The late night in Weiyang Palace was quiet, silent as a grave.
I knelt in the corner of the storage room, facing a shattered bronze mirror. With tweezers, I lifted a fragment no larger than a fingernail, examining the fracture under the lamplight.
The break was fresh. It had just happened.
I frowned slightly. In truth, I wanted to sigh. In my restoration studio in Florence, I had repaired things far more fragmented than this—like that fourteenth-century statue of the Madonna and Child, shattered into dozens of pieces by an earthquake. That had taken me four months. But at least then, no one would have sentenced me to death if I failed to fix it.
"Lady Lu, His Highness the Crown Prince summons you."
The eunuch's shrill voice came from outside the door. I set down the tweezers, carefully covered the mirror fragments with a cloth, and stood up. My knees were numb; I had been kneeling since dusk, for at least two hours.
"Did His Highness say what this is regarding?" I asked.
"You will know when you arrive."
The eunuch's expression was cryptic. I asked no further questions, merely lowering my head to adjust my robes. A plainquju (curved-hem robe) without patterns—my consistent attire since entering the Eastern Palace.
I was neither a palace maid nor a female official.
I had been "picked up" a month ago.
I had awakened in a dilapidated temple, surrounded by scattered luggage and a broken bronze mirror. I could not remember why I was there. I only remembered being in the Florence restoration studio, working on a Han Dynasty lacquerware piece awaiting repair, followed by a violent vertigo.
And then, I was here.
Western Han Dynasty. Chang'an. Weiyang Palace.
A selected woman named "Lu Xingye," who had not yet audience with the Emperor, had reportedly fallen ill and died en route. When I woke up, this body was still warm, but the soul within had changed.
I did not cry, nor did I panic.
I simply spent a month proving my worth—by repairing a gold-inlaid Boshan burner that had been deemed "irreparable." Since then, damaged artifacts from the Eastern Palace storerooms had been sent to me in a steady stream.
I didn't care.
Restoring artifacts was the only thing I was good at, and the only thing that allowed me to forget where I was.
The main hall of the Eastern Palace was brightly lit.
As I stepped across the threshold, I sensed something was wrong. Eunuchs and maids knelt everywhere, their heads buried low, like a flock of startled quails.
Sitting at the head of the hall was a man.
The young Crown Prince, Liu Che.
He wore a deep blackshenyi (robe), his hair bound with a golden crown. His face was cast in shifting light and shadow by the candlelight. Before his knees lay a bronze ding vessel—
No, it was the fragments of a bronze ding.
Shattered completely.
My gaze lingered on the shards for a moment before withdrawing.
I knelt and bowed. "Commoner Lu Xingye pays respects to Your Highness."
My voice was flat. There was no trembling, nor was there any exaggerated, suppressed reverence.
The hall fell silent for a moment.
"Come here."
His voice was younger than I had expected, carrying an innate nobility and an air of unquestionable authority.
I rose and walked to stand before him, stopping at an appropriate distance.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, pointing to the fragments on the floor.
"A bronze ding," I paused. "Of pre-Qin style."
"This was the birthday gift I intended to present to my father, the Emperor," he said, his tone unreadable. "It was discovered shattered in the storage room this morning."
I remained silent. I knew this was not the time to speak.
"The guards of the storage room stated that only you entered and exited yesterday."
The air seemed to solidify.
I raised my head and looked at Liu Che.
His eyes were very dark, like a pool of water with no bottom in sight. He was scrutinizing me, waiting for my reaction—would I beg for mercy? Would I argue? Would I weep?
I did none of these.
"Your Highness," I said, "may I be permitted to examine the fragments?"
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
He seemed surprised by my reaction.
"Look."
I squatted down. Instead of touching them directly with my hands, I took a soft cloth from my sleeve to pad my grip, then gently picked up a larger fragment.
The fracture was grayish-white, with fine powdery flaking along the edges.
I turned the fragment over to inspect the interior.
Then I set it down and picked up another. Piece by piece, my pace neither fast nor slow, as if I were reading a book that had been torn apart.
He said nothing, merely watching me.
I knew he was watching my hands. Slender, clean, with nails trimmed very short. Every movement was extremely steady—this was something five years of restoration training had carved into my bones.
"Well?" he finally spoke.
I put down the last fragment and looked up.
"This was not shattered by a fall."
The eunuchs in the hall gasped sharply.
Liu Che's expression did not change. "Oh?"
"If a bronze vessel is shattered by a fall, the fracture should be sharp, with edges radiating outward," I pointed to the fragments. "But here, the fracture is blunt, with powder along the edges. This is a natural break caused by material aging."
"Natural break?" he repeated.
"When a bronze vessel is cast, if the ratio of copper to tin is improper, or if the casting temperature is insufficient, fine cracks can form within the body of the vessel," my voice remained calm, as if I were giving a report in a classroom in Florence. "These cracks do not appear immediately at room temperature. However, over time, combined with changes in temperature and humidity, and slight vibrations during handling, they will, on a certain day—"
I paused.
"—suddenly break apart."
The hall fell into dead silence.
Liu Che stared at me for a long time. His gaze was heavy, as if trying to pierce through my eyes to see something deeper.
"What you mean is," he said slowly, "the birthday gift I prepared for my father was defective from the start?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "If Your Highness does not believe me, you may invite other craftsmen to inspect the fractures. The difference between a bronze break and a shatter from a fall is not difficult to distinguish."
"You are certainly not afraid," he suddenly smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes. "If I were to decide that you were the one who broke it, do you know the consequences?"
"I do."
"Then why say this?"
I was silent for a moment.
The words my professor had spoken in the Florence restoration studio suddenly echoed in my mind:Artifacts do not lie. What we do is simply speak the truth for them.
"Because artifacts do not lie," I said.
This was the first time I had spoken so many words in front of him, and the first time I had truly looked him in the eye.
The young Crown Prince leaned back in his chair, a light in his eyes that I could not decipher.
"Interesting," he said.
Then he stood up and walked toward me.
He was much taller than me. Looking down, the candlelight shadows outlined his features, making them appear sharp and profound.
"I give you three days," he said. "Repair it."
I frowned slightly. "Your Highness, a bronze vessel that has broken naturally requires—"
"Three days," he interrupted. "If you cannot repair it, I will charge you with the crime of shattering the birthday gift."
His tone was light, as if discussing something trivial.
I was silent for a moment.
"Very well," I said. "Three days."
He seemed surprised again for an instant.
"Are you not afraid?" he asked.
"I am," I said. "But fear is useless. Moreover—"
I glanced at the fragments on the floor.
"Three days is indeed not enough, but I will do my best."
Liu Che paused.
Then he laughed.
This time, the smile truly reached his eyes.
"I will provide you with an independent workshop. List whatever you need," he said, turning toward the palace gate. After taking a few steps, he stopped and turned his head sideways.
The candlelight cast half-light and half-shadow across his face.
"What is your name?"
"Lu Xingye."
"Xingye..." he repeated softly, as if savoring the taste of those two characters. "A good name."
Then he left.
The hall grew quiet again, leaving only the scattered bronze fragments and me, kneeling on the floor.
I lowered my head to look at those fragments, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion.
It was not due to the difficulty of the restoration.
It was because I realized one thing—
This young Crown Prince was more unpredictable than any damaged artifact.
At least artifacts do not lie.
But people do.
[End of Chapter 1]