Yuanyou fourth year, late third month. Only a few days after the Shangsi Festival, something happened in the palace.
When the young eunuch came for the food box, his expression was wrong. He stood at the door, hesitated a long time before entering.
"Elder Sister, something happened."
"What?"
"Funing Hall had a thief last night. Not a thief stealing things, but—someone throwing things in." He lowered his voice, "Threw a package in, inside was... was sorcery talismans for witchcraft. Written on them was the Empress Dowager's name."
My ladle paused. Witchcraft. This word in the palace was more poisonous than anything. Last year the case of Empress Meng in Zhezong's reign was because of witchcraft. The Imperial City Bureau arrested dozens of people, tortured severely, some had their limbs broken, some had their tongues cut. Finally the empress was deposed, sent to live in Yaohua Palace. The Empress Dowager was behind the curtain listening to governance then, personally watched that storm. Now, someone threw witchcraft talismans into Funing Hall. This time, aimed at the Empress Dowager.
"What did the Empress Dowager say?"
"The Empress Dowager said nothing. But Imperial City Bureau people have already moved." The young eunuch's voice was even lower, "Heard, must investigate thoroughly. Turn the entire palace city upside down if necessary."
That afternoon, Zhao Xu didn't come to the Imperial Garden. No note came either. The second day, still didn't come. The third day, the young eunuch finally brought news. Not a note, but one sentence: "His Majesty said, don't worry. He's fine."
I asked: "What is he doing?"
The young eunuch hesitated. "His Majesty is... at the Imperial City Bureau."
The Imperial City Bureau was at the southeast corner of the palace city, not far from the Inner Kitchen, but I had never been. Only heard it was cold, damp, the air forever carrying a blood smell that couldn't be washed away. The Empress Dowager's order was, let Zhao Xu follow the investigation. Said His Majesty was grown, should learn to handle these matters.
That night, Zhao Xu came. Not during the day, but late at night. He pushed open the Inner Kitchen door, stood at the entrance. Moonlight shone from behind him, stretching his shadow very long. He wore a dark everyday robe, not his usual bright-colored coat. His face was very pale, blue shadows beneath his eyes. Lips cracked, as if long without water. His clothes carried a faint iron smell—blood. Not his own.
"A Heng."
"Come in."
He walked in, sat on the small stool beside the stove. That was Eunuch Li's usual seat. When he sat down, shoulders slumped, back bent, as if pressed by something.
"Have you eaten?" I asked.
"No."
I served a bowl of porridge, placed it before him. He lowered his head looking for a while, raised it, drank a mouthful. Drank another. At the third mouthful, stopped.
"Imperial City Bureau people, interrogating cases," he said, voice very light, "They use torture. Hang people up and beat them, beat until they confess. Some had their limbs broken. Some had their tongues cut." He paused, "I watched."
His fingers rubbed the bowl rim, knuckles white. Stove flames jumped one by one, reflected in his eyes, bright and dim.
"The Empress Dowager said, this is the rule. Said the palace cannot leave hidden dangers. Said must investigate clearly, then can be at ease." He set down the bowl, "But those people, not necessarily bad people. They are only suspected. Suspicion is enough."
He raised his head, looked at me. His eyes were very bright, with blood threads, and something else. Not fear, but—that of someone who always stood in light, suddenly pushed into darkness, at a loss.
"A Heng, should I not have gone to see?"
"You should go."
He paused. "Why?"
"Because you are His Majesty. His Majesty cannot not know these things." I looked at him, "But you can decide, whether to let these things happen again in the future."
He was silent for a long time. Stove flames crackled once.
"The Empress Dowager said, let me personally investigate. Said only by investigating oneself, can know who is trustworthy, who is not." He lowered his head, "But I cannot investigate. I don't know who is lying. I don't know if what those people say is true or false. I—I know nothing."
His voice grew smaller and smaller, finally almost inaudible. I crouched down, meeting his eyes levelly. He was already a full head taller than me, but now sitting on the small stool, shoulders slumped, looking very small.
"You let them speak. Speak many times. Same matter, speak three times. If three times are the same, possibly true. If three times are all different, certainly false." I paused, "Also—you look at their eyes. Those who lie, dare not look at you."
He looked at me, eyes slowly brightening a bit. "Who taught you this?"
"Grandmother taught," I said, "She worked in the noodle shop for decades, who ate noodles without paying, who deliberately made trouble, she could see at a glance. She said, people's mouths can lie, eyes cannot."
This method, actually was taught by my professor at Columbia. But Grandmother used it for decades, the principle was the same.
He nodded. "Tomorrow, I'll try."
The next day, Zhao Xu went to the Imperial City Bureau again. This time, he didn't just watch. He had the Imperial City Bureau people stop, he asked himself. One by one. Same case, asked three times. He looked at their eyes. First time, someone let slip. Second time, someone dared not look at him. Third time, someone collapsed on the ground, confessed everything.
But the case wasn't immediately solved. The third night, he came again. Stood at the door, iron smell on clothes somewhat lighter, but blue shadows beneath eyes deeper.
"Your method, worked," he said, "But still not right."
"What's not right?"
"One person, three times said the same. But when I asked him the third time, his voice was trembling. I felt he was lying. But I don't know how to make him speak truth."
I looked at him. "You ask him, whether willing to say it again. Say slower. Say until he doesn't want to say anymore."
"Then?"
"Then you wait. Wait for him to speak himself."
He looked at me, slowly smiled. That smile was faint, but a bit of light in his eyes.
The fourth day, Zhao Xu used this method. When that person spoke to the fifth time, suddenly cried. Kneeled on the ground, said everything. The mastermind was Consort Liu's people.
The Empress Dowager was furious. But Zhao Xu said one sentence. He said: "The consort's matter, let the consort speak herself. Without asking clearly, cannot convict."
The Empress Dowager looked at him, looked for a long time. Then said: "His Majesty has grown up."
That night, Zhao Xu came to the Imperial Garden to find me. He carried a food box in his hand, not the palace's carved lacquer box, but an ordinary bamboo basket, covered with cloth.
"What is this?"
"Egg-fried rice." He raised the bamboo basket before me, "I made it."
I paused. "You made it?"
"Mm. Eunuch Li taught." He opened the cloth cover, revealing the bowl inside. Egg-fried rice, golden yellow, grains distinct. Eggs fried into small pieces, salted pork cubes cut unevenly, scallions scattered crookedly. But smelled very fragrant. A shallow scorch mark on the bowl rim, probably from not holding steady when flipping the wok.
"Taste."
I picked up the spoon, scooped a mouthful. Salty. Rice somewhat hard, eggs fried too old. But very delicious. Had stove fire taste, had oil smoke taste, had him standing at the stove in a flurry taste.
"Good?"
"Good."
He smiled. Smiled until his eyes curved, like osmanthus petals. That smile exactly the same as three years ago, but something different underneath. Three years ago was childish pride, now was youth's—what? Was certainty. That certainty of knowing one can accomplish something.
"In the future, I'll make for you to eat."
"Where do you have time?"
"Have time. I learned. In the future when you want to eat, I'll make."
I looked at him. He stood in moonlight, robe slightly puffed by wind. He was a full head taller than me, shoulders very broad, chin lines very hard. His hands had several shallow red marks—cut by knife, splashed by oil. Those were traces of his growing up.
"Your hand—"
"Nothing." He withdrew his hand into his sleeve, paused, then said, "A Heng."
"Mm?"
"In the future, don't do it anymore."
"What?"
"Don't do it. I'll support you."
Wind came, air had withered leaf smell, had earth smell, had the egg-fried rice he made smell. Stove flames jumped once, reflected in his eyes, bright.
"When did you learn to say such things?"
"The Grand Tutor taught."
"The Grand Tutor taught you to support palace maids?"
"The Grand Tutor taught me, must be responsible for one's own things." He looked at me, eyes very bright, "You are mine. I must be responsible for you."
He stood there, like a tree with deep roots. Not the carefully tended trees in the Imperial Garden, but those growing in the wilderness, blown by wind, rained upon, but roots deep, branches stretching far.
"Good. You support."
He smiled. Smiled with complete satisfaction, as if he had already grasped the entire world in his palm. He turned to leave, took two steps, turned back.
"Tomorrow will make egg-fried rice again."
"Again?"
"Mm. Make until it's good."
"That will take a long time."
"Not afraid. Have plenty of time."
He ran. Coat hem trampling stone pavement, pa-pa-pa, like horse hooves.
That night, I wrote on the note: He said, he will support me. The egg-fried rice he made was salty. I finished it all.
After writing, I tucked the note beneath my pillow. With those old notes. With that jade. With that wheat ear. And that osmanthus flower, dried, golden yellow, thin. Three years. He grew from nine to thirteen. From not reaching osmanthus, to a full head taller than me. From writing crooked notes, to learning to investigate cases. From listening to my stories, to teaching me to interrogate prisoners. From drinking my porridge, to making me egg-fried rice.
He grew up. In the Imperial City Bureau's torture chambers, before those bloody things he had to see, among those trembling voices he had to hear, he grew up. But he would still make egg-fried rice too salty. Would still have red ears. Would still say, you are mine, I must be responsible for you.
Moon outside the window. Round, bright. I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, he will come again. He will bring egg-fried rice again. Still salty. I will still finish it all. Keep eating until the day it's not salty. That day will come.
[End of Chapter 24]