A boy of eleven or twelve climbed down from the carriage. He wore a purple brocade robe with a white jade belt around his waist. His features were handsome, and between his brows lay an innate nobility, along with a composure far beyond his years.
He was the Third Prince, Zhao Chengrui.
The Emperor’s third son, born to Consort Rong, he was eleven years old. He studied under the Grand Tutor in the palace and had come out today especially to visit his utterly unreliable uncle, Du Ziteng.
The Third Prince stood at the entrance to the Imperial Academy and looked up at the plaque bearing its gilded characters. The corners of his lips curved slightly, showing a hint of curiosity and anticipation.
He had heard of the Imperial Academy’s reputation long ago. He knew that it gathered the finest scholars in the capital, that its teaching was more flexible and free than that of the palace tutors, and that its students could discuss poetry and painting or exchange ideas after class.
He had asked his father countless times to let him study at the Imperial Academy, but the Emperor always said that he was still too young and should first build a solid foundation in the palace.
The Third Prince entered through the gates of the Imperial Academy, crossed the front courtyard, and turned into the eastern side courtyard. After asking several students along the way, he finally found the classroom for Class A.
He stood at the entrance and peered inside.
The first person he saw was not his uncle, Du Ziteng, but a young man in a moon-white robe sitting by the window with his head lowered as he wrote.
The moment the Third Prince saw that young man, he froze as though struck by lightning.
His mouth fell slightly open, his eyes widened like copper bells, and his mind went completely blank.
All his thoughts seemed to have been drawn out of him, leaving behind only a single face.
That face was almost translucent in the afternoon sunlight. His eyelashes cast a small fan-shaped shadow beneath his eyes, and the fingers holding the brush were long, slender, and fair. The tip of the brush moved across the xuan paper with a soft rustle, giving birth to one neat, elegant character after another beneath his hand.
The Third Prince’s heart gave a violent thump, then another. It beat faster and faster, until he felt as though it might burst through his chest.
He forgot that he had come to find his uncle. He forgot that he was none other than the esteemed Third Prince. He even forgot that he was supposed to maintain the dignity of the imperial family.
He knew only that the young man was beautiful.
So beautiful that he forgot to breathe. So beautiful that he wanted to walk over—closer, and closer still—until he could clearly see the curve of his eyelashes.
The Third Prince drew a deep breath and walked into the Class A classroom on unsteady legs.
He stopped in front of the young man and opened his mouth, only to discover that his voice was stuck in his throat. It felt as though something were blocking it, leaving his throat dry and painfully raw.
The young man lifted his head and looked at him quietly, a faint smile resting on his lips.
“Who are you? Are you looking for someone?”
The Third Prince’s heart pounded several more times beneath that gaze. His fingers clenched and relaxed inside his sleeves, then clenched and relaxed again. Only after his knuckles had turned white several times did he manage to force out a complete sentence.
“I... I’m here to find my uncle. He... he’s the new teacher here. His surname is Du.”
“Master Du?”
The young man set down his brush and rose to his feet. He was half a head taller than the Third Prince.
“Master Du left as soon as class ended. He should be in the rear courtyard. Go through that moon gate, then turn right. It’s the second room.”
The Third Prince nodded but did not move. His feet felt nailed to the floor, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not take a step.
His gaze remained fixed to the young man’s face, unable to tear itself away.
“What... what’s your name?” the Third Prince asked, his voice trembling with a nervousness even he failed to notice.
“Shi Huai. And you?”
The Third Prince’s heart gave another violent thump.
The two words “Shi Huai” felt as though someone had branded them onto his heart with a hot iron—scalding, painful, and strangely addictive.
“I... My name is... Chengrui. You... you can just call me Chengrui from now on.”
His voice grew softer and softer. By the time he finished, the last few words were so quiet they sounded almost like a private murmur. The tips of his ears were red enough to drip blood.
Shi Huai smiled lightly at him, treating him like any ordinary visitor.
“Chengrui, hurry and go find your uncle. He shouldn’t have gone far.”
The Third Prince nodded vigorously and turned to leave the Class A classroom.
He walked out so quickly that he nearly tripped over the threshold. He caught himself on the doorframe and steadied his body before heading toward the rear courtyard without looking back.
But he was not in any hurry to find his uncle.
It took him quite some time to locate the side room where Du Ziteng lived.
When he pushed open the door, Du Ziteng was lying on the bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. His expression was as though he had just lived through an earthquake, and he still had not recovered.
“Uncle,” the Third Prince called. His voice sounded somewhat airy, and his eyes were unfocused. Clearly, his soul had not yet fully returned to his body.
Du Ziteng sat up and frowned at the boy’s dazed appearance.
“What’s wrong with you? Did something happen on the way here?”
The Third Prince sat down in a chair and remained silent for a long while.
His fingers unconsciously traced circles over his knees. After drawing several, he finally raised his head. His voice carried a solemnity that did not quite suit his age.
“Uncle, I want to transfer to the Imperial Academy.”
Du Ziteng froze, then frowned even more deeply.
“What did you say? Didn’t your father say that you should first build a solid foundation in the palace and wait another two years before coming here?”
“I can’t wait two years.”
The Third Prince rose and walked over to stand before Du Ziteng, looking up at him.
His apricot-yellow brocade robe gleamed softly in the afternoon light. His lips were pressed tightly together, as though he were making an extraordinarily important decision.
“Uncle, you have to help me. I want to transfer to the Imperial Academy. Now.”
Du Ziteng studied his nephew’s urgent expression and vaguely sensed that something was wrong, though he could not say exactly what.
Leaning against the headboard with his arms folded across his chest, he spoke in an even tone.
“Give me a reason.”
The Third Prince drew a deep breath and began counting off his reasons on his fingers.
“First, the quality of education at the Imperial Academy is no worse than that in the palace. In fact, it’s even more flexible and free.”
“Second, the Imperial Academy has outstanding students from all over the country. I can exchange knowledge with them and broaden my horizons.”
“Third, the academy’s curriculum is more systematic and comprehensive. In addition to the Four Books and Five Classics, there are poetry, policy essays, mathematics...”
Du Ziteng listened as his nephew launched into a stream of reasons, reciting everything from the superiority of the Imperial Academy’s teaching to the origins of renowned ministers throughout history.
Every reason was laid out clearly, as though he had prepared them all in advance.
The more Du Ziteng listened, the more suspicious he became.
Although his nephew was clever, he usually hated lengthy explanations and grand principles.
Yet today, he had rattled off more than a dozen reasons without the slightest change in expression or breath.
Du Ziteng raised a hand and interrupted him. His voice held a trace of suspicion.
“Chengrui, tell your uncle honestly. Did you run into something at the Imperial Academy?”
