The Crown Prince sent for me just after he returned from morning court, long before the palace women began their chattering walks or the stewards laid the first ink scrolls for the day. There was no ceremony in it—no attendants, no chimes, no fanfare. Just a pageboy, eyes low, who said simply: "His Highness is waiting in his private study."
I didn't ask why. When Zhu Mingyu wanted to speak, he rarely wasted time with excuses.
The corridors were quiet as I walked. I brought no guards and wore no jewels—only soft forest-green robes, as usual, with wide sleeves that brushed the air like falling leaves. I passed the court ladies who watched from behind carved screens, pretending not to see me. I let them pretend.
He didn't rise when I entered his study.
Zhu Mingyu stood behind a low table piled with provincial reports, his eyes fixed on a half-drawn map. A brazier burned in the corner, and the faint scent of sandalwood masked the winter chill that lingered even in spring.
