Xia Xiuyan returned to the palace on New Year’s Eve. Two days earlier, a soft snow had fallen, stopping only in the afternoon, leaving a thick blanket on the ground.
Every year, the palace held a New Year’s Eve banquet, but the Empress Dowager probably felt that since he lived alone in the capital, it would be too lonely for him to spend the festival by himself. So, without fail, he was always summoned to attend. For Xia Xiuyan, however, such banquets were unbearably dull; he would have preferred to remain at home alone.
That day, he arrived early and lingered in Fukang Palace for a while. Soon after, the Tenth Princess, Li Hanyuan, came bouncing in, holding her nanny’s hand. Snowflakes clung to her, her cheeks flushed red from the wind, and she carried a tiny snow rabbit in her hands. The Empress Dowager was resting in the hall, and when the nanny entered, she noticed Xia Xiuyan alone. She quickly greeted him and explained: “Young Master Xia, the princess got her clothes wet while playing in the snow. Since Beiming Palace is far and I feared she might catch a cold, I brought her here first to change.” She motioned to the palace attendants to fetch a stove and replacement clothes for the little princess.
Xia Xiuyan’s gaze fell on Li Hanyuan. She hurried up to him, presenting her snow rabbit like a treasure: “Brother Xia, isn’t this rabbit cute?”
“It’s cute.” He set aside his book and offered polite praise. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Xinran made it,” Li Hanyuan said happily. “She made several and gave me one!”
Xia Xiuyan glanced at her snow-drenched clothes and frowned slightly. “Did she take you out to play in the snow?”
The princess sneezed: “No, Seventh Sister took me. They were having a snowball fight in the imperial garden. I lost.” Her tone was plaintive and endearing. Soon she added, grinning: “On the way back, we met Xinran sweeping snow at the observatory. When she heard I lost, she gave me this.” Her excitement made it seem like she had received a priceless gift.
Xia Xiuyan smiled faintly, tapping the blurred, lopsided snow rabbit with his finger.
Li Hanyuan had to change at Fukang Palace, and Xia Xiuyan couldn’t linger there, so he left the little eunuch behind to report to the Empress Dowager and set off alone toward the banquet hall. As he exited Fukang Palace, the cold wind pierced his collar, sending a shiver down his spine. He adjusted his cloak and held his umbrella against the gusts.
Approaching the imperial garden, he heard laughter and cheers in the distance—sure enough, a group of young lads were having a snowball fight. Xia Xiuyan paused, unwilling to draw attention and risk being pulled into the crowd, and veered onto a side path.
The observatory wasn’t far, hidden behind bamboo along the palace walls. Passing by, he saw a small Taoist apprentice in a crane-patterned cloak and hood sweeping the steps, ten neat snow rabbits lined up beside her.
He smirked silently. The little figure turned and, startled at first, then smiled, greeting him: “Happy New Year, Young Master.”
He stood a few steps away under his umbrella. “What are you doing here?”
“Today’s my turn to guard the observatory,” she replied.
“Even sweeping snow falls to you?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve. There’s a banquet tonight. This place is small, so I just swept it.”
Xia Xiuyan, clad in a white fur-lined cloak, looked almost ethereal against the snow; his black phoenix-like eyes stood out against his pale complexion.
Qiu Xinran suddenly said: “Wait for me.”
He watched her drop the broom and dash into the observatory, unsure of her intentions, yet waited briefly. Soon she returned, carrying a bamboo basket: “I brought Tusu wine. Want to try some?”
The cups were ordinary, but the wine was fine, pale jade in color with a rich aroma even before tasting. They sat on a stone bench outside the observatory as she proudly explained: “We always drink this on New Year’s in the mountains. I asked the palace steward Li for a small jug, but I didn’t dare let Yuan Zhou find out.”
“What do you do in the mountains on New Year’s Eve?” Xia Xiuyan asked casually.
“Not much different from the city, except for putting up blessings and keeping vigil. But on the first day of the year, it’s Daoist Tianla Day. After a night of chanting, disciples often help with duties the next day, sometimes staying up a whole day and night. It’s exhausting…”
Her expression made him smile inwardly, also wondering if her hesitance to leave the secular world and fully enter the mountains might be part of the reason.
Qiu Xinran’s eyes lit up as she asked: “Is the New Year’s custom in Wanzhou different from here?”
Xia Xiuyan lowered his gaze: “I’ve never spent New Year’s Eve in Wanzhou.”
He recalled the first New Year’s Eve in the palace: summoned to the court to keep vigil, the banquet ended late, and the Empress Dowager, concerned he had no family to care for him, had him stay overnight. Snow fell outside while the palace stoves kept the hall warm; yet he couldn’t sleep and secretly sat outside half the night.
As he grew older, New Year’s Eve in the northwest was far from quiet: the mountain wind howled, wolves howled in the distance, and campfires crackled, reflecting brightly against the tents. Sleeping alone, he felt the rare safety when someone silently entered, tucked the covers, and left—no monsters outside could frighten him then.
Seeing him a little somber, Qiu Xinran hurriedly drank her cup of wine before he could take a sip. She choked slightly, tears springing to her eyes from the strong aroma.
Xia Xiuyan looked at her, startled. “What are you doing?”
Wiping her eyes, she explained: “Young Master, Tusu wine is traditionally drunk first by the young as a blessing for longevity.”
Xia Xiuyan, accustomed to palace etiquette, found her strict observance amusing. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
Thirteen—he was the same age when he first arrived in the capital.
“The young drink first to wish for long life, the elders drink later to preserve theirs.” She gestured for him to drink: “Young Master, please.”
He smiled faintly, a touch self-deprecating: “I wish time would pass faster.” Then he drank. Warmth spread through his body, easing both mind and muscles.
Tonight, he seemed unusually approachable; the usual aloofness softened. Qiu Xinran noticed that without his habitual somber mask, he was strikingly handsome—if not for the constant medication and sickly act, he would likely be the object of many noble ladies’ admiration in the capital.
He caught her lingering gaze and raised an eyebrow: “What are you looking at?”
Distant footsteps indicated the young snowball players had dispersed, restoring quiet.
Qiu Xinran shrugged: “I was thinking, with your archery skill, you could probably hit anyone with a snowball.”
Xia Xiuyan looked at her oddly: “What do you think about all day?”
She laughed, covering herself: “Your archery skill will be for leading troops in the future.”
He said dryly: “Good archery can also be used for a game of arrow toss. Who says it must be for war?”
She blinked, surprised: “You learned horsemanship and archery just to play games?”
He returned her gaze: “And you, why study divination?”
She had no answer. He sneered: “Everyone in the academy learns archery. How many actually fight? At most, they toss snowballs in the palace.”
“Then will you always be a leisurely prince in prosperous Chang’an?”
“Why not?”
She was quiet, then said softly: “If you like it, that’s good. If not, it wouldn’t be.”
He seemed taken aback by her words, momentarily at a loss. He rose to leave.
Seeing him open his umbrella, she noticed a subtle change—after drinking, his face had color, lips soft and moist, as if a painting had come to life.
Xia Xiuyan caught her expression: “Why are you smiling?”
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“You’re fragile. Wear more next time.”
He looked at her, suspicious of mockery, then glanced at the broom she held. Slowly, he said: “I don’t do chores, but yes, I should wear more.”
Qiu Xinran: “…”