Chapter 47

With the crown prince come seeking him, Zhao Ting'an had no recourse but to leave in a huff, not forgetting, before he went, to turn back and make faces and grind his teeth at him; Zhuo Siheng couldn't help laughing, thinking this fellow, his own age, was just like a little brother.

Then, seeing the crown prince before him studying him with a worried look, he said quickly: "If the crown prince has any command, your servant will of course obey."

The crown prince, Liu Xu, had a pair of round eyes just like his father's, now brimming with unease; he looked and looked toward where Zhao Ting'an had gone, and only after a long inner struggle spoke: "Does he... have some feud with you?"

So the crown prince thought he'd been bullied; Zhuo Siheng didn't know whether to laugh or cry — he truly quite liked making friends with people like Zhao Ting'an — and hurried to defend his friend: "I dare not deceive Your Highness; Vice-Commander Zhao is a friend I've newly made, brisk of temper and careless of trifles, and just now he was pestering me to go drink — we've formed no feud, and bear no grudge. I thank Your Highness for your concern."

In Liu Xu's envious gaze there was curiosity too, as if this were the first he'd heard of making friends this way, and he asked, carefully wording it, how the two had come to know each other.

Zhuo Siheng told him of the wedding banquet as a joke, though within was a hidden pity and helplessness.

The crown prince had just passed a cheerless fourteenth birthday; it was said that the empress's celebrating it for him had drawn the emperor's displeasure, and he'd reprimanded mother and son — even Zhuo Siheng felt the emperor a little excessive; in truth the empress had only had a few palace women and the princes dine together, whereas the spread at the Prince of Zhao's second birthday had been far grander.

Perhaps it was just this alarm-at-every-rustle environment of survival that gave the crown prince a perpetual air of pent, unrelievable melancholy; in all things he was ever trembling and afraid of doing wrong — not to speak of the youthful spirit a fourteen-year-old should have, even the inborn nobility of imperial stock seemed in him restrained and drawn in.

And just because of this, he had to be more sensitive and thought-heavy than boys his age; a moment ago, seeing Zhuo Siheng and Zhao Ting'an, one could easily tell that though the two tugged and pulled, the corners of both their mouths were turned up — yet Liu Xu always felt that many dealings in the world held a further layer of meaning, and by his usual habit would never have dared speak up. But Zhuo Siheng had taught him a few days and wasn't stiff and cold like his other teachers — he carried about him always a warm, approachable air — and so, braving the great taboo of all his past conduct, he'd ventured to ask and see whether he might help.

Out of curiosity the crown prince pestered Zhuo Siheng with a few more questions, saying only that he'd come to pick out a small horse a girl could ride for his younger sister, to let her too try the joy of galloping the plains.

As they spoke, the setting sun had already sunk to the plain's far edge; the two walked out of the army camp, several palace attendants following, and for a moment the distant sky was a deep, flushing red, and everyone stopped to gaze.

"Big Brother Crown Prince!"

Sunk in the lovely scene, only so crisp and sweet a voice could call everyone's spirits back; several palace serving-women, old and young, clustered around a slender, small girl just taking on a willowy grace, who, dignified and gentle one moment, the next walked quickly forward, making straight for the crown prince.

The emperor had two princesses: five-year-old Princess Mishan, too young and frail, had stayed in the palace with her mother, Consort Du; ten-year-old Princess Qingshan was born of a serving-woman from the place of the emperor's old imprisonment — a woman who, having borne the child through hardship, died early not long after entering the palace, never receiving a title. She'd once served the empress, and there was between them the bond of mistress and maid, so Princess Qingshan was regarded as the empress's daughter and raised at her side, growing up together with the crown prince, like true siblings.

After everyone bowed to the princess, Zhuo Siheng stood where he was, letting the princess boldly look him over; the serving-women behind her urged her to hurry back to her own inner camp, but the princess was far braver than her brother, and in a soft, fine voice commanded the women to stand back, then tipped her head up: "Is it you, Attendant Zhuo, that Big Brother Crown Prince said he wanted for his own teacher?"

At these words the crown prince, aghast, went to cover his sister's mouth; within Zhuo Siheng, ten thousand splintered selves screamed in unison, but he showed himself far calmer than the crown prince, smiled faintly, and bowed: "The princess flatters me; I am but a small attendant, of shallow learning, unfit for so heavy a charge."

Indeed! Whoever had an attendant made a crown prince's teacher — dislike him as he might, the boy was still his own son, and the teachers the emperor found for the crown prince were all Hall-and-Pavilion academicians, heavyweight talent; who did he think he was?

Luckily the crown prince's attendants and the princess's women had all stood well off, and the princess spoke in a soft, fine, gentle voice — only the three of them heard... probably...

Seeing the crown prince gaze at him full of apology and then lower his head again, Zhuo Siheng softened a little; but even His Honor Zeng dared not step out and speak to the emperor about teaching the crown prince, and had told Zhuo Siheng to keep as far as possible from the unrepaired Eastern Palace — he truly could hardly, still at a seventh-rank post, lend a hand to a person of the crown prince's station.

It wasn't that he fawned on the high and trod on the low, slighting the crown prince, but that this was simply unrealistic; more likely, the farther court officials kept from the crown prince, the better for now for this suffering mother and son, the crown prince and the empress.

"Wanwan doesn't understand the affairs of the court; Attendant Zhuo, don't... don't take it to heart."

In his anxiety the crown prince had called his sister by her milk name; Zhuo Siheng badly wanted to say, why are you more nervous than I am... but in the end only smiled mildly: "Your servant would never dare. Your Highness, the hour is late; best rest early — the day after tomorrow the autumn hunt's forest-hunt begins."

Liu Xu nodded, and hurriedly pulled his sister away; Zhuo Siheng felt that the boy's mettle, suppressed so many years, would be very hard to build up again — even if he succeeded to the throne smoothly, he'd...

...he'd find it very hard to sit steady in the number-one seat under Heaven.

He really had been a big brother too long, it seemed; the sight of a pitiable child set off a fierce protective urge in him — he seriously suspected this was the bloodline curse of the Zhuo family.

No, no, Zhuo Siheng reminded himself; in the shadow of power all things must be weighed by expedience — one must never let a well-meant benevolence stand in for a wise good.

Zhuo Siheng's nerve had always been good, but this matter rather troubled him, so he slept badly all night, and went to his afternoon attendant-shift the next day with dark circles; but tomorrow the emperor would set out with the guards before him into the forest-hunt, and he could at last catch up on sleep.

The autumn hunt fell into two parts, the ring-hunt and the forest-hunt. To Zhuo Siheng's mind the ring-hunt was more an individual contest: the hunting-ground soldiers penned the reared game within a set range of the plain, and the young nobles and soldiers competed on the same stage to see who could take the most and win the top prize. The forest-hunt was more a team match: several groups were let into the royal forbidden forest, the game reckoned by team total, most winning; the rewards were rich indeed, and to take a great beast like a tiger or bear brought a further prize for valor and an imperially-bestowed sword or armor — sheer glory. Young officers like Zhao Ting'an waited and longed all year for the autumn hunt to show their mettle and win imperial favor.

Whether the emperor joined the ring-hunt depended on his mood, but the forest-hunt he had to attend. Zhuo Siheng watched the emperor mount, in golden armor with sword slung, the gold-inlaid nanmu-wood bow at his back and the dozens of gold-tipped arrows in the deerskin quiver all gleaming; he thought the bow good to look at but perhaps not good to use. Old Huyan had a family horn-bow, its color like rotten wood and its luster dull, yet it loosed shot after shot without a string going astray, mighty and heavy-drawing — proof that a fine-looking bow isn't necessarily a useful one.

He suddenly missed the yellow-birch bow that hung on the wall at home; birch too was a material found everywhere, but well-suited to a long-bow of just the right give and pull — he'd used it from boyhood, and its feel was beyond words.

Noble Consort Luo, heavy with child, had come to see the emperor off; this was the first time Zhuo Siheng saw this woman near-rumored to have three heads and six arms — her figure not yet showing the pregnancy, still slender and willowy, standing in the plain's stiff wind, yet with no delicate air; too far to see her face, but watching her fasten the emperor's helmet and tie his sash herself, one knew the two were deep and long in feeling.

After the emperor took leave of his beloved consort, with a mighty command he led his elite and the escorting guards galloping into the forest; and once the imperial carriage was far off, it was the other teams' turn to set out each in their order.

The crown prince and the Prince of Yue, both old enough at twelve, each had a guard squad assigned for the forest-hunt. Zhuo Siheng watched coldly: the Prince of Yue's six men, though none over seventeen or eighteen, were each burly and capable, and the twelve-year-old Prince of Yue too had the air of Heaven's proud favorite, cracking his whip and giving orders like a spirited little general. The men in the crown prince's team, though, seemed without spirit, and much older; when the crown prince spoke to them, still with his usual gentle look, and no telling what he'd said, one man actually dared snicker, while the crown prince only lowered his head, looked off at the distant imperial banners, and then ordered them out.

The most striking of all were the girls in riding armor. With the precedent of the Princesses Zhen and Ding, every autumn hunt had a team of women of noble and gentry houses ride out to hunt in formation; they didn't join the contest, but their bearing yielded nothing to the regular army, and their leader was always of high birth, if not a princess then a commandery princess. Zhuo Siheng saw that this year Princess Qingshan, riding the small horse the crown prince had picked for her, was too at the head of a dozen slim, spirited girls — though with escorting guards to either side, likely to let the princess also taste a royal tradition, taking a turn near the hunting-forest for form's sake. The little girl was thrilled; one could see her horsemanship had been practiced — galloping out, though not as fast as the other girls whipping their mounts, she held the reins and pressed the saddle steady and skilled.

Zhuo Siheng thought that Ciheng at ten could ride just as well, when Zhao Ting'an passed with his six Bingma Command guards, not forgetting to boast loftily that he'd carry off first place, before whipping his horse off in a cloud of dust, his short crop all but flung to the sky.

It was Yu Yong, leading his West Victory garrison squad now changed into light armor, who set out last of all; the seven of them idle as if come to stroll a garden — yet at one deep command from Yu Yong, at once, like seven black-feathered iron arrows, they shot straight out and vanished in an instant.

Several officials there to see them off couldn't help crying out "fine fellows!"; Zhuo Siheng only watched in silence.

Zeng Xuandu, seeing him gaze thoughtfully at Yu Yong's receding back, asked on the way back: "You've met the Duke of Ling's heir?"

Zhuo Siheng nodded, still saying nothing.

"He's arrogant and unruly, very hard to get on with — keep your distance. The Earl of Yongxiang's boy, though, is a good one; you're of an age and ought to suit." Zeng Xuandu's eyes narrowed to a thin line in the bright sun; he walked much faster than in the palace, and only tossing out a word for Zhuo Siheng to go back and rest, went off himself.

After the emperor left, the Hanlin Academy was at its most idle; the assistants whose boss hadn't taken them on the business trip needn't rise early each day, and Zhuo Siheng passed a day of immortal's ease, carrying a little folding stool each day to the bank of the Pei River near the great camp to fish and read, as if back in his Shuozhou days, carefree and content.

Who'd have known that the next morning, before a fish had bitten, Peng Shihu came running in a fluster and grabbed him: "An eight-hundred-li express military dispatch has come from Suzhou; His Honor Zeng's looking everywhere for you!"

Zhuo Siheng dropped rod, creel, stool and all, and ran back with Peng Shihu all the way to the governance tent.

Inside were already gathered many court dignitaries; Zhuo Siheng saw the dispatch sealed with vermilion lacquer and a feather, and knew this was a confidential frontier military memorial only the emperor could open — not even Grand Councillor Shen Minyao might unseal it.

"Do we know where the emperor is?" Lord Shen asked, gripping the urgent dispatch, of Yang Zhen, Commander of the Palace Command guards.

"A dispatch a day ago: the sacred carriage hunted to the north forest of Mount Yan, over fifty li from the central field-camp. Today there's been no report yet." Yang Zhen answered gravely, his sheathed sword canted at his side.

"Waiting for today's report won't be in time." Shen Minyao's tone was still perfectly level, showing not a trace of haste: "The Palace Command soldiers have mostly all ridden off with the emperor; however many are left, send them all out."

"But so confidential a thing can't be copied in many hands; may I ask, Lord Shen, who carries the sealed letter?" Commander Yang asked.

Zhuo Siheng understood Lord Shen's intent at once, and cried inwardly: brilliant!

Shen Minyao didn't answer his question first, but said outright: "All of you go together first to the north-forest sentry-tent of Mount Yan, and from there split up to find the emperor's position; once found, you needn't come back to the central camp to report, but report to the nearest sentry-post."

That said, Lord Shen glanced at Zeng Xuandu, who took it up: "Frontier dispatches have always been relayed through the Secretariat; we'll send one man with you to wait first at the north-forest sentry-tent, and once the guards have word, that man will carry the sealed letter on along the way."

The two seemed to use one and the same mind — not even a glance exchanged; and though Zhuo Siheng too had thought of Lord Shen's time-saving method, he was still astonished at the tacit accord of these two old colleagues.

So the question was: who would go?

The Secretariat was either academicians of fifty or sixty and the Administration Chamber's participants, or else the rest all bookish scholars; though they could all more or less ride, to have them mount the guards' warhorses and gallop alongside them was too much to ask.

Zhuo Siheng knew there was no leave given for nothing — all this was comp-time... but with real trouble come, having the ability, he couldn't pretend it was no concern of his.

It was a matter of state, after all; he was a zhuangyuan who'd passed the exams to be chosen for the country, and had received the emperor's high favor — he ought to shoulder the heavy charge.

So he cleanly stepped forward: "Your servant can go along."

The others were a little surprised, but many knew his origins, and thinking it over — Zhuo Siheng had grown up in the north from childhood — his horsemanship might really be the best among them.

Shen Minyao looked him over and nodded: "Then it's you."

His Honor Zeng seemed about to say something, but in the end didn't speak, nor open his eyes wide.

The guard commander Yang Zhen sized up this green-robed civil official in his twenties, and felt that his height was outstanding even among his own troops, but that under the long robe and wide sleeves he was rather thin; and looking so delicate and bookish, even that stirring volunteer's speech a moment ago had come out in a mild, placid calm — the very picture of a paper-pasted flower-lantern. If the guards' fierce-tempered warhorses didn't jolt him to death on the road he'd be lucky, and better yet if he didn't foul up their vital errand.