“He’s coming, he’s coming! Quick, prepare to receive the Emperor!” A young eunuch came running in haste. Seeing the chaos under the tree, he stamped his foot anxiously. “His Majesty will be here any moment! What are you all still doing here?”
Not daring to linger, the little eunuch scurried off to inform Consort Yi, leaving the flustered crowd under the tree exchanging bewildered glances. They couldn’t decide whether to kneel in reception of the Emperor or first retrieve the little master from the tree.
It was Lian Zhu who finally gritted her teeth and took the lead in kneeling. After all, the Ninth Prince’s tree-climbing might not be immediately discovered, but failing to kneel upon seeing the Emperor would earn them a charge of grave disrespect on the spot.
Just as everyone had dropped to their knees with a collective rustle, Kangxi arrived before them.
The servants attending the imperial consorts’ quarters weren’t particularly numerous to begin with, making the crowd gathered under the tree especially conspicuous. Kangxi had noticed the unusual activity from afar, yet upon closer inspection, he found nothing out of the ordinary.
Being exceptionally astute, he immediately understood from the situation that these servants were hiding something. Noticing Kangxi’s glance, Liang Jiugong promptly cleared his throat and demanded, “Where are your manners? Gathering here like this—what is the meaning of this?”
After two questions went unanswered, Liang Jiugong looked toward the leading maid Lian Zhu and was about to call on her to respond when Yintang, shifting position to catch the cicada, brushed against branches and leaves, creating a rustling sound.
Kangxi instinctively looked up toward the tree.
His gaze remained fixed there.
On a branch seven or eight feet high, a small figure was climbing with less than agile movements, wearing the lake-blue silk robe that Yintang often wore.
His sleeves were rolled up high, revealing two sections of snow-white arms like tender lotus roots, his small mouth tightly pressed in intense concentration.
Noticing his master’s unusual expression, Liang Jiugong followed Kangxi’s gaze upward and also spotted the Ninth Prince. But with Kangxi remaining silent, he didn’t dare speak either, merely accompanying his master in watching the small bundle moving among the branches.
After the master and servant had been looking up for a while, just as Kangxi was about to order someone to retrieve the Ninth Prince, two black objects came falling down, barely missing Kangxi’s nose.
Looking closely, they turned out to be a pair of small boots, lying haphazardly on the ground.
It turned out Yintang had found the boots inconvenient for climbing and had kicked them off.
Some of the kneeling maids and eunuchs had begun trembling.
Kangxi ground his molars. “Liang—Jiu—gong—”
Liang Jiugong immediately shouted at the prostrate servants, “Why are you still kneeling? Quickly get the Ninth Prince down! What if he falls?”
The servants hurried to their feet, raising their arms high as they gathered under the tree, calling out, “Ninth Prince, your servants will help you down!”
Yintang remained completely unaware of the commotion below. With a soft “thump,” his chubby little hands closed around the cicada, trapping it as it fluttered its wings futilely.
He breathed a sigh of relief, carefully cradling the cicada in his palm, and half-stood up, preparing to call for a eunuch to help him down. With both hands occupied holding the cicada and lacking strength due to his small size, getting down by himself would be quite difficult.
Eh, why was it so noisy under the tree? He instinctively peered downward, directly meeting the gaze of someone looking up at him—wearing bright yellow robes, exuding majesty—wasn’t that his father?
Yintang’s body involuntarily shuddered, his legs went slack, and he fell straight down.
The anticipated pain never came. Instead, his small body landed in a somewhat firm embrace, while the faint scent of mugwort blended with sandalwood—Kangxi’s customary summer incense—drifted into his nostrils.
Yintang inwardly groaned.
These people were utterly unreliable! Kangxi was visiting today—why hadn’t anyone warned him? Had he known, he wouldn’t have chosen this exact moment to climb a tree and get caught red-handed.
As a father notoriously strict with his children throughout history, Kangxi was a name that made most princes pale with fear—Yintang was no exception.
Back when he had decided to tread the path of a carefree idler, he knew he had to establish his persona early on.
The “laid-back and unambitious” archetype was already taken by his fifth brother, while the “cautious and non-confrontational” role was nearly perfected by his seventh brother. That left him with limited options.
He had considered adopting the “good-for-nothing slacker” persona, but trapped inside this three-year-old body was the soul of an adult—a doctoral student, no less. It was hardly believable he could convincingly play the fool. Asking him to feign stupidity for decades like Emperor Xuanzong of Tang was out of the question; he’d never endure it. After much deliberation, only the “mischievous and unreliable” persona remained.
Not bad—it suited his lively nature.
However, establishing such a troublemaking image in the depths of the palace came with risks. Minor risks, perhaps, but they usually resulted in a sore backside.
Though mischievous since childhood, his earlier antics had been limited by his youth and physical constraints. The troubles he caused were never serious enough to warrant more than a scolding from Kangxi.
But half a year ago, he had secretly moved Kangxi’s stool, causing the emperor to tumble squarely onto his rear. For that, Yintang was pinned down on the couch, his pants pulled down, and swatted hard several times. His bottom ached for three full days afterward, and Consort Yi was penalized with a half-month’s deduction from her allowance for failing to discipline him properly.
From that day on, Yintang understood: he had reached the age where spankings were a real possibility.
Ever since, he had been much more cautious whenever Kangxi was around. After all, while maintaining his persona was important, there was no need to make an enemy of his own backside.
Today was just his luck—he had walked right into trouble. Climbing a tree and falling out of it? In any household, that would earn a child a solid spanking. Who knew how Kangxi would punish him this time? He could bear his own punishment, but he dreaded the thought of implicating Consort Yi. She was a loving mother who cherished her children, and he had no wish to see her humiliated or penalized because of him.
Yintang promptly decided to play dead.
Kangxi looked down at the little pink bundle in his arms.
Though already three years old, the child felt light as a feather—a stark contrast to his sturdy older brothers. His body was soft and springy, still carrying a milky scent, and far more pleasant to hold than those hard, smelly boys. Yet for such a tiny thing, his courage knew no bounds—not even knee-high to an adult, yet daring enough to climb trees.
While the Manchu tradition said, “Embrace grandsons, not sons,” an extension of the Book of Rites’ teaching that “a gentleman holds his grandson, not his son,” in practice, the rule was not strictly observed. Kangxi was no rigid, inflexible ruler. Though he maintained strict standards for his sons and rarely showed physical affection, he had held each of them when they were young.[1]
He studied the little one’s face closely. The eyes were shut too tightly, the lips pressed too firmly, even revealing a small dimple in the cheek—the act of feigning unconsciousness was far too obvious.
All around, the palace attendants dropped to their knees with a rustle.
The palace maids and eunuchs trembled uncontrollably, with even Liang Jiugong not daring to breathe too loudly. Though anyone could see the Ninth Prince was feigning fainting, if the Emperor truly lost his temper, everyone present would likely face severe consequences today.
Fortunately, with victory on the battlefield imminent, Kangxi was in high spirits and had no intention of disciplining his son.
Yet seeing this little pink dumpling look so adorable, Kangxi couldn’t resist teasing him.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and said to Liang Jiugong, “The Ninth Prince has fainted from fright, but it’s nothing serious. Summon the imperial physician to administer a couple of acupuncture needles, and he’ll wake right up.”
Liang Jiugong: …It’s been a while since His Majesty last frightened a child like this.
Yintang: …Adding insult to injury!
Before Kangxi finished speaking, he felt the little pink dumpling squirming in his arms. The corners of his lips curled into a mischievous smile of satisfaction.
“Hmm… What happened?” The little fellow looked around, his dark, round eyes darting about before finally settling on Kangxi. His small face showed a mix of confusion and delight: “Han Ama! Why are you here? Have I missed you so much that I’m hallucinating?”
Kangxi: …Do you even believe that yourself?
His favoritism toward Consort Yi was well-known both inside and outside the palace. With the Grand Empress Dowager and Empress Dowager overseeing the harem, there was no need for pretense. This affection extended to Yintang, whom he cherished more than the other princes, though not as much as the Crown Prince. The child was exceptionally clever and stood out among his sons, with a delicate, jade-like appearance as lovely as his mother’s.
In terms of intelligence and looks, the boy was perfect in every way—except for the innate mischievousness he’d carried since birth. Before he was even six months old and could speak, he already knew how to tease people. Once he could run and jump, his mischief—from plucking cats’ whiskers to cutting dogs’ tails—grew in proportion to his cleverness.
The most exasperating part was that, despite his mischief, he couldn’t handle criticism. The slightest harsh word would make him cry, and his tearful face was so endearing that no one could bring themselves to punish him severely.
The only time Kangxi had ever struck him was when the boy had taken a bad fall, compounded by frustrations at court, driving him to lose his temper.
Since then, the little rascal had toned down his behavior somewhat. But it seemed his mischievous nature remained unchanged. Climbing trees was far too dangerous for a three-year-old. Had Kangxi not been there to catch him, who knows how badly he might have been injured.
Concerned for his safety, Kangxi decided it was time to give the boy a proper warning.
Kangxi glanced at Liang Jiugong, then at the small boots on the ground. Understanding the signal, Liang Jiugong instructed Lian Zhu to help the young master put them on.
Only then did Kangxi set Yintang down, adopting a stern demeanor: “What were you doing up in that tree? If I hadn’t caught you, you would have been done for!”
Yintang grumbled inwardly: If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.
But the remark gave him an idea.
Kangxi watched as a pair of small hands rose before him, clasped tightly together as if concealing some “treasure.” The boy was so short that he stood on tiptoe, straining to lift his hands as high as possible.
Under Kangxi’s puzzled gaze, the little dumpling spoke in a milky voice: “Han Ama, just now your son saw a big cicada on the tree, chirping so loudly. Your son thought this must be a Baghatur among cicadas, so I wanted to catch it for Han Ama.”
Consort Yi had already received the news and specifically instructed the wet nurse to carry Yinzhi, who still couldn’t walk steadily, and hurriedly came to greet the emperor. Hearing Yintang’s words, she couldn’t help but pause her steps.
She had long heard from servants about her precious son climbing trees and had admonished him many times, but this child always had his own ideas – she would advise hers, he would climb his. Unexpectedly, a major incident nearly occurred today.
On one hand, she felt relieved that her son was unharmed; on the other, she worried Kangxi would blame Yintang.
Torn between these conflicting emotions, her mind raced through countless thoughts. Seeing Kangxi and Yintang ahead, she quickened her pace to approach and pay respects, intending to take the blame upon herself, when she suddenly heard Yintang’s words.
Kangxi looked at Yintang’s hands with skepticism.
The chubby little hands were cupped together, hiding something in their palms. His large, dark eyes blinked, filled with complete sincerity.
The cicada had quieted down by now, perhaps feeling no threat, when it suddenly fluttered its wings and chirped.
Hearing the cicada’s song, Yintang grinned, revealing his small teeth. He opened one of his cupped chubby hands, quickly grabbed the cicada’s two hind legs, stretched his little arm as far as he could, and raised the cicada higher for Kangxi to see its true form.
Liang Jiugong, attending nearby, promptly took the cicada and presented it to Kangxi for inspection.
Large in size, gleaming black, with powerfully vibrating wings – Kangxi thought to himself, this was indeed a fine cicada. Well… though the child was somewhat mischievous, he still showed filial piety.
Kangxi had already decided to let Yintang off, but didn’t want to forgive him too easily lest he fail to learn his lesson, so he deliberately asked: “Then tell Ama, little ninth, why did you want to catch a cicada for Han Ama? Wouldn’t it be better to give it to your mother or younger brother?”
For a three-year-old child, this question was actually quite challenging.
Consort Yi felt her recently eased heart tighten again. If Yintang answered improperly, it would constitute deceiving the emperor.
Liang Jiugong also couldn’t help but look at Yintang, wondering how the Ninth Prince would respond.
Author’s note:
[1] “A gentleman holds his grandson, not his son” originates from the Book of Rites·Quli, indicating that during sacrifices, the grandson’s generation rather than the son’s generation should play the role of the ancestral spirit (called “corpse”). If the grandson is young, he needs to be held to participate in the ceremony. (Source: Baidu Encyclopedia entry on “A gentleman holds his grandson, not his son”) After the Qing dynasty Manchus entered China proper, their family instructions and clan rules were indeed influenced by Confucian ethics, but at least I haven’t found official documents or authoritative historical sources mandating “holding grandsons but not sons” in Manchu daily life. As for derivations in film, television, and novels, they are beyond the scope of this discussion. If there are indeed historical sources I’ve overlooked during research, please feel free to correct me.