Kangxi waited for a while but didn’t receive Yintang’s pledge to study diligently. Seeing the child bow his head in prolonged silence, he assumed the little one was genuinely remorseful and reflecting on his mistakes.
Observing Yintang’s drooping little head, his small hands hanging obediently at his sides, and his troubled yet somewhat adorable appearance, Kangxi wondered if he had been too harsh earlier. Just as he was about to smooth things over, the little boy suddenly looked up, his round eyes brimming with tears.
How could he be crying after just one remark?
Yintang’s milky voice trembled with sobs: “Han Ama, do you not like your son anymore?”
Kangxi was perplexed. But seeing the little pink-cheeked boy’s reddened eyes, downturned mouth, and small hands clenched so tightly they turned pale, he felt inexplicably remorseful. Taking a deep breath, he took Yintang’s small hand and asked: “Why would you say that? Han Ama doesn’t dislike Yintang.”
The little boy’s shoulders shook slightly as he sniffled: “Han… Han Ama, this was very difficult to make. Your son tried many times before succeeding. If Han Ama tells me not to make it again, that means you don’t like what I made, which means you don’t like me.”
If punctuation marks had been invented in this era, two enormous question marks would have appeared above Kangxi’s forehead.
So this was how the child had interpreted his words?
Yintang’s tearful voice continued: “I know I’m still small, not as capable as my elder brothers. But this is the most delicious thing I can make. If Han Ama thinks this is useless, then you must think your son is useless too, wu wu wu.”
Kangxi’s original words certainly hadn’t meant he disliked Yintang, but upon the child’s reminder, he reconsidered his phrasing and finally recognized the problem.
Children differed from adults – what adults accomplished easily presented great challenges for them. Having painstakingly created something, they naturally felt proud. But if met with rejection, children would perceive it as personal disapproval.
Kangxi paused in realization. For the first time, he recognized that he might sometimes be too harsh with his children.
“Alright now, Han Ama just wants Little Nine to focus more energy on studying. Let the servants handle these miscellaneous matters. It doesn’t mean Han Ama dislikes Little Nine.” Kangxi reached out to rub Yintang’s head, unconsciously switching from “Yintang” to the more affectionate “Little Nine,” his tone adopting the patient cadence used to comfort children.
Liang Jiugong blinked. How many years had it been since he’d seen the Emperor comforting a child like this since the Crown Prince’s time?
Yinzhen and Yinqi exchanged glances.
Yinzhen recalled how Han Ama had once spoken to him similarly. Back then, he hadn’t dared say anything, merely silently gathering the torn drawings Han Ama had destroyed before never designing little clothes for his pet dog again. But it seemed they could still expect novel delicacies from Ninth Brother’s inventions, and this thought secretly pleased him.
Yinqi felt somewhat smug inwardly. See, Han Ama? When you make a child cry with your sternness, you have to comfort him yourself.
“R-really?” Yintang stopped crying, looking at Kangxi with pitiful, questioning eyes. Though crying was an effective means for children to gain adult attention, most grown-ups had limited patience—one had to know when to stop, lest they become annoyed.
“Mhm.” Kangxi nodded.
The little pink-cheeked child had cried until his nose and eyes were red, making him resemble a tiny rabbit. Kangxi couldn’t help but recall the year Yinreng turned five, when he had spent an entire month—outside of his studies—learning from the palace craftsmen to carve a jade pendant for him. Furious that Yinreng was neglecting his duties for trivial pursuits, Kangxi had smashed the pendant in a fit of anger. Back then, Yinreng’s eyes had also been red, just like a little rabbit.
For some inexplicable reason, Kangxi felt as if an ant had bitten his heart, leaving a faint, sour ache.
He remained silent for a moment before asking Yintang, “Then how would Yintang like Han Ama to respond next time?”
Having received Kangxi’s confirmation, Yintang was already smiling through his tears. Hearing this, he reached out a small hand to tug at Kangxi’s robe, lifting his little face earnestly. “As long as Han Ama says he likes it very much, Little Nine will be very happy!”
Kangxi looked down at Yintang. The little one’s face was still glistening with tears, but his eyes and brows were already curved with laughter. Unable to resist, Kangxi reached out and wiped Yintang’s tears, saying, “Zhen understands.”
He himself didn’t know whether these words were meant for Yintang or for that five-year-old child from years ago.
The corner of Liang Jiugong’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. He had witnessed the Emperor’s severity toward the princes firsthand, sometimes even feeling it was unnecessary. However, the Emperor had ascended the throne at the age of eight and had walked step by step through the years since, rising early and retiring late—the pressure he endured was beyond imagination for ordinary people. His eagerness for the princes to mature quickly and become pillars of the Qing Empire was understandable. Yet, seeing moments like today, where a son spoke his heart to his Ama, and the Ama reflected on his own actions, felt rather refreshing.
Yinzhen felt a pang of envy. Words like Yintang’s were something he could never bring himself to utter. He, too, wished Han Ama would praise him more, but voicing such thoughts would only make him feel as if he were inviting humiliation.
Yinqi thought Han Ama’s attitude today was quite sincere and decided not to report the matter to Royal Grandma after all.
“Your Majesty, this Ginger Milk Curd is mild and beneficial for the spleen. This humble consort thought it might be good to send some to the Grand Empress Dowager and the Empress Dowager as well. What does Your Majesty think?” Consort Yi’s clever voice chimed in at just the right moment.
Kangxi nodded, casting an appreciative glance at Consort Yi. “You’ve always been thoughtful. Let it be done as you suggest.”
After a moment’s thought, he added, “Since this snack was invented by Yintang, he may request whatever reward he wishes. Inform the Imperial Household Department later.”
Consort Yi promptly expressed gratitude on Yintang’s behalf.
Perhaps influenced by Yintang’s earlier frankness, Kangxi was unusually gentle with Yinzhen and Yinqi as well. Ordinarily, he would have inevitably quizzed them on their studies, but today he let them off the hook, exchanging a few casual words and reminding Consort Yi once more to send the Ginger Milk Curd to the Grand Empress Dowager and the Empress Dowager before taking his leave.
The happiest of all was Yinqi.
Raised by the Empress Dowager, who hailed from Mongolian nobility and held some disdain for Han culture, Yinqi had been left to idle about while other princes his age had long since begun studying Han texts in the Imperial Study. For this, Han Ama never failed to lecture him sternly whenever they met, leaving Yinqi with a headache each time he had to deflect the admonishments.
Fortunately, today Han Ama did not press the matter further, and Yinqi felt a wave of relief. He pulled out the Sachima from his sleeve—originally intended for Yintang—only to find it squashed flat from being tucked away for too long, now an unsightly, misshapen lump.
Seeing it was no longer fit for gifting, Yintang pouted and made to slip it back into his sleeve. But sharp-eyed Yintang snatched it up, cradling it delightedly with a beaming smile. “Fifth Brother, you’re so good to me—bringing me treats again!”
Watching the little pink-cheeked boy’s innocent grin, Yinqi felt his heart soften.
He took Yintang’s small hand, intending to visit Yinzhi, but noticed Yinzhen standing still as if hesitating.
“Fourth Brother, come on, let’s go see Eleventh Brother,” Yinqi said, tugging at him.
Today’s midday meal, with Kangxi present and the commotion caused by Yintang, had run late. Since the incident three years ago, Tong Jia’s health had been frail, and she worried even more over the children in the palace. Yinzhen feared that staying out too long would trouble her and wondered if he ought to return.
Yet, being only eight years old, his heart still longed to play a while longer with Yinqi and Yintang. Earlier, Yintang had praised his skill at catching ants, and he’d been eager to show off a bit more for the little one.
Whenever he wrestled with such dilemmas, his youthful face would unconsciously take on a trace of maturity, beneath which lingered a hint of loneliness.
Yinqi particularly disliked seeing Yinzhen wear that expression.
To him, Fourth Brother was perfect in every way—except for his tendency to overthink. Royal Grandma had taught him from a young age that some matters, if ignored, seemed no bigger than a needle’s point, but if dwelled upon, could weigh on the heart like an iron scale.
Yet he also knew that Fourth Brother was different from him—not only by nature but also in upbringing. He couldn’t simply advise him to “let it go”; that would be far too impolite.
So, most of the time, he chose to respect Fourth Brother’s perspective.
Like today: though he sensed Yinzhen’s urge to leave, he didn’t press him to stay, waiting instead for him to make up his mind.
Yinzhen hesitated before speaking up. “Fifth Brother, I think I’ll head back—”
Before he could finish, he felt two small arms wrap tightly around his leg.
Looking down, he saw the little pink-cheeked boy grinning up at him, arms outstretched and declaring matter-of-factly, “Fourth Brother, carry me!”
This was the first time Yinzhen had encountered such an affectionate child.
Though his own younger sister was born of the same mother, she had been raised by the Empress Dowager since infancy and wasn’t particularly clingy toward him—instead, she’d grown closer to Fifth Brother, who also lived in Cining Palace. Eighth Brother, Yinsi, had grown up with him in the Palace of Great Benevolence and was indeed close to him, but Yinsi was shy by nature and had never once acted spoiled around him.
This little pink-cheeked boy, however, had demanded to be held from their very first meeting, back when he was still a baby. Yinzhen, who had never held an infant before, was assisted by a palace maid as he carefully lifted the soft, tiny bundle. He’d held his breath, afraid to move a muscle, terrified of dropping the tender, tofu-like child.
After that, every time they met, the child would demand to be held by him, and once in his arms, would giggle incessantly with delight, which in turn made him feel happy too.
Now it had been over half a year since they last saw each other, and unexpectedly, the little one still felt familiar with him. At eight years old, carrying a child was no trouble at all, so he genuinely picked up Yintang.
The little pink bundle nestled in his arms, calling out “Fourth Brother” repeatedly, making his heart feel light and comforted. Yinzhen suddenly thought that having a clingy younger brother felt quite nice. The unspoken second half of his sentence slipped down his throat and was swallowed.
Consort Yi was busy arranging the delivery of Ginger Milk Curd. When she finally had a moment to return and look for the children, she saw the three little ones squatting in a corner outside the East Side Hall, unsure of what they were doing.
As she approached and got a clearer view, she nearly couldn’t hold back her laughter.
Yintang was holding a small porcelain jar in his tiny hands, staring seriously at a small mound of earth on the ground, which was crawling with many ants.
Yinzhen had his sleeves rolled up high, holding a large leaf stem in one hand with the leaf itself spread on the ground, sprinkled with many white crumbs; in his other hand, he held a small twig, herding the ants from the ground onto the leaf.
Yinqi clutched a piece of dried flatbread that was mostly torn apart in one hand, while carefully sprinkling bread crumbs onto the leaf with the other, muttering, “Little ants, come and eat quickly.”
Even Lian Zhu, the senior maid from Yintang’s quarters, stood nearby, hands on her knees, bending over and watching with great interest, completely unaware that her mistress had arrived.
Consort Yi smiled and quietly slipped away.
The next day, Yintang surprisingly woke up unusually early.
Kangxi had given his permission the previous day, allowing him to go to the Archery Hall today to select an Anda to teach him how to use a small bow. An emperor’s word is his bond, so of course, he had to go.
The Archery Hall was where the princes practiced riding and archery. He was likely to run into his older brothers there, and if he was lucky, he might even encounter the Crown Prince.
Although the Crown Prince studied separately from the other princes, archery and riding had a strong competitive aspect. Learning and comparing together were more conducive to progress, so the Crown Prince would sometimes practice and compete with the other princes at the Archery Hall.
In his three years in the palace, Yintang had seen the Crown Prince only a handful of times, mostly during grand occasions like palace banquets or celebrations. Most of the time, he could only catch a distant glimpse, unable to even see his face clearly, let alone speak with him or get to know him up close.
But this was Yinreng! One of the key figures in the struggle for the throne among the nine princes, the epitome of Kangxi’s educational failure.
As a doctoral student in child development psychology in his previous life, after learning about Yinreng’s life, he had been intrigued by the idea of studying the childhood of this legendary Crown Prince and his true relationship with Kangxi. However, he had been too busy with his own experiments and hadn’t found the time to conduct thorough research.
Moreover, ancient texts were vast, often with gaps, omissions, and alterations—how could they compare to firsthand accounts in terms of accuracy and authenticity?
The thought that he might meet Yinreng today kept Yintang so excited that he barely slept soundly all night. Today, he woke up extra early and chose his most spirited set of clothes to wear.