hips, sometimes spinning in a circle—so full of spirit. That little shadow was like a pebble dropped into the still pool of his gaze, sending ripples outward.
…
That day, Chun Feng remained excited until bedtime. At supper she recounted her Eastern Palace adventure as a “narrow escape from the tiger’s jaws,” boasting how her wit had impressed Hui’er and Fen’er.
Xiang Rui laughed and asked, “Princess, shall we save the fish for tomorrow?”
Chun Feng recalled Chang Ying’s words and knew the thing was precious. “Let’s keep it for now,” she said.
She wanted Yu Xiujun and Lin Datian to taste this rare delicacy.
Hands folded behind her head, she lay back on the couch, lips curved. “Life is so good.”
But her good days didn’t last until tomorrow.
After class that day, old Zou appeared with dark circles under his eyes, his beard unkempt and scraggly. He glared at Chun Feng and said, “For today’s lesson—twenty sheets of large characters.”
Chun Feng was packing up her things when she froze. “What? Twenty sheets?”
Old Zou: “That’s right.”
Chun Feng: “Give me back my book! You’re going back on your word—you promised to assign less work from now on.”
Old Zou’s chest tightened with anger. For the sake of a single book, he had accepted favors and lost his standing. How could he ever hold his head high when opposing the Crown Prince’s bid to govern over the Emperor?
Even though he was reluctant, the old tutor had already been instructed by the Crown Prince. So, grumbling in a muffled voice, he said: “I have reported to His Highness. I may directly observe this book.”
Chun Feng was incredulous. Recalling a shadow-play scene with a similar twist, she pointed at the old man: “You—you betrayed me!”
Old Zou’s eyes bulged. Proud of his upright reputation, he had never in his life been linked with “betrayal.” Flustered, he snapped: “Don’t misuse words!”
Chun Feng insisted: “It *is* betrayal!”
Humiliated and angry, Old Zou retaliated.
Thus, Chun Feng’s assignment was raised from twenty large characters to one hundred.
When Xiang Rui learned the whole story, she grew anxious: “Then we must hurry back to Furong Pavilion to write!”
Chun Feng puffed up with indignation: “I won’t write. I simply won’t.”
As they walked, the north wind sent a shiver through her. Suddenly she narrowed her eyes and smiled: “I’ve got an idea.”
Xingning Palace.
At dawn, the Empress bathed and burned incense, sinking into quiet serenity. Since her quarrels with the Emperor had deepened, they had become a pair of resentful spouses. To avoid drowning in emptiness and bitterness, she often arranged flowers—at least it helped pass the long hours.
This season offered few blossoms outside, but the palace always had ways to cultivate them.
Seated at her desk, the Empress called softly: “Bring the flowers.”
Light footsteps approached. A girl carried chrysanthemums, red plum, golden osmanthus—layered and varied.
Noticing it wasn’t Yao Zhi, the Empress looked closely.
Chun Feng’s head popped out from behind the blooms: “Heh heh, Mother.”
The Empress frowned: “What are you doing here?”
Chun Feng set the flowers down: “Can’t I come?”
The Empress’s lips twitched: “As you wish.” She reached for the flowers. Chun Feng handed them over—but deliberately used her left hand, keeping her right lowered.
After only a couple of tries, the Empress sensed something amiss: “What’s wrong with your right hand?”
Chun Feng’s eyes suddenly reddened. In a small voice, she said, “My right hand won’t lift anymore.”
The Empress set down her scissors and examined the hand. “Have you summoned the imperial physician? Yao Zhi, call the physician—”
But if the physician came, her secret would be exposed. Chun Feng quickly interrupted: “It was the tutor who punished me to copy one hundred sheets of large characters. I dared not disobey, so I wrote all night, but still haven’t finished.”
The Empress clasped her right hand, feeling its faint tremor.
The girl’s face was pale, her eyes lowered. A single tear clung to her thick lashes, shimmering, ready to fall—so pitiful it stirred compassion.
The Empress suddenly rose to her feet. “Outrageous! You are a princess—why fear a mere tutor?”
“Come. I refuse to believe a subject can stand above the royal house!”