Liu Che said, "Come again the day after," and indeed, he came the day after.
Before dawn, Qingxing knocked on my door. This time, there was no need for him to send clothes—the riding gear from last time had already been washed and stored by me, and I changed into it myself. Pushing open the door, I found Liu Che already standing in the courtyard.
No horse riding today? No, he was standing under the corridor, holding a food box. He wore a round-collared moon-white robe with narrowed cuffs, and a black leather belt around his waist—casual attire derived from riding gear, far less formal than court robes, but the fabric was clearly high-quality Shu brocade. It was the same color as my riding outfit.
I didn't know if it was intentional or a coincidence.
"Is Your Highness not riding today?"
"We are riding," he said. "Today you ride A-Hong, and I will ride—"
"A-Hei (Little Black)?"
He glanced at me, his look saying,How dare you.
"My horse is not called A-Hei."
"Then what is its name?"
"It has no name."
"Then give it one."
"No," he paused. "Unless you come up with something good."
I thought for a moment. Ta Xue (Treading Snow). Its four hooves are white; when it runs, it looks like it's stepping on snow."
He looked down at his horse. Indeed, the black horse had snow-white hooves, something I hadn't noticed before.
Ta Xue," he repeated, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "Not bad."
"Could Your Highness use a different word?"
"Good."
"...Let's go."
He turned and walked out; I followed behind. The morning light had just emerged, stretching his shadow long, overlapping with mine.
As the attendants led the horses over, I noticed leather wrappings onTa Xue's hooves—preparation for a long journey. Shanglin Park spanned three hundredli; the place we were going today was farther than last time.
Entering Shanglin Park, he led me down a forked path. The trees on both sides grew denser, the grass deeper, until the path was barely visible.
"Does Your Highness know the way?"
"No."
"Then how do we get back?"
He turned his head to look at me, a smile playing on his lips. "I am the Crown Prince. On this land, everywhere is a path."
I found I couldn't refute that logic.
A-Hong followedTa Xue, stepping deeply and shallowly through the undergrowth. The forest was quiet, filled only with the rustling sound of hooves on fallen leaves and occasional bird calls.
Reaching an open area, he pulled on the reins.
"We're here."
I looked up.
This place was different from the grassland last time. Surrounded by trees on three sides, the center was a flat meadow with a small stream running along the edge. The water was shallow enough to see the stones beneath. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, painting patches of light on the grass.
It looked like a painting.
"How did Your Highness find this place?"
"I saw it when I came last time," he said, flipping off his horse. "I didn't bring you then."
"Why?"
"Because last time wasn't good enough yet."
His words stopped there, without explaining what "wasn't good enough" meant. He tetheredTa Xue to a tree and walked over to take A-Hong's reins.
"Get down."
I dismounted. My legs didn't feel weak this time, but upon landing, I stepped on a stone and stumbled. He reached out to steady my arm, letting go only after I was stable.
"Careful."
"Mm."
We sat on the grass by the stream. Attendants laid out mats and the food box, then retreated to a distance.
Inside the food box today, besides pastries and fruits, was a pot of wine. Not the realgar wine from last time, but clear wine, stored in a bronze pot, ice-cold.
"Your Highness, one shouldn't drink while riding."
"I will drink; you won't."
"...That makes Your Highness even more dangerous."
He poured a cup, took a sip, and glanced at me. "I have a high tolerance."
I said nothing more. He was the Crown Prince; his word was law.
He took out a plate of mung bean cakes from the box and placed it before me. "These aren't sweet. Try one."
I picked one up and took a bite. Indeed, not sweet, but fragrant with mung beans, even tastier than last time.
"Good?"
"Mm."
"Then eat a few more." He pushed the plate closer to me.
The wind blew across the stream, carrying the scent of water vapor and green grass. The stream was shallow; round stones were visible beneath, with small fish occasionally swimming by.
"Your Highness," I suddenly remembered a question, "what do you study with your Grand Tutor?"
"Classics, history, policy essays, the ways of governing the country," he said, his tone light. "And how to be an emperor."
"Can 'how to be an emperor' be taught?"
"It cannot," he said, taking a bite of a cake. "The Grand Tutor teaches rules, principles, and the gains and losses of previous dynasties. Buthow to be one... no one can teach that."
As he said this, his expression was calm. But I heard something else in his words.No one can teach it. One must learn it oneself. Realize it oneself. Bear it oneself.
"Your Highness must be working very hard," I said.
He paused.
"What?"
"Being the Crown Prince," I said. "It must be very hard."
He didn't answer immediately. Gazing at the stream, he was silent for a moment.
"I'm used to it," he said.
Exactly the same "I'm used to it" that I often said.
I suddenly felt a pang of sorrow for him.
Not pity, but something deeper—seeing him sitting by the stream at fifteen, saying "I'm used to it," with a thin layer of something in the depths of his eyes.
"Your Highness," I changed the subject, "in my world, there is a game. Would you like to learn it?"
He turned to look at me.
"What game?"
"Rock, Paper, Scissors."
"What?"
I extended my hand, making a fist. "Rock." Extending index and middle fingers. "Scissors." Opening my palm. "Paper."
"Rock beats Scissors, Scissors beats Paper, Paper beats Rock," I explained. "Got it?"
He watched my hand very seriously, observing once.
"Just that?"
"Just that. Come on, try it."
He extended his hand, hesitated, and played Rock. I played Paper.
"Paper covers Rock. I win."
He frowned.
"Again."
This time he played Scissors; I played Rock. "Rock beats Scissors."
"You—"
"Your Highness, this game relies on luck and guessing the opponent's mind. Not on strength."
"Again."
He played Paper; I played Scissors. "Scissors beats Paper."
His frown deepened. "Again."
This time, he didn't rush to play. Instead, he stared intently at my hand. His gaze was focused, as if reading a military report or dismantling a complex artifact. I played Rock; he hesitated for a moment, then played Paper.
"Paper beats Rock." The corner of his mouth curled up. "I win."
"Your Highness wins."
"Again."
We continued playing. He became more and more serious; he smiled when he won and frowned when he lost. Sometimes he would stare at my hand for a while before playing, looking less like he was playing a game and more like he was solving a difficult puzzle.
"Before you play Rock, your index finger twitches slightly," he suddenly said.
I looked down at my hand. Indeed, when making a fist, my index finger involuntarily moved slightly. In Florence, my professor never mentioned it, my classmates never noticed, and I hadn't discovered it myself.He had.
"So, the round Your Highness just won, you figured it out by watching?"
"Mm."
"Cheating."
"Not cheating," he said righteously. "Observation. In war, observing the enemy situation is most important. If an enemy moves a finger, you know what they are about to do."
"Is Rock, Paper, Scissors the same as war?"
"Both are games of strategy," he said. "The principle is the same."
I looked at him. Fifteen years old. Speaking of "strategy" with the maturity of a forty-year-old. Yet, the way he smiled after winning the game looked like a ten-year-old.
"Your Highness," I said, "the way you smiled just now looks like a little child."
His smile stiffened for an instant. "I am not a child."
"In my world, fifteen-year-olds are children."
"Inyour world, perhaps," he emphasized the words "your world" heavily. "Here, I am not."
"In my world, fifteen-year-olds can also get married."
He glanced at me, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. "What?"
"I said, in my world, fifteen-year-olds can get married. But it's rare, because one must study first, work first, earn money first."
"Then in your world, when do people marry?"
"In their twenties, mostly. Some in their thirties, some never marry."
"Never marry?"
"Mm. Living alone."
He was silent for a moment. "Do you live alone?"
"Mm. There."
"Why don't you marry?"
I thought about it. "Haven't met the right person. Also, I'm busy. When repairing artifacts, I don't have time for anything else."
He said nothing. The wind blew across the stream, lifting the hem of his robe and brushing against the back of my hand.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"In the future—" He paused, not finishing the sentence.
"What does Your Highness want to say?"
"Nothing." He stood up, brushing off his robe. "One more round. This time, with a wager."
"What wager?"
"Whoever loses must grant the other a wish."
I hesitated. "Any wish?"
"Any wish."
"...Isn't Your Highness afraid I'll ask for the moon in the sky?"
"If you ask, I will pluck it for you," he said lightly, as if stating the obvious.
My fingers tightened slightly. "Okay."
I extended my hand. He stared at my hand. I played Paper; he played Rock.
"Paper beats Rock."
"Your index finger didn't move this time," his tone sounded somewhat annoyed.
"I did it on purpose."
He looked at me.
Then he laughed. Not the restrained laugh from before, but a genuine, youthful laugh. The corners of his eyes curved, revealing a hint of teeth; his whole person seemed to glow.
"You deceived me," he said.
"Didn't Your Highness say observation is most important?" I replied. "I changed my habit, and Your Highness didn't observe it."
He paused, then burst into laughter. The sound echoed through the forest, startling several birds.
Watching his laughter, I suddenly felt something gently bump against my heart. Not the "he's so handsome" kind of bump—but something deeper. It was the feeling of wanting to smile just because he was happy.
In Florence, no one had ever made me feel this way. Never.
"You won," he said. "State your wish."
I thought for a moment. "Your Highness, smile for me."
"What?"
"Smile. Right now."
He paused, then turned his head away. "What kind of wish is that?"
"Didn't Your Highness say any wish is acceptable?"
He was silent for a moment. Then he turned back, looked at me, and smiled. Very faintly, just a slight curve of the lips, but there was light in his eyes. Different from all his previous smiles.This smile was just for me.
My heartbeat quickened.
"Done," he said, standing up and brushing off his robe. "Again. This time I will be serious."
We played round after round. He learned to watch my hand; I learned to deceive him. He was proud when he won and unconvinced when he lost, like a child.Like he was supposed to be.
As the sky gradually darkened, we rode back.
Halfway there, the wind picked up. Not the gentle breeze from before, but a cool, strong gust surging from the depths of the forest, swirling up fallen leaves.Ta Xue snorted loudly, his steps becoming uneasy.
"It's going to rain," Liu Che said, looking up at the sky. Distant clouds pressed low, gray and hazy, completely different from when we arrived.
As soon as he spoke, the first raindrop fell on the back of my hand. Then a second, a third; within moments, the rain thickened.
"Go fast!" He nudgedTa Xue's flank, and the horse galloped. A-Hong followed behind, her hooves drumming urgently.
The rain grew heavier. Raindrops hammered against leaves, grass, and our bodies, making a crackling sound. My riding gear quickly became soaked, clinging to my body, icy cold.
He stopped ahead, turned to look at me, and frowned.
"Come here."
"What?"
"Get onTa Xue. A-Hong can't run that fast."
Without hesitation, I dismounted. He reached out and pulled me up ontoTa Xue's back, seating me behind him. This time was different from last time—last time was a leisurely shared ride; this time was an escape for survival.
"Hold on tight."
I grabbed the fabric of his waist.Ta Xue galloped, much faster than A-Hong. The wind whistled in my ears; the rain stung my face. I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against his back. His robe was also wet, but his body heat remained, transmitting through the soaked fabric, warm.
After running for who knows how long, the rain gradually lessened. I opened my eyes and found we had left the forest, reaching the boundary of Shanglin Park. Ahead was a row of barracks, the station for the park guards.
He reined in the horse before the barracks, flipped off, and reached out to me. I dismounted; my legs felt weak—this time, truly weak.
"Come in." He pulled me into an empty barrack room.
The room was small, containing only a couch, a table, and an oil lamp. He lit the lamp; the dim yellow light warmed the room slightly.
"Cold?" he asked.
"Not really."
But he had already seen me shivering.
He frowned, turned out, and returned shortly with a dry cloth towel, throwing it to me. "Dry yourself."
I took it and wiped my hair. He took another, wiping his own face and neck. The lamplight hit his face; water droplets slid down his jaw, falling onto the collarbone exposed by his open neckline.
I turned my head away and continued wiping my hair.
"Turn around," he suddenly said.
"What?"
"Turn around. Face away from me."
I paused, then complied. Behind me came the rustling sound of changing clothes—there must be spare uniforms in the barracks.
"Done," he said.
I turned around. He had changed into dry clothes: coarse soldier's garb, slightly too big for him, with a loose neckline. But he looked good in anything.
He threw another set of dry clothes to me. "Change. Wet clothes will make you sick."
"Your Highness—"
"Turn around." He turned his back first.
I hesitated, then turned my back to him, took off the soaked riding gear, and put on the coarse clothes. The outfit was huge; the sleeves hung a section too long, so I rolled them up.
"Done."
He turned around and glanced at me.
"Like a child stealing adult clothes," he remarked.
"Your Highness isn't much better off."
He looked down at his own loose neckline, the corner of his mouth curling slightly, offering no rebuttal.
We sat down in the barrack. Outside, the rain continued, though much lighter now, pattering against the roof like a very slow melody.
The oil lamp flickered on the table, casting our shadows on the wall, close together.
"Your Highness," I said, "does today's rain count as an unexpected situation?"
"It does."
"Then has Your Highness considered that if the rain had been heavier, we might not have been able to return?"
He glanced at me. "If we couldn't return, then we couldn't return. There are couches and blankets in the barracks; we won't starve."
"...Doesn't Your Highness need to return to the palace to handle state affairs?"
"I requested leave."
"Again?"
"Mm."
"What reason this time?"
He thought for a moment. "Wind-cold illness."
"Your Highness got soaked in the rain; tomorrow you might actually catch a cold."
"Then I'll actually have a cold," he said. "Anyway, I'm not attending court tomorrow."
I looked at him. The lamplight flickered on his face, clearly illuminating the exhaustion in his eyes.
"Your Highness," I said, "are you very tired?"
He didn't answer. Silence stretched for a long time.
"Sometimes," he said finally. His voice was very light, as if afraid of being drowned out by the rain outside.
"What do you do when you're tired?"
"There's no choice," he said. "Continue."
I looked at him. Fifteen years old. Saying "continue" with the maturity of a fifty-year-old.
"Your Highness," I asked, "have you ever thought about what you would want to do if you didn't have to be the Crown Prince?"
He paused.
"No one has ever asked me that question."
"Well, someone is asking now."
He thought for a long time.
"I don't know," he said. "Since birth, I have known what I must do. I've never thought about anything else."
Just as I had guessed. No one had ever asked him this. And he had never had the chance to think about it.
"Lu Xingye," he suddenly called me.
"Mm."
"In your world, can you do whatever you want?"
I thought about it. "More or less."
"Then what do you want to do?"
"Repair things," I said. "Repair those old, broken, unwanted things. Let them live for a few hundred years more."
"Why?"
"Because—" I paused. "Because those things don't lie. However much time you give them, that's how much they give back. It's very fair."
He said nothing. The lamp flickered, shaking the shadows.
"And here?" he asked. "Are things here fair too?"
I was silent for a moment. "Things here are fair too. But the people here—"
I didn't finish.
"The people here are not fair," he finished for me.
I didn't respond. The sound of rain outside gradually faded.
"Your Highness," I said, "it's time to go back."
"Sit a while longer."
"It's dark."
"I know."
"Tomorrow you still have to—"
"Tomorrow's matters are for tomorrow," he interrupted, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.
I thought he had fallen asleep.
"Lu Xingye."
"I'm here."
"That game you mentioned—" He didn't open his eyes. "Teach me again tomorrow."
"Hasn't Your Highness won enough?"
"No." He paused. "It's just that when you teach me, you smile."
The rain softened. The lamplight flickered across his face.
Looking at him with his eyes closed, I suddenly felt something melting in my chest, like ice meeting warm water, softening bit by bit.
"Okay," I said.
He didn't answer. His breathing gradually became even.
I didn't wake him.
Sitting in the barrack, listening to the rain, watching his sleeping face.Fifteen years old. When asleep, he looked like a fifteen-year-old.
Without the Crown Prince's crown, without the majesty of the court, just a tired youth.
I reached out, wanting to smooth the stray hairs on his forehead. My fingers stopped in mid-air, not descending.
I withdrew them.
Outside the window, the rain stopped.
[End of Chapter 9]