Zhao Xiaojin came scooting over to Yin Cheng in small quick steps. Compared to her silence of the past few days, she’d gotten a lot livelier.
She wore a red dress embroidered all over with patterns of blessing and longevity, which made her little face look even more tender, as if a light pinch would turn it into a little spring of water.
On her head, the two characters for “blessing” and “longevity,” one on each side, had been worked into delicate gold hairpins, fastened firmly into her braids so they wouldn’t fall out even if she ran.
“So happy, did you see something good to eat?” Yin Cheng rarely stood outside the door, but unfortunately, after only a short while he already felt a bit tired.
As for what kind of temperament his secondary consort had, he’d more or less figured it out over these past days. He was simply curious what precious little thing could get his secondary consort’s heart moving like this.
Only, now that she was actually standing right in front of him, the question he wanted to ask wouldn’t come out.
Xiaojin was an obedient, sensible child, who had studied books, learned characters, and understood etiquette. Whatever she could understand, no one ever needed to remind her of twice.
She must have been carefully raised from childhood, the especially well-behaved sort who didn’t need anyone’s extra worry, which, naturally, meant she never got the attention she wanted.
Maybe it was her father’s praise she craved, maybe her mother’s care.
People with that kind of temperament usually didn’t act unusual over some object.
Zhao Xiaojin had just come to a stop when she heard the little monk’s question. The words “delicious” were the clearest, oh, and “happy,” she could make that out too.
She opened her mouth to answer, but the moment she did, she realized what would come out was still Mandarin.
“…Food, I know it.” After thinking hard for a while, Zhao Xiaojin managed to come up with two fairly suitable words.
Since she couldn’t explain it in words for the moment, she’d just go show him directly. She was a little too excited, and naturally pulled the person beside her along. Of course, as they walked, she slowed her pace down, the way one would guard a little brother who’d just learned to walk.
Even though it was clearly safe enough already, she couldn’t help worrying, staying ready to rush in at any moment.
Yin Cheng looked down at the sleeve she was pulling on, blue brocade, a fabric he could never name. Because it was comfortable to wear, he wore it more often than most. Being tugged along like this stretched the fabric taut against his arm, pinning it and keeping him from moving freely.
It also made his whole self feel as fragile as that thin fabric, as if with just a bit more force there’d be a “rrrip” and it would tear right open.
Yin Cheng walked forward completely stiff-bodied, not even noticing the surprised and worried look on Wang Xiaohai’s face as he came back. All he saw was the figure of the girl in the red dress, carefully guarding him as they walked.
The distance was short, they arrived in just a few breaths.
Zhao Xiaojin let go of his sleeve and, not minding the dirt, crouched down to grab two lumpy little dirt-eggs from the basket.
She held them out to Yin Cheng like she was presenting treasures. “Look, something delicious.”
These were potatoes, Zhao Xiaojin remembered now. Although compared to the ones she’d seen before, they were small, shriveled, and not much to look at, she knew those sprouts on them very well. Because last time her school planted potatoes, the seed potatoes they’d cut open each had sprouts just like these.
Since there was nothing here that suited her taste, growing some herself with her own hands would be good too. Just thinking about all the different ways to cook potatoes made her mouth water.
“Delicious?” After walking a few steps, Yin Cheng’s face had gone red, but he still doubted this thing could be eaten. Still, seeing how certain his secondary consort seemed, he needed to hear what Wang Xiaohai had managed to find out.
“Young Master, this thing doesn’t even have a proper name, people just call it a ground-egg or a dirt-egg. When the kitchen staff went to buy supplies, this got delivered along with everything else. Up until now, it’s only ever been the servants eating it.” Wang Xiaohai had asked around carefully. “A few days ago, some servants ate it, and they still haven’t gotten out of bed since.”
So this thing, absolutely could not be eaten.
One person said it couldn’t be eaten, the other said it was delicious. Who was he supposed to believe?
Yin Cheng found himself in a difficult spot.
He himself had no wish to eat the thing, just looking at it killed his appetite. But his secondary consort had rarely taken such an interest in anything, so he’d let her fuss over it for now. Naturally, if she actually tried to eat it, that he would absolutely forbid.
Maybe soon enough she’d lose patience with it anyway.
Yin Cheng nodded at Zhao Xiaojin, and that basket of ugly potatoes was brought inside. But he never imagined just how much trouble would follow.
He stood in the courtyard with a blank expression, watching his secondary consort point things out in her copy of the Thousand Character Classic, which he then translated aloud for the servants.
She wanted a basket. She wanted dirt. She wanted a knife.
A knife? What was she planning to do, not be a secondary consort anymore, but do him in instead?
Judging by how serious she looked about it, this didn’t seem like she meant to eat the thing either. Yin Cheng couldn’t make any sense of it at all, but he still stood there acting as Zhao Xiaojin’s translator.
By the time she’d finally put away the Thousand Character Classic, Yin Cheng finally felt the stone in his heart settle. But before he could even let out a breath, his secondary consort was already dragging him off again.
Pulling him again, was she addicted to it now?
Yin Cheng felt a flicker of disdain in his heart, but his feet had already followed along anyway.
Once they reached the basket of potatoes, Zhao Xiaojin made a pushing motion.
This time, no one needed a translation, the palace attendant standing closest quickly grabbed the edge of the basket and waited for instructions.
“Flip it.” Zhao Xiaojin held out her hand, palm up, then quickly flipped it palm down.
The attendant nodded, put some real strength into it, and tipped the whole basket of potatoes right over. Freed from the basket, the potatoes scattered gleefully in every direction.
Watching this, Yin Cheng could only sigh, the whole courtyard was a mess.
Zhao Xiaojin didn’t feel that way at all. She was the first to crouch down, lining up the potatoes that hadn’t rolled too far, arranging them in order to let them air out.
She’d only managed to pick up a few before she was pulled back up, a handkerchief stuffed into her hand.
“Let them handle it. Wipe your hands.”
Was he unhappy? Zhao Xiaojin clutched the handkerchief and looked at the little monk.
“Don’t overthink it. I’m tired, help me go rest.” Yin Cheng patted her hand, not bothering to explain further, and simply let most of his body’s weight rest against her, so she wouldn’t have room left to keep worrying.
So he was just tired.
Zhao Xiaojin quickly adjusted her stance and steadied the weary-looking little monk. Since he’d leaned on her so suddenly, her hands weren’t even clean yet. Zhao Xiaojin glanced at the black mud smudged onto his clothes and, a little guiltily, brushed it off.
It took some effort to get the little monk settled, and although most of the work was done by Wang Xiaohai, Zhao Xiaojin had helped too.
By the time she sat down at the desk, the one that had only been moved in a few days ago, she didn’t trace characters in the Thousand Character Classic like she usually did. Instead, she stared blankly at the blank page.
Back when she’d planted potatoes at school, the seed potatoes the teacher handed out were big and healthy, each one could be cut into several pieces. But the ones drying outside now, it’d be good if each one could even manage a single cut. So, could these unsightly potatoes even survive being planted?
She asked for a few more baskets, and different kinds of soil, planning to plant these potatoes in separate groups.
The teacher had explained that potatoes were introduced to China sometime during the Ming or Qing dynasty, but scholars disagreed a great deal about exactly which dynasty, or which period.
Zhao Xiaojin couldn’t remember offhand which local gazetteer had recorded something about a food called “horse-bell potato.” Some people believed this was the earliest written record of the potato in China. But other scholars pushed back, saying that this “horse-bell potato” wasn’t necessarily the same thing as the potato they knew today, it might have been some other, similar crop.
Either way, what she could be sure of was that no one in this courtyard recognized this thing. As for whether the timing lined up historically, Zhao Xiaojin decided not to worry about that too much.
So what she needed to do was the same as before at school, plant these potatoes herself, and keep careful, scientific records. She hoped for at least one basket’s worth of harvest, and after that, there’d be a steady supply of potatoes to eat.
That night, Yin Cheng was startled awake.
Beside him, the secondary consort sleeping side by side with him was having a good dream, her posture far less proper than usual.
She’d kicked half the blanket off, most of her body exposed. Her left arm was bent and raised, lined up perfectly with her wide-open mouth, on which clear teeth marks were visible.
How hungry did someone have to be, to be gnawing on her own hand in her dreams in the middle of the night?
Especially with the sound of her swallowing saliva along with it.
Yin Cheng thought it over, she did seem to have gotten a bit thinner.
The pox-avoidance quarters were, after all, a place for inoculating against smallpox. He’d successfully taken the inoculation by now, but because he’d slept through several days afterward in a stupor, he needed to stay a few more days. The food here really was quite plain, with very little oil.
He’d grown up used to this kind of taste since childhood, so he didn’t find it hard to swallow. But his secondary consort was different, the difference between north and south was significant. Besides, she’d grown so tall, she surely hadn’t gone without good food growing up.
But the pox-avoidance quarters had their own rules, and even as a prince, he had no power to change the meals here. He’d just have to wait until he returned to the palace. Once back, whatever she wanted to eat, she could order a little of it, and there’d be a chance to try some delicacies too.
Yin Cheng thought about how the day of returning to the palace was drawing near, it certainly wouldn’t be as comfortable there as it was here. For the days that remained, he decided, whatever she wanted to do, let her do it.
Just, please, stop gnawing on her hand.
Yin Cheng rescued Zhao Xiaojin’s soaked left hand from her mouth, wiped it dry with a random cloth, and then pulled the blanket back over her.
After a few nights of this, he’d not only figured out his secondary consort’s temperament, but also learned that she wasn’t easily woken from sleep.
The very first time, with so many people bursting in, she’d still slept soundly through it. If anything, it was him who’d been startled awake, by her having a nightmare.
Zhao Xiaojin, of course, had no idea what she looked like while sleeping, nor any idea of her own sleeping habits.
Ever since the day she’d woken up in the little monk’s bed, Wang Xiaohai had made a point of keeping an eye on her every night as she slept there. There was a perfectly good bed to sleep in, why would she choose the floor? Even sleeping alongside the little monk, the two of them always kept some distance between them, and both stayed thoroughly covered up.
She certainly knew she was a grown girl, and that she ought to be on guard. But under these circumstances, for now, she could only trust the little monk.
So far, it seemed, he was worth trusting.
And more than that, he was actually pretty good.
Another day came, and Zhao Xiaojin woke up right on time. Except for that one night she’d been dragged back by the old woman, her body clock had long since returned to normal.
After a quick wash-up, she poured tea for the little monk, then hurried off to the courtyard.
The dried potatoes had been gathered back into their baskets, sitting there properly. Today’s task: cut them into pieces first, coat the cut pieces in ash, leave them somewhere cool and shaded for a couple of days, and then they’d be ready to plant.
So when Yin Cheng came out for some air, what he saw was his secondary consort working away with tremendous energy, a knife in her hand, swinging up and down, not the least bit afraid of cutting herself.
He genuinely didn’t dare make a sound, afraid that startling her might actually cause an accident.
Coming closer, he saw she was cutting up yesterday’s treasures. Basically one cut per potato, but no two cuts were alike, not a single one was split evenly in half.
You couldn’t quite say she was cutting them badly, either, not exactly, since she’d clearly been measuring them out with her eyes before each cut.
Yin Cheng watched for a while, and only up close did he notice how careful his secondary consort actually was. Every time she finished cutting a piece, she had someone take it away to be coated in ash.
“Huh?” Why hadn’t anyone taken away the potato she’d just cut?
Zhao Xiaojin looked up, and only then noticed the little monk standing right beside her.
She set down the knife, raised a hand to wipe her sweat, and, with a thick, dirty smear now across her forehead, walked over to him with a smile.