Yintang answered in a milky yet clear voice, puffing out his little chest for emphasis: “Han Ama is the Bayan of the Qing! The Bayan cicada can only be given to Bayan Ama!”
The cicada seemed infected by Yintang’s enthusiasm, choosing that moment to chirp with particular vigor.
Liang Jiugong couldn’t suppress a smile. While palace gossip painted the young Prince from Yikun Palace as mischievous, it appeared his naughtiness was matched by genuine innocence and sincerity.
Consort Yi unconsciously patted her chest with her handkerchief, the heavy stone of anxiety finally lifting. Her delicate eyebrows smoothed from their worried furrow as she stepped forward briskly.
Kangxi was utterly delighted, laughing heartily as he bent to scoop up the pink-cheeked child, settling him on his arm. He then helped the bowing Consort Yi to her feet, saying cheerfully, “Come, let’s see what delicacies await us today.”
…
The table was properly set with four fruit platters and four types of preserved fruits.
The watermelon had been picked the previous evening from Yuquan Mountain west of Beijing, transported overnight to arrive outside the palace gates before dawn, and brought in immediately at the appointed hour – selected for their sandy, perfectly ripe flesh. The grapes, muskmelons, and apricots were also the freshest choices from the imperial kitchens, collected that morning along with the daily ration allocations.
Kangxi had a sweet tooth, so the preserved fruits were specially curated. Honey-soaked cherries, sugar-crisp plums, and candied loquats were all his favorites, supplemented by seasonal pickled crisp peaches.
Normally, an imperial spread would far exceed this modest selection. However, when Liang Jiugong delivered the morning message, he hadn’t mentioned the imperial kitchens preparing lunch, leaving Consort Yi to arrange only what was appropriate for a consort’s station, not daring to overstep. Kangxi valued frugality in meals, making simplicity far safer than ambitious extravagance.
In the deep recesses of the palace, adhering to protocol always outweighed flashy gestures.
Yinzhi was still too young to sit at the table. Consort Yi held him on her lap while Kangxi played with him briefly, inquired about his daily diet, then had the wet nurse take him away.
With mealtime still approaching and Kangxi having heard the fifth Prince would visit later, main courses were delayed. As Consort Yi served him several candied loquats, their casual conversation turned to Yintang’s studies.
During Kangxi’s reign, Princes moved to the A’ge Institute around age five or six for standardized education. Younger Princes couldn’t spend all their time playing either – they had etiquette training from senior matrons, literacy eunuchs teaching basic Chinese, with mothers and wet nurses reinforcing daily Manchu conversation. Riding and archery instruction came from Andas teaching small bows.
Yintang had only begun learning Chinese after his third birthday. Recently, the literacy eunuch had guided him through two classical poems and passages from the “Three Character Classic,” similar to modern children listening to English nursery rhymes for language exposure rather than comprehension.
After Consort Yi described these initial lessons, Kangxi smiled. “The child is bright. We should encourage him to apply himself diligently.”
Yintang suddenly found the crisp sugar-plum in his mouth turning flavorless.
Heavens! He was only three! In modern times, three-year-olds would still be cuddling with parents for picture books and watching Peppa Pig! And Kangxi actually expected him to start studying seriously?!
How was this different from those pushy parenting influencers from his previous life!
Yintang thought that if Kangxi were to time-travel to his previous life’s era, he might actually become a top-tier “tiger mom” blogger, with his homepage filled with posts like “Is It Normal for a Three-Year-Old in Kindergarten to Recognize Three Thousand Characters?” or “My Five-Year-Old Only Wants to Study, Not Watch TV—What Should I Do?”
He certainly had no intention of engaging in such practices that clearly defied child development norms. Although learning classical Chinese wasn’t particularly difficult for him, given his experience with the Chinese Gaokao, once he started down that path, he feared it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to wake up at three or four in the morning every day to study…
Yintang shuddered and decided to fight for his future sleep health.
Kangxi felt something tugging at his sleeve. Looking down, he saw a little pink dumpling of a child pouting, chubby hands shaking his sleeve as the boy whined in a milky voice, “Han Ama, those Chinese characters are so hard! They look all weird, and I don’t even know what they mean. Your son wants to learn something else.”
This soft, sticky, and utterly adorable appearance was a far cry from the bold, tree-climbing, cicada-catching rascal from earlier.
Kangxi usually taught his sons to act like real men, which meant all of them—except the Crown Prince—followed the tough guy route. They were respectful but distant, except for Yintang, this little thing who wasn’t afraid of him and had loved clinging to him and acting spoiled since he was small.
Though Kangxi never said it out loud, he secretly enjoyed it.
Kangxi reached out and gently tapped Yintang’s nose. “What do you want to learn?”
Yintang placed his hands on his hips, puffed out his little chest, and declared brightly, “Your son wants to learn horseback riding and archery, to grow up and become a Baturu!”
Kangxi looked at the little pink dumpling who barely reached the table and found it highly amusing. He decided to tease him a bit. “Then why does Yintang want to become a Baturu?”
Yintang had several older brothers who, when they were young, had all said similar things. Kangxi had asked them the same question and remembered their answers clearly. The Crown Prince wanted to become the second Han Ama, the Eldest Prince thought being a Baturu was impressive in itself, Yinzhen had never considered becoming a Baturu, Yinqi wanted to protect Royal Grandma, Han Ama, his mother, and his younger brothers, and Yinsi wanted to protect the Great Qing.
Each of these children was as sharp and fierce as an eagle in the sky, completely different from this soft, bouncy little pink dumpling before him.
And this little thing said he wanted to become a Baturu?
Kangxi was even secretly curious about Yintang’s answer.
The little pink dumpling didn’t hesitate at all, answering in a loud, clear voice, “If your son becomes a Baturu, he can catch bigger cicadas for Han Ama!”
Kangxi’s heart stirred.
A three-year-old child had no real understanding of what a Baturu was. He must have heard someone mention it and thought Baturu were the most powerful people in the world, while cicadas were his favorite insects. The child couldn’t fully express his feelings, but the underlying meaning was clear: Yintang wanted to give the very best things in the world to him.
What was this? This was the pure, unadulterated love of a child for his father!
Paired with Yintang’s wide, starry eyes, Kangxi fully felt the little dumpling’s adoration and devotion to his old father.
This feeling of being so thoroughly relied upon and trusted by a child was truly wonderful.
Even a formidable emperor like Kangxi felt a certain place in his heart suddenly soften, then quietly, one after another, blossoms emerged until they formed a small, swaying sea of flowers.
The last time he had felt this way was when the Crown Prince was very young, hugging his neck and softly calling him “Han Ama.”
With no outsiders around, Kangxi allowed himself to immerse in this beautiful yet fragile feeling.
Consort Yi glanced at Yintang, then at Kangxi, smiling as she took a sip of tea.
After a moment, Kangxi collected his thoughts and said to Consort Yi, “Very well. This child is thinner and weaker than his older brothers. Now that he’s turned three, tomorrow he can go to the Archery Hall and choose a suitable Anda to teach him basic archery and boxing, so he can build up his physical foundation.”
Usually, Anda were assigned directly by the Imperial Household Department, so Kangxi allowing Yintang to choose for himself was already a special favor.
“Yes,” Consort Yi replied, rising to give a curtsey.
Yintang clapped his little hands and laughed, “Thank you, Han Ama! Once I learn archery, I can shoot down the cicadas in the trees with one arrow and never have to climb trees again!”
As soon as he finished speaking, a muffled laugh was heard from outside the door.
Everyone inside turned to look and saw two young princes standing at the doorway—one was Yinqi, the other Yinzhen.
Yinqi covered his mouth, his eyes curved into crescents like two brilliant stars in the sky.
Yinzhen stood somewhat stiffly, his small hands clutching the hem of his robe, wrinkling the fabric, though a hint of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth that he couldn’t quite hide.
They had just arrived at the entrance of Yikun Palace and hadn’t yet entered when they spotted Liang Jiugong standing to the side, holding a bamboo-woven basket.
Seeing the two young princes, Liang Jiugong quietly waved them over and gestured toward the inner room.
Inside, they could hear Kangxi and Yintang’s conversation.
The two young princes stopped in their tracks and exchanged a glance: Han Ama is here too?
Yinqi didn’t think much of it.
According to palace rules, princes raised by other consorts were not allowed to visit their birth mothers freely. But Yinqi was different—he was raised under the Empress Dowager’s care. As long as she didn’t restrict him, no one dared to criticize his visits to Yikun Palace. Not only could he visit monthly as permitted, but sometimes, when he missed his ninth brother terribly, he could coax the Empress Dowager, and she would always agree.
As for Han Ama, there was nothing to fear either. Apart from repeatedly urging him to focus on studying Chinese—to the point where his ears were calloused—once the lecture was over, it was over. As the Empress Dowager herself put it, “Your Han Ama wouldn’t dare chase you into Cining Palace to punish you.”
Thinking this, Yinqi tucked the Sachima wrapped in silk cloth deeper into his sleeve—a treat he had specially brought from Cining Palace for his ninth brother.
Then he heard his little brother mention catching cicadas yet again and couldn’t hold back his laughter. He simply found his younger brother utterly innocent and adorable.
If Han Ama hadn’t been present, Yinzhen might have laughed even louder than Yinqi.
He had been feeling unwell the past couple of days, and Tong Jia’s, concerned, had allowed him to stay for a few days. Today, he accompanied Tong Jia’s to Cining Palace to pay respects. Knowing that he and Yinqi were close, the Empress Dowager suggested he go play with Yinqi. Yinqi, who had just gotten up, invited Yinzhen to Yikun Palace to see his younger brothers and stay for lunch.
The chefs at Yikun Palace were exceptionally skilled. Though their ingredients couldn’t compare to the Imperial Kitchen’s extravagance, they excelled in refinement and uniqueness. Yinzhen, after all, was still a growing boy with a natural fondness for tasty treats. On the other hand, he genuinely wanted to visit Yintang.
Because of Yinqi, before moving into the A’ge Institute, Yinzhen had often been dragged along to see this precious younger brother. Back then, Yintang couldn’t even walk yet—just a milky-sweet, beautiful little baby who would stretch out his tiny hands asking to be held, babbling and smiling at him. But after Yinzhen moved into the A’ge Institute, with heavy academic pressures, he rarely visited more than a few times a year.
Seeing Yinzhen didn’t refuse, Yinqi mentioned it to the Empress Dowager. After consulting Tong Jia’s and hearing no objections, she allowed the two boys to go.
Unexpectedly, they ran into Han Ama.
In Yinzhen’s heart, Kangxi was more stern than affectionate toward him. His feelings for this Han Ama were more awe than childish devotion. Originally, with Han Ama absent, this would have just been a casual visit among young Princes. But today, encountering Han Ama here—with Han Ama, Consort Yi, Yinqi, and Yintang all present—Yinzhen felt utterly out of place.
Did this count as showing up uninvited? Would it make Han Ama dislike him? Should he leave first? In moments, dozens of thoughts raced through Yinzhen’s mind.
As he wrestled with these worries, he heard Yintang’s excuse about catching cicadas. Being still a child, hearing something amusing made him momentarily forget his current anxieties, and an innocent, childlike smile naturally surfaced.
But under the gazes of everyone in the room, that smile was quickly suppressed by the worries resurging in his heart.
Seeing the adults look over, Yinqi stepped across the threshold into the room.
Left behind, Yinzhen stood at the doorway, uncertain whether to leave or enter.