An hour later.
Qu Dubian left the Astrological Bureau holding several sheets of paper.
Ye Xiaoyuan looked dazed, having watched his own master and the Deputy Director of the Astrological Bureau, Zhang Chansi, go from being distant and polite to speaking in a familiar tone, all within the time it took to finish one page of problems.
After Qu Dubian clearly expressed his great interest in mathematics, Zhang Chansi's goodwill, which had been inching forward with difficulty, finally broke through from the initial 7 to 11. In such a short time, it had increased by 4 points!
If it weren't for the fact that now was not the right time, he really wanted to recite the entire "Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art" to Zhang Chansi from start to finish. Wouldn't that add thirty or forty points?
Fortunately, he resisted the temptation and curbed this thought that would turn him into a little prodigy. One must eat rice one mouthful at a time.
The papers contained mathematical problems Zhang Chansi had left for him.
Qu Dubian planned to give her the completed work after the posthumous conferment ceremony for Consort Yun was over.
Upon returning to the Zichen Hall, Ye Xiaoyuan pulled Wen Xiaochun outside. For a while, neither of them spoke.
In the end, Wen Xiaochun spoke first, saying, "It was my fault for not cleaning up properly. I promise this kind of thing won't happen again."
He earnestly reflected on his own actions.
Ye Xiaoyuan asked, "What will you do?"
Wen Xiaochun replied, "If there's a next time, I'll definitely pad the clothes with some cotton wadding to alter the body shape."
Ye Xiaoyuan said, "If there's a next time, find out in advance who's on patrol that day to avoid running into them."
Neither of them realized that subconsciously, they already believed there would be a second time for this kind of murder and arson, each accepting it quite naturally.
They weren't thinking about how to avoid it, but were discussing how to cover their tracks after taking revenge, so as not to implicate their master.
Ye Xiaoyuan took a deep breath. "Since His Highness is protecting you, I won't say much more. The result is good overall. Lie low for a while. When you go out and see the patrols, it's best to lower your head and avoid them. Or better yet, don't go out at all."
Wen Xiaochun mumbled, "Then what should I do?"
Ye Xiaoyuan pondered. "You can do the schoolwork Grand Tutor Fang assigned to His Highness. It'll be good practice for your handwriting. His Highness is still recuperating and shouldn't overexert himself. If His Highness wants to write it himself, let him. If he's unwilling, use what you've written as a substitute."
He had a vague feeling that His Highness was only practicing writing characters on his own, purposefully learning unfamiliar words and phrases, and wasn't very enthusiastic about the assignments from Grand Tutor Fang.
Wen Xiaochun said, "Alright."
-
Several days later.
At the Marquis of the Sword's residence.
News of the Seventh Prince trickled into the Marquis's household.
Hearing that he was unharmed and his illness was almost recovered, the stone that had been weighing on Old Madam Hou's heart finally settled.
"The one responsible for the ceremonial meals for tomorrow's posthumous conferment ceremony is the Court of Imperial Entertainments, correct?"
Xu Jianyan, the second brother of the Marquis of the Sword, currently held the position of Chief Minister of the Court of Imperial Entertainments. He was advanced in age, holding a sinecure, and his favored son had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations.
However, after Xu Yueqing was enfeoffed as a consort and entered the palace, the main branch of the Marquis's household and the second branch, Xu Jianyan's family, had almost completely severed ties, only maintaining a semblance of propriety on the surface.
"Replying to Old Madam, yes. They've been busy over there for a long time," Mother Fang said. "I heard they even inquired at the main imperial kitchens about the Seventh Prince's taste preferences. The ingredients prepared for the Seventh Prince are all of the finest quality."
"They simply refuse to give up. Seeing that the Seventh Prince is gradually gaining His Majesty's attention, they're trying to curry favor and latch on again," Old Madam Hou said.
"They focus all their efforts and schemes on their own family members, yet are frighteningly foolish. That is a ceremonial meal. If it exceeds the prescribed specifications, it would not be a good thing for the Seventh Prince."
She slightly frowned, stopping her hand that was trimming the flower branches. "Does the third branch of the Xu family know about this?"
Mother Fang: "Naturally, they do."
Xu Laosan and Xu Lao'er (the second son) were different. After the family division, the second branch at least still held the official position of Chief Minister of the Imperial Banquets, while the third branch had fallen to conducting business in the capital.
Xu Laosan and his wife lived year-round in a remote mountain temple, paying no heed to family affairs. The one currently managing the household of the third branch was his second son, Qu Dubian's maternal uncle, named Xu Tingfeng.
The Sword-Holding Marquis had once taken him in as a foster son for training, bringing him to the northern border to experience warfare. However, within just two years, Xu Tingfeng was sentenced to severe punishment for violating military regulations, resulting in both his legs being crippled and his repatriation back home.
Since then, Xu Tingfeng had become despondent, never mentioning military matters again. He even abandoned the civil service examinations and took up the merchant's path, which was filled with the stench of copper coins and despised by scholars.
Now, among all the officials in the capital, everyone knew that the third branch of the Xu family harbored resentment towards the Sword-Holding Marquis because of what happened to Xu Tingfeng. For years, there had been no further contact between them.
Old Madam Hou: "Do you think Tingfeng will interfere in this matter of the ceremonial feast?"
Mother Fang: "This... Young Master Tingfeng is a merchant. Could he possibly have influence over the affairs of the Imperial Banquets Directorate?"
Old Madam Hou inserted the trimmed plum blossom branches into a short-necked vase.
"Let's just wait and see if His Majesty punishes the Imperial Banquets Directorate this time."
-
Xu Residence.
Third Branch Household.
Wispy smoke rose from the kitchen chimney.
Xu Tingfeng was busy in the kitchen. The servant boy pushing his wheelchair behind him said rather helplessly, "Young Master, please rest. Let us handle this."
"Ah, that won't do."
Xu Tingfeng ground the grains into powder, pinching it between his fingers to feel its texture. He had a pair of reserved phoenix eyes, and when he smiled, there was not a hint of martial fierceness; instead, he resembled a gentle scholar-general. "This meal is special."
The servant boy was puzzled. "What's so special about it?"
Xu Tingfeng said with a smile, "Every child of the Xu family, when they reach the age to eat on their own, must have a bowl of the family's traditional meal."
"What meal?"
"Mai Xian Geng (Wheat Salt Porridge). It must be made by the hands of an elder. Only then can they receive the ancestors' blessings," Xu Tingfeng said, rolling out the dough for the flatbread. "Both his mother and I have eaten it. Even if he doesn't know the meaning behind it, he should still taste it."
However, his version of Mai Xian Geng was a modified version. Those unfamiliar would absolutely not recognize it.
The servant boy was confused. "Has another child from the Second Master's branch reached the age?"
Xu Tingfeng didn't answer him. He worked through until the next morning, with two shifts of servants taking turns, before finally placing the finished Mai Xian Geng into a food box and carrying it himself.
"Come, push me to the back gate."
The wheelchair rattled along to the back gate of the Xu residence. Upon opening it, a discreet carriage was waiting outside. Hearing the door open, a hand reached out from behind the carriage curtain.
Xu Tingfeng handed the food box to the servant. "Pass it over."
The servant boy swiftly delivered the food box. The person inside the carriage took it without even showing their face, and the coachman drove the carriage away.
From beginning to end, Xu Tingfeng and the person in the carriage exchanged not a single word.
The servant boy scratched his head. "Young Master, that meal you made... was it a gift?"
"Mmm, what about it?"
"Well... it's just that the appearance of that meal was really..." Hard to describe.
Xu Tingfeng: "What do you know? That's called rustic simplicity."
Moreover, even if punishment were to be dealt, the rod would absolutely not fall on him. He was just an ordinary merchant with a clean record; what did he know about palace affairs?
-
Fengde Hall.
The posthumous conferment ceremony had begun at nine o'clock.
The day indeed turned out as Zhang Chansi had said, a clear and fine one.
Though cold, the sky was cloudless and a deep azure blue.
After the musicians from the Taichang Temple finished playing, the Empress led the imperial consorts and concubines into the hall.
Only those of the 'Pin' rank and above were granted a cushion within the hall; the rest were outside, kneeling in the bitter cold, each guarding a small desk.
Qu Dubian had risen very early today. He had put on an exceptionally solemn set of robes.
The inner layer was pure white, the outer layer black, with peony patterns embroidered onto the fabric in threads of the same color, gleaming with a luxurious sheen under the sunlight.
He now stood alone at the base of the high steps leading to the Fengde Hall.
According to protocol, as the biological son of Consort Yun, he had to walk this path by himself, as a sign of respect.
But he was so young. Emperor Chongzhao had initially considered making an exception and having Ye Xiaoyuan accompany him up. Qu Dubian refused. He was not truly a small child, and this was an important event for the original owner of this body. By both reason and sentiment, he ought to walk it himself.
Emperor Chongzhao stood at the top of the steps, looking down at the small black figure below. He recalled the boy's fever-flushed face and weakness from days prior, along with all the unreliable antics in the Zichen Hall these past few days, and a quiet drum of doubt began to beat in his heart.
Could this little brat really make it up on his own?
An official from the Ministry of Rites announced from below, "The hour has arrived!"
Qu Dubian turned his head to glance at Wen Xiaochun, who was watching him with concern from the side, gave him a reassuring look, and then steadily took his first step.
One step per stair.
For a child just over two years old, it was a rather formidable little mountain to climb.
But the many officials from the Ministry of Rites, the Taichang Temple, and the Guanglu Temple presiding over the ceremony watched this little prince—once a forbidden topic in the palace—as he walked. He moved very slowly.
But with extreme steadiness.
He seemed to understand that this was an immensely important matter for his mother.
Thus, he focused all his attention on his own feet, fearful of making a single misstep.
Even though he had never experienced a mother's love or care.
That earnestness tugged at the heartstrings, stirring a pang of sorrow.
Emperor Chongzhao's feelings were also complex. When that little black turnip-head steadily mounted the final step and stopped before him, the Emperor extended his sleeve.
"Come with me."
Qu Dubian grasped Emperor Chongzhao's sleeve—not that he didn't want to hold hands, but because he was too short. Holding hands would have forced the Emperor to walk bent over the entire way.
Imperial consorts and concubines knelt on cushions along both sides, bowing their heads slightly.
Once inside the hall, Qu Dubian went to kneel on his own cushion. He looked up at the memorial tablet placed before him, newly engraved with the posthumous title bestowed upon Consort Yun as an Empress.
Emperor Chongzhao stood together with the Empress. The Empress held a bronze lamp with nine candle flames. Emperor Chongzhao personally lit them, and the Empress presented the lamp.
The Empress then led all the consorts and concubines in paying homage. Except for her and the Emperor, everyone else needed to kowtow three times.
Qu Dubian followed along with them.
After the intricate rituals concluded, the master of ceremonies finally announced, "Noon has arrived. Present the ceremonial feast!"
Palace attendants then brought forward the food sent by the Guanglu Temple, delivering it to each person according to their designated seat. The specifications of the ceremonial feast varied for each rank.
A portion was also placed before Qu Dubian.
According to the rules, he needed to finish this meal and then respectfully invite one of Consort Yun's personal effects into the Fengde Hall.
According to Ye Xiaoyuan, the Chief Minister of the Imperial Banquets Directorate was his maternal grandfather's younger brother, so the food prepared for him shouldn't be too unpalatable, right? Holding onto this thought, he opened the meal box.
Inside the box was only a bowl of warm, grayish-yellow soup containing a few unidentifiable strips.
"......"
His hand holding the spoon trembled slightly as Qu Dubian fell silent.
Looking around at the consorts nearby, their ceremonial meals were perfectly proper, at least appearing quite beautiful.
Ye Xiaoyuan was waiting at the sides of the hall. From a distance, he caught sight of the situation, and his expression instantly turned grim.
"This..."
Several consorts nearby, including the Empress, wore hesitant expressions. Even Consort Lan looked over in surprise. He was, after all, a prince. To use such petty tactics on this occasion, did the Chief Minister of the Imperial Banquets Directorate not want his head?
Moreover, the Chief Minister was somewhat related to the Seventh Prince. What was the point of presenting a ceremonial meal in such a state?
The Empress said, "Perhaps the Imperial Banquets Directorate made a mistake. Your Majesty, shall we have it replaced? Eating this might cause discomfort."
Emperor Chongzhao replied, "Ceremonial meals have set regulations. Replacing it would be against protocol. Let him eat it as it is."
Consort Lan was taken aback, then felt pleased inwardly. The other palace consorts exchanged glances—it seemed His Majesty did not value the Seventh Prince as much as they had imagined?
Those among them who had been hesitant about competing to become the Seventh Prince's foster mother grew even more uncertain. These women longed for a child of their own while also considering the sudden benefits of having a prince.
If raising the Seventh Prince under their care instead incurred Emperor Chongzhao's displeasure, wouldn't that be a loss outweighing the gain?
Qu Dubian steeled himself and took a taste.
Hmm?
He took another spoonful.
Eh? It was actually delicious.
The presentation was dreadful, but the chunks inside had a wheaty aroma, and the fish wrapped within had no fishy taste at all, melting in the mouth.
The soup was salty, slightly sour, just the right temperature, and inexplicably appetizing.
Imperial Consort Xuan, seated in the row behind, set down her chopsticks and said, "The Seventh Prince is still young. He need not finish the ceremonial meal; a bite or two will suffice."
Qu Dubian picked up the bowl and said, "It's alright, Imperial Consort Xuan, this is really tasty."
Naturally, it was tasty. This was the Xu family's Wheat and Salted Fish Chowder. Emperor Chongzhao recognized it because, out of curiosity years ago, Consort Yun had personally cooked it for him once.
Its appearance was alarming, but the flavor was indeed excellent and suitable for a child to eat.
Emperor Chongzhao looked at the bowl, his eyes narrowing slightly, the knuckle of his right index finger lightly rubbing the thumb ring on his thumb. No one knew what he was thinking.
Of course, he also did not know that in the eyes of the present ceremonial officials, consorts, and Ye Xiaoyuan, his behavior was rather chilling.
Ye Xiaoyuan dared not show anger nor speak out. He could only watch with wide eyes as his young master finished the meal, spoonful by spoonful.
How could that bowl of food, which looked so unappetizing, possibly taste good?
These past few days, His Majesty's attitude towards the young master had been good, and the young master had grown increasingly close to His Majesty, inevitably rekindling within him a longing and hope for a father.
Since it was His Majesty who told him to eat it, on such an occasion, how could the young master refuse?
Imperial Consort Xuan, meanwhile, was thinking about that trace of tenderness Emperor Chongzhao had shown when he came to her palace to fetch the Seventh Prince the other day. Compared to this current indifference, which was real and which was feigned?
It was only a small bowl. After finishing it, Qu Dubian specifically showed it off. "Clean."
Completely unaware of the psychological turmoil of everyone around him.
Emperor Chongzhao looked at his young son's bright, sparkling eyes. Having grown accustomed to dining with the child these past days, he instinctively remarked, "Not bad."
This little performance of 'the Emperor, aloof and indifferent, refusing to change the ceremonial meal, while the young Prince, sensible and filial, seeks only his father's approval' was a scene wholly lost on the father and son themselves.
The ceremonial meal concluded, and a palace attendant presented a long, rectangular box.
Upon opening it, there lay a mounted scroll painting inside.
Emperor Chongzhao took out the scroll. "This is one of your mother's belongings. In fact, it is connected to the origin of your name."
He untied the silk ribbon securing the scroll and unfurled the painting.
On the canvas, a lone plume of smoke rose over the vast desert beneath a blood-red setting sun.
The focal point of the serene light and shadow was the silhouette of a woman in green robes with dark hair, seated on the parapet of a frontier city's defensive wall in the Northern Borderlands. Her flowing hair seemed to capture a sense of untrammeled freedom.
Beside it was an inscribed line of poetry: "Beyond the frontier, cold geese take flight; A long song drifts past the river's side."
Emperor Chongzhao said with nostalgia, "She brought this painting with her. The poem was written while she was carrying you. Your name is derived from it."
As he reminisced, Qu Dubian fell silent.
He recited the poem once more in his heart, his mind involuntarily conjuring the image of a woman in green robes before a window at sunset. The fading light passing through the lattice would have fallen upon the scroll as she dipped her brush and inscribed this line.
What was she thinking as the brush touched the paper?
Was it of a past she could never return to, or the cold yet liberating winds of the frontier?
This wild goose that had flown from the borderlands to the capital city had ultimately been trapped within the resplendent cage of the imperial palace, dying there in the end. Yet, she hoped her child could be free.
A single painting, a single line of verse.
Contained within them was a mother's love and hopes, left unspoken.
The palace attendant carefully re-rolled the scroll and handed it to Qu Dubian, who personally sealed it into a compartment within the Fengde Hall.
Then, he bowed with deep reverence.
He was a person who detested trouble, yet possessed a long memory. Since he had inherited this bloodline, and received the kinship and blessings left by Consort Yun, he would undoubtedly root out the mastermind behind the plot.
This blood debt, he would avenge it himself.
