Prince Qing had returned.
The news stirred little attention; some even struggled to recall who he was.
After all, he had been gone for only a year, yet in that short time the world had already shifted.
A light four-wheeled carriage rolled across the blue-brick path, its crisp clatter breaking the stillness of the imperial palace.
Only princes were permitted to ride carriages within these grounds. But the emperor had few brothers, most were enfeoffed in distant lands and seldom came to court. The last time such wheels had echoed here was exactly a year ago – when Duke Jin’an escorted Prince Qing away.
Inside the carriage, Duke Jin’an sat with his eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic beat of hooves and wheels. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and lifted the curtain for a glance outside.
The palace attendants hurried close, their voices full of concern.
But Duke Jin’an’s gaze had fixed not on them, but on the horses pulling the carriage.
The sharp, measured da-da of hooves struck the ground in an oddly pleasing rhythm.
“What’s on their hooves?” he asked.
“Your Highness, those are horseshoes,” one of the attendants replied with a smile.
“Horseshoes?” Duke Jin’an repeated softly.
“Your Highness has been away too long, unaware of the new things in the capital. These are the latest creations of the Group Pasturage Office. Branded onto the hooves, they protect them from wear. All the warhorses are now fitted with them – it saves much loss. His Majesty himself bestowed the name. Even the palace horses wear them, and their steps make such a fine sound.”
Even the horses had changed.
In a single year, so much had changed.
Duke Jin’an let the curtain fall back into place.
The Empress Dowager’s hall was filled with people, all of them glancing anxiously toward the door.
“His Highness, the Duke of Jin’an, has arrived,” came the eunuch’s clear announcement, drawing nearer with each step.
Everyone inside straightened at once. The doors opened, and a tall, slender youth stepped in. His pace, slow at first, quickened as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“Your Majesty, Empress Dowager-”
He hurried forward, dropping to his knees in a full prostration, his trembling voice catching as though choked with emotion.
The Empress Dowager’s tears fell instantly. She reached out with trembling hands to lift him, while the consorts gathered around her began weeping as well.
Duke Jin’an remained bowed for a long moment before rising and kneeling properly before her. She clasped his hands, studying his face with aching care, and broke into tears again.
“Look at you – how thin you’ve become…” she murmured.
At her side, the Imperial Consort dabbed at her eyes and gently pushed the First Prince forward.
“Brother,” the boy called out.
Duke Jin’an turned, met his gaze, and gave a small nod.
“Your Highness has grown taller,” he said softly.
The other princesses soon crowded around, their voices chiming in one after another. For a moment, the grand hall filled with youthful laughter and greetings, as Duke Jin’an greeted each of his younger sisters in turn.
The Empress Dowager held his hand, glancing anxiously toward the doorway.
“And Prince Qing…?” she asked softly.
Duke Jin’an stepped back two paces.
“Prince Qing was weary from the journey by boat. When we entered the palace, he had fallen asleep, so I had him sent back first,” he said, bowing low. “Your Majesty, forgive me for not waking him. Prince Qing is no longer the sixth brother he once was. I beg you not to treat him as an ordinary man, but to grant him your understanding.”
At these words, the Empress Dowager’s tears welled up and spilled over, her handkerchief pressed against her lips to stifle her sobs.
In that instant, the feelings dulled by a year’s absence surged back with painful force.
In front of the palace, the Empress Dowager strode forward in determined steps. To her left and right, the Imperial Consort and Duke Jin’an followed, both wearing expressions of helplessness. Behind them trailed a retinue of consorts wrapped in brilliantly colored cloaks, the crown prince and princesses among them. Even the youngest princess had been brought along, cradled in Consort Zhu’s arms.
“Your Majesty, please don’t go. The weather is far too cold,” the Imperial Consort murmured again.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Duke Jin’an added. “Liu Ge’er cannot sleep long – he will awaken soon. I will bring him to pay his respects then.”
“By order of propriety,” the Empress Dowager replied, her voice thick with tears, “I am the Empress Dowager and he is but a grandson of the throne. It should always be he who comes to me. But you said it yourself – he is no longer the Liu Ge’er he once was. Since I no longer regard him as an imperial grandson, then I need not hold to such rules. I shall go to him.” Without breaking stride, she pressed on.
The Imperial Consort dabbed at her tears, while Duke Jin’an fell silent, grief etched into his face.
“It has pained Her Majesty,” he whispered.
Only now do you realize? the Imperial Consort thought bitterly, her tear-stained eyes glancing sideways at the youth, tinged with hatred.
They had not yet reached the palace doors when two eunuchs came rushing out in a panic.
“His Highness is awake! His Highness is awake!” they cried, their faces pale, as though they had witnessed something dreadful.
Are they disgusted with Prince Qing?
Prince Qing was no longer a normal child – did they despise him for it?
The Empress Dowager’s anger flared at once.
“Strike their mouths!” she shouted. “Wretched curs – how dare the likes of you presume to serve Prince Qing!”
The eunuchs fell to their knees, knocking their foreheads to the ground in terror. Duke Jin’an hurried forward to intervene.
“Your Majesty, that was not their meaning. Liu Ge’er has been with me too long; when he sees strangers, he grows frightened,” he explained quickly, striding toward the hall. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon – allow me to go in first and see to him.”
Without waiting for her reply, he was already hastening inside, breaking into a run.
Watching the youth’s hurried figure disappear through the doorway, the Empress Dowager’s nose stung once more. She heaved a heavy sigh and lifted her foot to follow.
From within the palace came strange cries, shrill and rasping, rising and falling in uneven pitches.
Two of the princesses instinctively pressed back against the crowd, their faces pale with fear.
The First Prince, though still standing firm, had already clenched his hand tight inside his sleeve.
Everyone stood in silence, gazes fixed on the raised curtain and the child lying upon the couch within.
A year ago, not long after the accident, the boy had been taken away from the palace. None of them had seen what had truly become of him. Back then, they had been prepared to face whatever injuries he might have suffered. But a year’s absence had blurred that memory – what they remembered now was only what the Second Prince had once been.
A rosy-cheeked child, always smiling, eyes bright as stars, mischievous and lively, bouncing about with endless charm.
Yet the boy before them now was like something out of a dream – no, a nightmare.
Was this really the same child? Could this grotesque figure truly be the Second Prince they remembered?
What lay before them was hardly a child at all. None of them had ever seen one so ugly, so terrifying.
A round, bloated little body, flailing its arms, straining its neck to let out harsh, guttural cries. Mucus and drool ran ceaselessly down his face. Noticing the crowd, he turned his head toward them, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed.
With a shriek, one of the princesses could bear no more. She cried out in fright and stumbled backward.
“Get out!”
The Empress Dowager’s furious voice rang through the hall.
The concubine clutched the princess and dropped to her knees.
“Apologize, quickly – apologize!” she urged in a trembling voice, pressing the girl’s head down in repeated kowtows.
The princess, still dazed from two shocks in a row, only wept, her face drained of color.
“Do you not understand? Get out!” the Empress Dowager thundered again.
The Imperial Consort gestured sharply, and the concubine wiped her tears, bowed her head, and hurriedly led the princess out.
“Any who are afraid may leave as well,” the Empress Dowager said coldly, her dark gaze sweeping over the remaining concubines and princesses.
No one was foolish enough to move.
“What are you saying, Your Majesty? How could we be afraid? That is Liu Ge’er – our Liu Ge’er, whom we watched grow up,” Consort Zhu said tearfully. She stepped forward, still holding the youngest princess in her arms. “Shuning, look – there is your brother, your brother. Call him Brother.”
The infant princess, barely a week old, could not yet speak. Wide-eyed and uncomprehending, she waved her tiny hands, babbling incoherently, untouched by fear.
That alone was enough to gladden the Empress Dowager; her expression softened as she turned once more toward the child within.
The boy sat half-upright, arms lifted high as he shouted. Duke Jin’an gently pulled his arm down, slipping a robe over him. Half-kneeling, he fastened the ties, murmuring something under his breath before raising his head with a smile at the child.
Dressing him, putting on his shoes, wiping his face with a handkerchief, feeding him water – all of it was done by his hands alone. The eunuchs standing nearby seemed clumsy and unnecessary.
Such practiced ease could only come from long, patient, personal care.
The Empress Dowager’s nose stung as she gazed at the young man feeding the child a few sips of water, his hand gently stroking the boy’s face as he smiled.
“…You are such a good boy,” he murmured, lowering his head to touch foreheads with the child.
“You are amazing!”
In the palace hall, one large head and one small pressed together. The little one giggled, clutching at the elder’s arm.
“Brother, Brother – play more, play more!”
The Empress Dowager could not help herself; with a trace of joy she took a step forward. But that step shattered the fragile illusion – the child’s clear laughter vanished, replaced by meaningless grunts and cries.
Her Liu Ge’er was gone forever.
The Empress Dowager raised a trembling hand to cover her face, choking with sobs. Behind her, the concubines too broke down, their muffled weeping echoing through the hall.
The First Prince’s expression was wooden. He caught the glance the Imperial Consort cast him – a silent signal. He knew he was supposed to be crying along with the others, yet the tears simply would not come.
He looked at the foolish, vacant child before him. There was no fear in his eyes, only astonishment.
Who is this? This could not be the Liu Ge’er he once knew – not the younger brother more beautiful, more clever, more beloved by their father than he himself.
That brother was gone. He would never return.
But wasn’t this… better?
His gaze swept across the hall. Everyone was grieving, everyone’s heart ached for the boy.
That was good. Everyone still loved him, still cherished him, still protected him. He could do as he pleased, with no expectations. Wasn’t that wonderful?
Surely he too must feel that happiness – why else would he grin so widely, so blissfully?
Slowly, the corners of the First Prince’s lips curved upward.
Yes. This was good. This was best.
By the time Duke Jin’an saw the Emperor, evening had already fallen.
“How goes the search for doctors?” the Emperor asked.
The Duke shook his head.
“In truth, after a while, I ceased the search,” he said, lifting his gaze with a faint smile. From his side, he picked up a scroll and presented it reverently. “This is a gift I’ve brought for Your Majesty.”
The Emperor let out a short laugh.
“So it seems you truly have given up the search – yet still had the leisure to bring me a gift,” he remarked.
A nearby eunuch received the scroll and unfurled it. The Emperor’s expression faltered slightly.
“…When I left with Liu Ge’er, I did not know where to go. That day, I sat on a mountain for a long time. I watched the sunrise, the sea of clouds rolling, the glow of dawn scattering across the sky – it was truly magnificent beyond words. And I thought – Liu Ge’er has always loved maps, and Your Majesty too enjoys them. But perhaps Your Majesty has never seen with your own eyes the true grandeur of mountains and rivers. So I decided simply to take Sixth Brother with me, and together we traveled across them.”
Duke Jin’an’s voice continued steadily.
“…This painting is my own work. I did not seek out local masters. A painting, after all, is an expression of one’s heart. If it were painted by those renowned artists, it would only be what they saw. I wanted to paint the rivers and mountains as I myself saw them – as I myself felt them. To capture that awe and offer it for Your Majesty to see…”
The Emperor looked at the scroll slowly unfurled before him. Ink strokes outlined mountains and waters – lofty peaks, surging rivers, ridges upon ridges, clear streams winding. The composition was unrefined, the brushwork clumsy, yet it was vividly alive. With each section revealed, it was as though he himself stood among those landscapes.
All called this realm his empire. Yet he had never truly seen it. What he knew was only the capital and the palace walls; at most, the streets he passed during ceremonial processions.
It was his empire, and yet he was confined within this tiny walled city. The thought struck him as both absurd and tragic.
He too longed to see his own land. But even to entertain such a notion – let alone act on it – would rouse a storm of protests from his ministers, as though he were about to bring ruin upon the realm.
Son of Heaven. The one who seemingly possessed everything, yet in truth had nothing at all.
The Emperor turned his gaze toward Duke Jin’an. On that frail, emaciated face – thinner even than a year before – there now glowed a faint flush, and in his eyes, a spark of light.
“You have been most thoughtful,” he said with a nod.
