Solitude may be lonely, but it also brings focus.
Chu Jincheng quickly cleared a patch of land and buried the sunflower seeds, just as he had done countless times before—his hands scattering the seeds while his feet kicked soil over them.
Once planted, he took a step back, imagining the field ablaze with golden sunflowers… a dazzling sight.
Eunuch Huang approached and said, "Your Majesty, the birth gifts for the young master and young miss are ready. There are over a dozen items, all the rarest treasures in the world. Would you like to choose?"
The little tyrant glanced over the selection—from jade pendants and jewelry to novel trinkets, everything was accounted for. "They’re all excellent. It’s hard to decide, so just send them all."
Eunuch Huang was stunned. He cautiously reminded, "Your Majesty, these are one-of-a-kind. If you give them all away, you won’t have any left for yourself."
The little tyrant waved it off. "If I want to see them, I can just summon the children to the palace, can’t I?"
Eunuch Huang nodded. "Very well, I’ll deliver them at once. Ah, Your Majesty, have they been given names yet?"
Chu Jincheng thought for a moment. "Not that I’ve heard."
Eunuch Huang smiled and suggested, "Then why not bestow names upon them, Your Majesty? It would be an unparalleled honor!"
For an emperor to name the children of his subjects was an extraordinary favor, especially when he himself had no heirs.
The little tyrant’s eyes lit up. "Let’s go! I’ll choose names for them now and send them along with the gifts!"
"As you wish."
At his desk, Chu Jincheng chewed on the end of his brush, pondering names.
First, he considered the eldest son’s name.
Though the boy would become his brother-in-law in a decade or so, he was still the true firstborn son of his father and mother.
Chu Jincheng carefully wrote on the paper: "Zong… Jin… Che."
Jincheng, Jinche.
They sounded like brothers.
Though he no longer bore the Zong surname, it had been his for over a decade. Now that his brother was born, not only would the family name be passed down, but the first character of his given name would too!
With the brother-in-law’s name settled, he turned to his future empress’s.
The little tyrant’s poetic skills were above average, but his memory for verses was exceptional. He combed through lines praising beauty and grace—from "Buddhist Dancers" to "Song of Everlasting Sorrow," from "Pure Serene Tune" to "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River." The words and imagery were exquisite, yet something felt missing.
Just then, his gaze caught a stray sunflower seed on the table. He picked it up and grinned. "Little Kui."
With the second name decided, he waited for the ink to dry before sealing the letter and handing it to Eunuch Huang for delivery. He had considered issuing an imperial decree for the naming, but worried his mother might disapprove.
At the General’s Manor, evening fell.
Xu Wan was in her room with the two children when Zong Zhao entered, holding a letter. "Chu Jincheng sent over a dozen precious birth gifts and chose names for them. He wants to know if you like them."
Xu Wan raised an eyebrow. "And if I don’t, can we refuse?"
Zong Zhao chuckled. "Naturally. He listens to you above all."
Xu Wan took the papers. The little tyrant had written two names separately—the first, "Zong Jinche," was for the boy.
She smiled faintly, then sighed. "If Jincheng were still with us, this name would be perfect. 'Cheng' and 'Che'—they sound like close brothers. But now, the 'Jin' character clashes with the emperor’s name."
How could a subject’s child share a character with the imperial name?
Zong Zhao took the paper and suggested, "Then change 'Jin' to 'Wen,' following Wenxiu’s name."
Zong Wenxiu’s name had been given in the slums. When the Old Marquis brought him back, assuming he wasn’t Zong Yan’s son, he hadn’t renamed him "Jinxiu." Later, even after learning the truth, the name had stuck.
"Zong Wenche," Xu Wan murmured. "Not bad. It still keeps their brotherly bond intact."
Zong Zhao nodded, then asked, "What about the girl’s name? Did he come up with something absurd?"
Xu Wan followed his train of thought and burst out laughing. "You’re not worried he named her 'Zong Future Empress' or 'Zong Empress,' are you?"
Zong Zhao’s lips twitched. "It’s possible."
Now Xu Wan was nervous too. She looked down and read five characters: "Zong Xiangkui, Little Kui."
"Little Kui?" they echoed.
Xu Wan glanced at him. "It’s actually quite nice—simple and endearing. More vivid than those flowery poetic names."
Zong Zhao smiled. "Then Little Kui it is."
"Little Kui…" Xu Wan gazed at the sleeping infants and suddenly asked, "Since they’re twins, it’s easier to tell them apart. But when you and Zong Yan were babies, did people mix you up?"
Zong Zhao replied, "We didn’t look alike."
Xu Wan shrugged. "But newborns all look the same—wrinkled and tiny."
Zong Zhao frowned.
Just then, the baby girl began to cry—Little Kui.
Zong Zhao checked her thoroughly but found nothing wrong.
Xu Wan asked, "Is she hungry?"
"The wet nurse just fed them."
Zong Zhao picked up Little Kui, attempting the soothing techniques he’d recently learned. But whether his method was flawed or something else was wrong, her cries only grew louder.
Meanwhile, Zong Wenche lay quietly, wide-eyed and calm.
Xu Wan hesitantly suggested, "Maybe… call the wet nurse?"
Though skilled with older children, she was helpless with infants. Zong Zhao was no better, holding the baby as if she might explode.
"I’ll fetch her." Zong Zhao set Little Kui down, and her wails intensified.
The wet nurse, experienced, entered and gently pressed Little Kui’s stomach. "Perhaps the young miss has stomach discomfort. Let’s wait for the House Physician, but I’ll massage her belly for now."
"Ah?" The new parents were baffled.
Do newborns even get stomachaches?
They watched as the wet nurse worked, and the cries softened slightly—but remained piercing.
A knock came at the door. Expecting the House Physician, they were surprised when Cui Zhi hurried in, tense. "General, the second young master in the neighboring courtyard… something seems wrong. The Old Marquis asks you to come at once."
"Zong Yan!"
Zong Zhao was torn—his daughter still wept.
Xu Wan waved him off. "Go, go! Don’t let anything happen to Zong Yan. The baby’s probably fine, and the House Physician will be here soon. We’re not alone here."
Zong Zhao hesitated, then said, "I’ll return quickly."
Xu Wan smiled reassuringly. "Go. We’re right here. Nothing will happen."
"Alright…"
When Zong Zhao arrived, Zong Yan was still inside, and the Old Marquis had been shut out.
"Father, what’s wrong? Is Zong Yan in pain again?"
The Old Marquis shook his head helplessly. "I don’t know. He won’t let me near him. Though… he only started acting up when he heard the crying. Before that, he was perfectly calm."
