The Chongwen Hall was first established within the Eastern Palace, yet the Crown Prince had long ceased to attend there. To avoid disturbing the palace proper, a red‑lacquered door connected the side hall to the Eastern Palace.
Chun Shu pointed at that door and whispered, “I’ve never once seen it opened.”
Royal children all entered through side gates; though Chongwen Hall stood within the Eastern Palace grounds, none dared step onto the Crown Prince’s domain. The two remained separate.
Realizing this, Chun Feng finally let her heart settle.
Inside Chongwen Hall, ginkgo trees grew tall, their leaves golden and drifting down. A few plump little birds perched on the branches, chirping merrily as Chun Feng passed, teasing her as if in play. She squinted, counting their round little tails.
From the side gate came Chang Ying. At once Chun Shu restrained her movements, but Chun Feng felt only warmth and called out, “Eunuch Chang!”
Chang Ying bowed with a smile. “I have just received word from Xingning Palace—Princess Yunning has arrived. Please, Your Highness, come with me.”
Chun Feng glanced at Chun Shu, who already understood his intent. “My elder sister must begin from the very start. What I learned is not the same.”
Chang Ying nodded. “Exactly so.”
Chun Feng thought it reasonable, then asked, “So what shall I study?”
Chang Ying led her into a side chamber of the hall. Within sat a group of half‑grown children, all at the age of first learning. Chun Feng hesitated in her steps—she disliked playing with children most of all.
Chang Ying, thinking she was embarrassed, reassured her: “Your Highness will begin with the basics. In only a few months, you may change to another teacher.”
Chun Feng murmured, “Mm.”
Chang Ying summoned a scholar‑official, instructing him to treat the princess with care and not neglect her.
This scholar had long heard of Princess Yunning. If she were merely the Emperor’s cherished daughter, he might have shown the aloof pride of a man of letters, quoting, “Before Confucius and Mencius, there is no rank or station.” But this was Chang Ying, the Crown Prince’s trusted attendant—quite another matter.
The scholar quickly bowed his head. “I understand. Thank you for your guidance, Eunuch.”
Chun Feng’s seat was placed at the back. Her classmates were all scions of the imperial clan, dressed in fine silks, some even with companions to read alongside them. Chun Feng was ten years older than the youngest, six years older than the eldest. Some glanced at her curiously; others huddled together, whispering.
Chun Feng ignored their looks, opened a book on her desk, and studied the characters carefully. When she spotted ones that overlapped with Lin Qingxiao’s letters, she circled them, intending to ask the scholar later.
Just then—flutter!—a sparrow burst in through the window, wings beating. The children shrieked and scattered:
“Watch out, young lord!”
“Where did that bird come from? Guards, guards!”
Yet the little ones were thrilled. “It’s a bird!”
“Little bird, little bird!”
Two guards lunged this way and that, but the sparrow was nimble, slipping past every grasp. The children grew more excited, while the scholar cried out to the guards: “Strike it down!”
But striking it down meant death. Some of the children found it too cruel and lowered their heads.
Just then, from a corner came a clear, melodious chirp. All eyes followed the sparrow as it turned toward that call and alighted, steady as could be, upon a hand pale and tipped with cinnabar lacquer.
Chun Feng gently cupped the bird, carried it to the window, and released it. In an instant it was gone, winging far away. She brushed her hands together, turned back, and cast the scholar a look of disdain.
The little ones gazed at her, eyes shining. “Waaah—”
Under the indigo sky, the moon sank westward. Sparrows on the branches called out in crisp notes, only heightening the chill of the night.
The Crown Prince awoke, and at once the Eastern Palace stirred into orderly motion.
Chang Ying exhaled a plume of white breath, took the bronze basin from a young eunuch, and said, “Go tell the kitchens to change the porridge.”
The boy bowed. “Yes.”
Chang Ying carried the basin through the felt curtain and into the chamber. He calculated the hour—it was not yet the time of the Tiger. The Crown Prince must have woken in the middle of the night with a headache, unable to sleep.
This illness could be traced back twelve years to the beginning of the Qingsheng Rebellion. That year, the Emperor abandoned Changjing, leaving the Empress and the young Crown Prince behind in the imperial city. Barely ten years old, the boy was left to govern and defend the capital. The soldiers’ morale shattered, and the garrison nearly collapsed. It was he who rallied them, restoring spirit enough to hold until reinforcements arrived.
Chang Ying still remembered: once, the Crown Prince dozed briefly on the city tower, then suddenly woke. He pressed his forehead, eyes shadowed, and asked, “Chang Ying, has the city fallen?”
From that night onward, no matter the medicines, the Crown Prince’s midnight headaches never ceased.
Chang Ying sighed silently and set down the bronze basin.
Li Xuan, draped in his robe, showed no weariness—only his fine brows drawn together. He took the warm towel to wipe his face, then stretched out his hand. Several eunuchs stepped forward with his crown, court robes, girdle, and shoes, dressing him with careful hands. When he stepped out of the inner chamber, breakfast was already laid out. He glanced at the table, ate only two spoonfuls of jade‑green soup, then set it aside and ordered his attendants to bring the state papers.
Today is the first day of the lunar month, marked by the Grand Court Assembly. As dawn gradually broke, the ministers filed into the hall and took their places. The dragon throne at the head remained empty, but to its east stood an extra chair. That chair had been set there for more than seven years. Li Xuan sat upon it.
At the assembly, the usual verbal sparring among officials could be set aside. One matter alone stirred endless debate:
This year, Hedong suffered disaster. Relief efforts by local officials proved inadequate. During his inspection tour, the Crown Prince dismissed a number of them. Among them, Prefect Wang of Hedong was found to have embezzled disaster relief funds. By law, even if spared execution, exile was unavoidable. Yet now, the scholars of Hedong had jointly petitioned to plead for Prefect Wang’s innocence.
The court could reach no conclusion. After the session, officials with ties to the Wang family sought an audience.
Li Xuan, fingering the prayer beads at his wrist, said: “Send them all away.”
Chang Ying replied, “Yes.” He ordered the eunuchs to dismiss them, then stepped forward to brew tea, murmuring cautiously: “The Wang clan is truly audacious.”
Li Xuan gave a brief smile, though his eyes remained cold: “It is nothing unusual.”
The Wang family’s patron was the Emperor. Even if the Emperor no longer attended court, he was still the sovereign.
Chang Ying dared not press further. He focused on adding a pinch of salt to the cloud-patterned kettle.
Suddenly, Li Xuan remarked: “These past days, the palace has been very quiet.”
Chang Ying answered: “Indeed. His Majesty declared he would seclude himself for seven days. He has yet to emerge.”
Li Xuan tapped his fingers against the desk. Chang Ying understood—he did not wish to hear more of the Emperor.
Being shrewd, Chang Ying quickly shifted the topic, smiling: “Speaking of which, Princess Yuning has been diligently studying of late. The palace is quieter for it.”
At once, Li Xuan’s mind flashed with the image of a pair of dark, round eyes—clear and glistening, yet hiding a spark of mischief. He raised his teacup and sipped slowly: “At the Chongwen Hall?”
Chang Ying: “Yes.”
After a pause, Chang Ying worried the prince might suddenly decide to check on Chun Feng. The little princess was always quiet—too quiet, which often meant trouble. He tried to steer the conversation toward the Empress Dowager: “Since Your Highness brought the princess back, the Empress Dowager has not suffered another heart attack.”
As expected, Li Xuan set down his cup: “To Shouyang Palace.”
Chang Ying: “Yes.”
Yet after leaving the Eastern Palace, Li Xuan walked several steps, then halted, turning instead toward the Chongwen Hall.
Chang Ying was startled—why head to the study hall again?
…
The sun slanted westward. Classes at Chongwen Hall had just ended, but the grounds remained lively.
Beneath the ginkgo trees, a table and chairs had been set. Chun Feng flicked her robe and perched cross-legged, while her little reading companion smoothed the creases of her skirt. Before her stood a line of children. Leisurely, she opened a jar of balsam flower dye, dipped a small wooden brush, and called to the first child: “Hand.”
The child stretched out his hand: “Aunt Yuning, I want it on my pinky.”
Chun Feng hummed twice, dabbed the dye perfunctorily, and said, “Next.”
The next child was Prince Fu’s heir. He thrust out a plump little hand: “I want all five fingers! I don’t believe the birds will keep landing on me this time!”
His reading companion nearly fainted: “Young master, that’s far too much.”
The boy retorted: “I’ll wash it off before going home.”
The companion protested: “Impossible! Each nail costs ten taels, and you only have thirty…”
While they bickered, Chun Feng ignored them, brushing the remaining dye onto her own nails and admiring them with a satisfied tilt of her fingers.
“Princess Yuning, hurry!”
“Princess Yuning!”
Chun Feng shook the little jar—it was already empty. She told the children, “I’ll fetch another.” She stepped inside to take out a fresh jar of flower dye when suddenly she heard the sound of many footsteps, steady and in unison. Her heart sank. Through the lattice window, she glimpsed a group approaching the gate! She hadn’t yet seen the leader’s face clearly, but that stature, that bearing, that entourage pressing forward.
Chun Feng reacted like a startled rabbit, darting back and hiding behind the window inside the room. Ruined! Her heart pounded, her mind went blank—why would he come to the Chongwen Hall? Yet regret pricked her too. Would the children outside give her away? Ah, whether inside or outside, she felt trapped. She paced anxiously by the window, realizing the courtyard had gone too quiet. Just moments ago there had been footsteps—now all had vanished. At last, she tilted her head, pressing her ear against the window, straining to catch any sound.
…
Outside, the setting sun cast its glow through the lattice, and a shadow could be seen skulking at the window.
Chang Ying was about to speak, but Li Xuan raised his hand. Chang Ying swallowed his words. He felt utterly helpless—the little princess again! Even with the best intentions, this time I can do nothing…
Li Xuan forbade anyone else to act. He stepped forward slowly, placed both hands on the window frame, paused, and then with a swift motion pushed it open. In that instant, a rush of fragrance and a girl’s figure tumbled out, falling with a thud into his arms.
Li Xuan staggered back a step, instinctively steadying her by the nape. Pressed against his chest, her eyes flickered with alarm, her hand clutching at his court robe. The wet balsam dye on her nails smeared across the fabric—bright, vivid, and unmistakable. Her gaze darted nervously, and she hastily tried to wipe the stain away. But the blush only spread wider.
Li Xuan: “…”