"It's Ping'an who's come."
The little one stood there at a loss, having paid his respects before timidly lowering his head and shrinking his small shoulders. Lin Zhen couldn't help but recall that her own younger brother at home had also been a tiny bundle like this in his early years, and her heart grew even softer.
She did love children, and moreover, she had promised Prince Fu to care for him well. She let A'Yu remain seated and rose on her own initiative, walking over to stand before the child.
Looking down, she saw a small crown of hair.
Sensing someone standing before him, the little one raised his head timidly.
Against the light, he saw a beautiful person with a gentle smile and the fragrance of fruit about her, looking at him.
She smiled at him very tenderly.
But in that instant, the small child seemed to see through her, glimpsing another person from old times past.
The same person seated at the head of this main hall, the same furnishings—that person had always glared at him with disgust and impatience, picking him apart from head to toe.
"Have you had breakfast? Come have some pastries." Lin Zhen had just instructed Jiaoyue to fetch some treats a child would like from the small kitchen, and she reached out her hand to him.
But the moment she extended her hand, the little one named Ping'an felt his vision blur again, as if seeing that familiar scene where a hand reached out.
As if it were about to press hard against his forehead like before, jabbing down forcefully with sharp fingernails.
The little one shuddered, his whole body stiff as he stared at her, frozen in terror.
He was still a child, unable to disguise his emotions. His thin little face and round, wide eyes were clearly filled with fear.
Lin Zhen was taken aback, her skirt hem swaying slightly as she looked seriously at this child.
This was Prince Fu's heir, the future successor of the princely household.
Born of Prince Fu's primary consort.
Though of noble blood, Prince Fu had told her that he had not fared well by the side of the late Princess Fu.
This was something Prince Fu had harbored deep regret over until his dying breath.
"A’Zhen, I owe Ping'an a debt. I did not take good care of him." The ailing Prince Fu had once said to her with guilt.
He had been frail since childhood, and it was said he would not live long.
Even when he was enfeoffed as a prince back then, his mother, the Empress Dowager, had bestowed the character "Fu" (Blessing) upon him, hoping he might receive some fortune and longevity—yet Prince Fu still could not be healthy.
The older he grew, the weaker he became.
To prolong his life by a few more years, he had not spent much time in the noisy environs of the Prince Fu mansion in recent years. Most of his time was spent recuperating at a royal hot spring estate, living quietly to avoid worry and exertion.
And because the Princess Fu greatly disliked Prince Fu and did not live with him—one residing at the hot spring estate, the other bringing their son to live at the Prince Fu mansion in the capital—Prince Fu inevitably neglected his son's care.
By the time he returned to the capital, what he saw was this thin, cowering child who could never lift his head.
It was his negligence that had made this child's life so difficult.
If he could not entrust him to someone he trusted, Prince Fu feared he would not be able to close his eyes even in death.
The one he trusted was Lin Zhen.
Naturally, Lin Zhen would not betray Prince Fu's trust.
"Look at you, you must be tired too, right?" Lin Zhen's voice grew even softer.
She bent down, continuing to reach out her hand, watching the little one's round eyes stare at her in fright. She only smiled gently as she lightly placed her hand on his head, ruffled it twice, and blinked at him. "Come to Mother. There are soft little buns today—Ping'an can have two."
Her hand fell from his head, and she naturally took the little one's small hand in hers, leading him toward the chair she had just vacated.
The hand that fell on his head was very soft. It used no force, and it did not harshly pick at him—unlike before.
Her smile was gentle and loving, and she showed no disdain or displeasure toward him.
She also said…
He could have little buns.
In that moment, it was as if the hysterical scoldings from his memories—"Still eating! Eat until you're as fat as your father, and you'll be happy when people laugh at you!"—and "Were you born just to shame me?"—seemed to fade.
The thin, small little one instinctively looked at the hand holding his.
Though the fingers were slender, they were not as fair and delicate as the hand in his memory that had jabbed his forehead, nor did they bear the bright vermilion nail polish.
He stared blankly upward, looking at this "mother" who was different from before, whom he did not recognize.
The nursemaids around him had told him many things about "Mother."
They said she was a fox spirit, that she had bewitched his father, and that his father would never pay attention to him again—that he was a child no one cared about.
They also said she was fickle and wanton, showing her face in public, exchanging flirtatious glances with some family's consort, angering some princess so much that she smashed her wonton stall… Whenever they said the words "wonton stall," they always wore mocking expressions, and he couldn't understand much of what they said.
The only thing he understood, and what they said more often, was that the nursemaids told him to remember that she was not his real mother, and that he was not allowed to grow close to her.
What he was to remember was his late birth mother.
And in front of his father, he was to speak often of his birth mother.
"Our eldest young lady is the true, proper Princess Fu," the matrons declared in a haughty tone.
"Young heir, you must remember. You have only one mother; those who came later are little sluts. You must not be an ungrateful wretch…" They would say many things, forbidding him from ever forgetting his mother.
But every time they said such things, he couldn't help but shiver.
They demanded he remember his mother, remember everything she had given him.
Life, scoldings, punishments…
"Can Ping'an… eat a b-bun?" Before he knew it, he had followed Lin Zhen to her seat, like a bewildered little chick that trails after whoever it sees.
Of course, he was merely a three-year-old little one, naturally naive and innocent.
He just carefully sat on a soft couch beside Lin Zhen, and seeing several dishes of food laid out on the table before him, the little one swallowed his saliva and asked timidly.
"Go ahead and eat." Lin Zhen slowly reached out her hand.
Seeing her extend her hand, the little one flinched, but then saw that the hand merely pulled the food that was farther from him closer to him.
He stared at the pastries before him, uneasily tugging at his exquisite little clothes.
"Don't you like them?"
"If I eat, eat… I'll get fat."
Lin Zhen paused, finally understanding why Prince Fu had said back then that even in death, he feared he couldn't compare to her.
She silently watched him—this child so timid he didn't even dare lift his head to look at her, who despite being the heir of the princely mansion with noble status, possessed none of the confidence and pride befitting a member of the imperial clan.
Clearly, he was his father's beloved child.
His childhood name was Ping'an, because his father didn't demand he become someone outstanding or hardworking, only hoping that this child could live a peaceful and safe life.
A child cherished like this…
"If that's the case, then Ping'an should eat even more."
"Mother… will hit… if fat…" the little one replied in a soft, milky voice.
If he got fat, his mother would hit him. His mother… hated fat people the most.
He was so tiny, his little body squirming uneasily on the couch, and even A'Yu, who had been anxiously wondering whether she should take her leave, was startled and looked at him in surprise.
Lin Zhen closed her eyes briefly, feeling anger toward the late Princess Fu for the first time, though a smile remained on her face.
Seeing the little one sneak a glance up at her, she simply shook her head and said, "A bit of plumpness is what looks good." A small child eating too little was also detrimental to their growth.
She wasn't trying to turn the child into a big fatty, but this child was excessively thin, with a somewhat sickly look… Indeed, ever since she had married into the princely mansion, this child had only come to kowtow to her on the wedding day, and had been ill ever since—falling sick at the slightest breeze.
Gently stroking the little one's head, she lowered her head to look at him seriously and said, "Ping'an has been outside before, and has seen other children, hasn't he?"
Ping'an thought for a moment, and seeing that she wasn't displeased by his words, nodded slightly.
"Who has Ping'an seen?"
"…Uncle's family… older cousin, younger cousin."
"Are they as thin as Ping'an?" The little one shook his little head.
"So you see, the children in this world like Ping'an—in other families, especially in Uncle's family—don't need to be very thin. They're fatter than Ping'an, so has anyone disliked them?"
"Ping, Ping'an… isn't worthy of being compared to younger cousin, com-pared…"
His younger cousin from his uncle's family was chubby, yet his mother liked him very much. When his cousin came to visit the mansion, his mother would always beam with joy, holding the cousin in her arms and refusing to let go.
Ping'an envied him terribly.
He also wanted his mother to hold him.
But his mother would always say impatiently, while holding his cousin who was giggling and making faces at him, "Why don't you look at yourself in the mirror? Are you worthy of being compared to your younger brother?"
The matrons would also always tell him to be sensible and not make his mother angry.
Gradually, he no longer dared to make any requests.
But today, he didn't know what had come over him.
He was always terrified of coming to pay respects at the main hall, always feeling like his throat was stuffed with cotton whenever he was there, not daring to say anything.
Yet he had spoken so much, telling everything he wanted to say to this person before him.
The matrons all said she was very wicked, that she was no good.
But the way she looked at him held no criticism or disdain, and she was willing to lower her head and patiently listen to his words, rather than impatiently telling him to "shut up."
Ping'an stared blankly upward, looking at the very beautiful face so close to him.
The matrons said it was the face of a fox spirit, but he felt it was the most beautiful face he had seen in his short life.
Because on her face there was heartache for him, and anger shown on his behalf.
"Mother" was angry, but for the first time, he didn't feel afraid.
"It's they who aren't worthy of being compared to Ping'an. You're more handsome and prettier than them. They won't let you get fat because they know that if Ping'an became like them, they'd fall even further behind."
The room fell silent.
Lin Zhen picked up a small meat bun and placed it in the little one's hand, saying with a smile, "Eat more. And rest assured—in this world, no one is worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as our Ping'an."
She had a dietary plan for the child from the Imperial Medical Academy, ensuring that even as the little one slowly gained weight, his health would be well cared for.
Not to mention the Imperial Medical Academy—Prince Fu had been ill for a long time, and the prince's residence also kept several highly skilled household physicians.
"Pretty?"
After a moment's hesitation, unable to resist the warm little bun in front of him, the child tentatively reached out with his small hands to cup the bun offered to him.
He lowered his head, sniffing the food he had always craved but had restrained himself from eating, then lifted it and took a small bite. Suddenly, he turned to look at Lin Zhen, his eyes widening as if he had just registered what she said.
"Ping'an, pretty?" His little heart thumped wildly, and his thin face flushed red.
It was the first time someone had said Ping'an was pretty.
"Of course you're pretty. Look at those little brows, look at that little nose—oh my, how perfectly they're shaped."
Having lived among the common folk for years, whether coaxing her own little brother or soothing the chattering little ones of the neighbors, Lin Zhen had long mastered the art of charming children.
She smiled warmly, reached out, and gently pinched the child's thin little cheek, saying with a laugh, "How could there be a child as pretty as our Ping'an in this world? If you were a bit plumper, you'd be no less than a little immortal descended from heaven."
"Ah!" The child buried his head and took another bite of the bun.
A little immortal, huh.
He'd have to eat more, grow some flesh, and quietly become even prettier.
Then he'd astonish everyone.