Lu Lingcong looked at Xie Jing’s side profile. His eyelashes curved downward, casting a faint shadow over the slight swelling beneath his eyes, and beneath that lingered a trace of dark circles. His cheeks were pale and lusterless, the fatigue plainly visible.
When Lu Lingcong first saw Xie Jing in Yongzhou, he had secretly sighed that time had refused to slight him in the least. Now, he could only concede that white hair showed no mercy to anyone worn down by exhaustion, regardless of their beauty. Yet this in no way meant he displayed even the slightest hint of age. He had not yet reached thirty-one, and when he opened his eyes, the brilliance that shone from his expression carried an exquisite beauty that seemed to transcend the years.
Xie Jing bent his knees and curled his legs in front of him, “I heard people in the marketplace talking about the turmoil at Prince Zhao’s Mansion, saying I was ‘cast aside before my beauty had even faded.’ At the time, I found it absurd and thought only the first half of that statement held any truth. But looking back now, even that first half isn’t true.”
Lu Lingcong gazed at him and suddenly asked, “Have you seen the portrait Ningning drew of you?”
Xie Jing was startled by the question. He immediately opened his eyes and turned to look at him, “No, I’ve always wanted to! But she hides it and won’t let me see it.”
Lu Lingcong saw the liveliness return to his features in that instant. He smiled and said, “It can’t be called exquisitely skilled, but the spirit and charm are exactly the same. Do you know why?”
Xie Jing shook his head, then heard Lu Lingcong explain, “You are the person she is most familiar with and closest to. When she draws you, she isn’t tracing the living person’s form; she is capturing the spirit based on intuition. Your image is engraved in her mind.”
“If you were to draw me,” Xie Jing understood the comforting intent in Lu Lingcong’s words, “what would you remember first?”
Lu Lingcong sat backward, straddling the chair. After thinking for a long time, he gave an answer that Xie Jing had not expected at all, “In the spring of the eighth year of Zhenyou, the Qibi Terrace had just been finished. I transplanted the wisteria from the garden to trail beneath the study’s eaves. That was when you opened the window and looked out.”
Xie Jing was speechless. He still vividly remembered the view outside the window that Lu Lingcong had shown him in the late spring more than a decade ago: lush weeping willows, snow-white magnolias, and wisteria in full, resplendent bloom. In retrospect, perhaps it was at that very moment that he truly began to think of Prince Zhao’s Mansion as his home.
But he didn’t remember anything special about himself at that moment. Perhaps he was slightly sweaty from being cooped up indoors; perhaps his hair was messy and his clothes were careless. In any case, it was vastly different from the perfectly managed, refined image he had maintained during his decade as Princess Consort Zhao.
“Why?” Xie Jing leaned forward, placed his hand on Lu Lingcong’s forearm draped over the chair back, and then rested his head on it like a pillow.
Lu Lingcong, however, seemed a little lost, “I want to know too, but for the past three years—almost four years now, every time I think of you, you look exactly like that seventeen-year-old self.”
Xie Jing fell silent while gazing at him with dullness completely unlike his usual sharp, scrutinizing look. After a long time, he murmured softly, “I want to go home.”
Lu Lingcong paused, taking it that Xie Jing was referring to departing Qinhuai Chun. “Now? In that case, should I slip out through the back entrance first?”
“Not that home, but the Prince’s Mansion,” Xie Jing sighed, speaking in an unruffled tone as if telling someone else’s story. “I haven’t slept soundly for a single night at my home in Wuyi Lane.”
Silence fell between them for a moment. Lu Lingcong lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Xie Jing’s. Both were warm. He said softly, “Your pillow was never put away. It’s right by my ear every night, just waiting empty for your return.”
The Winter Solstice of the fourth year of Jingyu was gloomy the entire day. The sky darkened soon after noon, and by night, a cold wind was blowing, rattling the paper windows.
Xie Jing had his attendants set up several additional braziers. He sat huddled beside the heated bed table, reviewing official documents all the way until midnight. The disaster reports from the various regions had already been submitted twice. Yet the funds in the Prime Minister’s Mansion treasury were being drained like water, while the allocations from the national treasury were being siphoned off layer by layer at every level. Most of the prefects sent by the court to the various prefectures were old acquaintances whom the aristocratic families had managed to install. Their secondary function was to exercise supervisory authority locally, with their primary goal being to minimize losses for their own clans as much as possible.
As a result, the memorials sent back to Jinling were naturally a mixture of truth and fabrication. Having followed He Gao in Yongzhou and dealt with every matter a prefect might encounter, Xie Jing could tell at a glance what had been falsified, what had been glossed over, and where the compiled figures did not even add up. Yet even with that awareness, he was powerless to alter anything. He could only feign deafness and silence, weaving together a basketful of courteous, well-phrased responses.
The work finally wrapped up around the second watch of the night. Xie Jing slipped on his robe, rose from the bed, and poured himself a cup of tea. He drank it slowly, his eyes drifting to the newly made zither resting quietly on the table. The instrument’s body was crafted from Jinsi Nan wood he had specially commissioned before leaving the capital that year; the artisan had kept his word and reserved it for him all this time. The silk strings on the zither had been wound by his own hands with the silk quality, spacing, thickness, flexibility, length, and tension all calibrated precisely to the size and habits of Lu Shuqing’s fingers, making it the most comfortable and useful for him to play.
Xie Jing did not know when this gift, into which he had poured several months of effort, would reach Lu Shuqing, nor whether his thirteenth birthday had passed pleasantly.
He set down his cup and turned to get onto the heated bed when he suddenly heard a slight sound coming from behind the standing mirror in the corner of the room. Xie Jing froze, held his breath, and stared fixedly at the mirror’s surface. In the candlelight, there was only his solitary shadow. However, after a moment of dead silence in the room, several distinct “tap-tap” sounds followed.
This time, Xie Jing heard it clearly. It was the rhythm they had agreed upon, the one used in the Tiger Division signals that referred specifically to him, like another term for “Mother” that only their family understood.
He practically lunged forward to fumble to open the door hidden behind the mirror. A small yet bright light source rose slightly below his line of sight. He saw Lu Shuqing holding a lantern in one hand and linking arms with Lu Shuning in the other, standing a few steps away from the secret passage exit, having not yet managed to retract their cautious, watchful gazes.
Xie Jing stood frozen on the spot. Shock and disbelief rendered him speechless and immobile for a moment, his slightly parted lips trembling. After a long moment, it was Lu Shuning who broke the silence, smiling and saying, “Did Mother get scared speechless by us?”
Xie Jing was then jolted back to his senses. He reached out and half-cradled, half-pulled the two children out to hold one in each arm and stroked them repeatedly. He messed up Lu Shuqing’s hair and rubbed Lu Shuning’s cheeks red. Only after a good while did he reluctantly straighten up and examine them carefully in the lamplight. It was then he realized both were dressed in layers of clothing and accessories. Lu Shuning was particularly dressed up like a little celestial maiden in the [Riding the Phoenix] painting. On the wrist she lifted to embrace him, she wore a gold armlet on the left, and on the right several finely carved hibiscus jade bangles, their color like mist over sea and sky. Against her snow-white skin, they complemented each other beautifully, clinking softly as they touched.
“Did you just come back from the Palace? Just the two of you? Your father didn’t follow?” Xie Jing asked, immediately adding, “Your ears are freezing. Hurry and warm up on the bed.”
Lu Shuqing removed his boots and socks and slipped inside the curtains before pulling the soft blanket with residual warmth around himself. He watched Xie Jing attempt to lift Lu Shuning higher but fail, breathlessly laughing and saying, “I can’t lift you anymore,” while draping her removed outer garments over the screen beside the bed.
“We just came out of the Palace. Father originally went to Shenlong Hall to request permission from Uncle to allow us to come home for one night. Uncle did agree but said there were important matters to discuss, so he kept Father there, so the two of us came home first.” Lu Shuqing answered softly.
Xie Jing gently pushed Lu Shuning back onto the heated bed, then slipped in under the covers himself. He pulled out the hot-water pouch warming the foot of the bed, and the three of them huddled around it before taking their small hands and pressing them against the warmth together.
“So, you snuck over then? Did you leave a message for Father? Don’t let him worry if he comes home and can’t find you.”
Lu Shuqing said, “I left a note on the table in the main hall.”
“Then you’ll sleep here tonight. I don’t have court tomorrow, so you can get up later, and I’ll take you back.” Xie Jing was clearly in high spirits. He then asked, “How did you two know about this path? And how did you open the door to the middle secret room?”
Lu Shuqing briefly recounted the entire process: how he unintentionally found an old scroll in Lu Lingcong’s study, how he casually recognized it as a map of the Jinling water system while admiring it, and how he then discovered the entrance behind the mirror in the main room. He added, “I’ve seen the mechanism for the secret room’s lock at Master Xiao’s place. I used Ningning’s hairpin to pick it.”
Xiao Yao’s special identity made it nearly impossible for her to carry swords or blades. Since Flying Light had been mortgaged to Prince Zhao’s Mansion, she had habitually pondered how to transform all the accessories she wore into weapons and tools. The last time she passed the note to Xie Jing, she also used this as a deception.
Upon hearing this, Xie Jing instinctively lowered his gaze to the hairpin pinned in Lu Shuning’s bun. It was the “Bird Perch-style” style commonly seen in the palace. As its name suggested, the tassel suspended from the head of the pin was shaped like a small bird perched upon a stand. The top of the stand was carved with cloud motifs, and even the fine chains binding the bird’s feet were rendered with meticulous and faithful detail.
“Who gave you this?” Xie Jing gently nudged it twice. The Bird Perch-style hairpin swayed lazily, so lifelike it seemed ready to take flight the next moment, yet everyone knew it couldn’t fly away.
Lu Shuning said, “The Empress Dowager bestowed it. Everyone was at Gege’s birthday banquet today, so I had to wear it.”
Xie Jing had already formed the answer in his mind. “Caged bird” and “canary” were metaphors deeply loathed by anyone close to Lu Shuning. No one would have willingly styled her in such a way, as though wishing for her to reenact a tragic fate.
He didn’t want to talk more about these things during their rare time together. Instead, he turned to Lu Shuqing, bowed to him with a smile, and said, “I haven’t yet congratulated our Qing’er on turning thirteen and growing up a little more in peace and health.”
Lu Shuqing was nestling against him, gently nudging his shoulder with his head, and said softly, “Mother has also suffered and toiled for all the years you’ve raised me. I should first bow down a hundred times to Mother—so what is the congratulatory gift Mother prepared for me?”
Xie Jing laughed while glancing at him, “First, take inventory of all the treasures you received throughout the day.”
Lu Shuning eagerly answered, “Grandmother sewed a huanhua pillow filled with mugwort, cassia seeds, and chrysanthemums to help Gege sleep soundly and stop him from reciting texts in his sleep. Before Aunt left, she chose a foal at the Imperial Park for him. We all saw it today; it’s so beautiful and runs with spirit no less than Yi Yun. Father said Gege should name it himself.”
Xie Jing then asked, “What did you name it?”
Lu Shuqing pondered for a moment and said, “It’s entirely snow-white, so I thought of calling it ‘Qiong Xu’Does Mother like it?”
Xie Jing nodded, “What you like is the best. Just one thing, Yi Yun is getting old and sometimes can’t endure very arduous journeys anymore. Remember to go see her often and keep her company.”
Lu Shuqing paused as if recalling some depressing and solemn memory. He lowered his eyes gloomily and nodded in agreement. Lu Shuning rushed closer, “And there’s mine! And there’s mine too!”
Lu Shuqing let out a soft “Oh,” took a thin booklet from his embrace, and handed it to Xie Jing, “Ningning bound the drawings she made of me over the last six months into a collection. She wrote the preface herself and then asked the Grand Tutor to write a colophon. Now, only the title of the collection is blank. We agreed that Mother should choose it, and then it will be completely finished.”
Upon hearing this, Xie Jing quickly examined the collection. He was filled with uncontrollable joy and almost passed out from laughing while flipping through it. Lu Shuning’s preface and Zhang Yan’s colophon were both very brief—after all, the space was limited. The former’s writing was still a bit naive, essentially repeating the phrase “My drawings of my Gege are very accurate” about five times. The latter, however, showed utmost seriousness: the handwriting was meticulous, the language elegant and rigorous. Xie Jing could almost picture the old Grand Tutor Zhang sitting upright in his chair, squinting his dim, failing eyes, stroking his beard, and racking his mind to compose the grand concluding inscription for his most cherished student’s portrait collection.
The drawings depicted nothing more than ordinary, everyday moments. Lu Shuqing, drawn with slightly exaggerated proportions, appeared in various poses: sitting or lying down, reclining while reading, or squatting on the ground to poke at ants. All of them were rendered with an endearing innocence and striking vividness. Occasionally, others appeared, such as Lu Shuqing accompanying Consort Dowager Wu while worshipping the Buddha—the Bodhisattva was drawn almost like a round lion, causing Xie Jing to silently mutter “blasphemy” on Lu Shuning’s behalf.
He asked, “Why do I only see Grandmother, Aunt, and Father, but not me?”
Lu Shuning thought for a moment and answered seriously, “Because I don’t remember what Mother looked like when you were with Gege, and I also don’t remember what the whole family looked like together.”
The speaker intended no harm, but the listeners took it to heart. Both Xie Jing and Lu Shuqing were stunned and speechless for a moment. It was the mother who finally broke the silence, “I was thinking, since it’s a casual collection of ordinary moments captured in drawings, why not call it ‘Random Glimpses of Brother’? That sounds appropriate and straightforward.”
After gaining the consent of both siblings, Xie Jing picked up the brush and ink that had not yet been put away on the table. While writing the title on the cover of the collection, he casually asked Lu Shuqing, “And your father? What new trick did he pull out this year?”
Lu Shuqing paused, exchanging glances with Lu Shuning, and said with a touch of bewilderment, “Father… Father gave me a sword.”
The chivalric stories Lu Shuqing had read made him subconsciously believe that “gifting a sword” was an extremely formal and special occasion. Of course, as a birthday gift, it couldn’t be called disrespectful, but he felt it was somewhat undeserved. After all, he was only thirteen, not yet an adult at his capping ceremony, and he hadn’t achieved any particularly outstanding accomplishments in swordsmanship either.
And his father, who was usually unable to maintain a stern, serious, and solemn demeanor, simply pushed the sword case across the table to him in a very ordinary manner while everyone was sitting around chatting and laughing, asking, “Do you want to try it?”
The result of the test was not ideal. His strength was lacking, and he could not yet fully control the sharp, cold blade of white steel. Yet Lu Lingcong showed neither disappointment nor reproach.
He merely said calmly, “None of us are anywhere near the level of forging a sword’s soul. A divine weapon in hand, no matter how cold and intimidating its gleam, is still just an object. Your aunt even defeated me with nothing but a willow branch. In the end, victory depends on the person, not the tool; it doesn’t matter that much. Just take it and play with it.”
Xie Jing remained silent for a long time after hearing Lu Shuqing’s retelling. He then got up, went to the table, and brought the new zither over to place it across the heated bed, “What Mother and Father say is the same, just take it and play with it. It’s good if you manage to master it, but if you grow tired of it and set it aside, that’s entirely your choice as well.”
Lu Shuqing looked at him in surprise, then couldn’t help but reach out and lightly brush the instrument. His skin against the silk strings produced a faint, dry, rustling hiss. In the stillness of the night, he held himself back from plucking a single note.
Xie Jing faintly felt that Lu Lingcong’s thoughts were the same as his own: in such turbulent times, on the eve of impending storms, placing a sword or a zither into a child’s hands might be an expression of expectation, trust, or warning; or perhaps, in truth, nothing more than a form of quiet companionship.
It was true that the zither and the sword were objects, but they were objects that had been by their sides for decades, so familiar that they were almost integrated with their limbs. When facing tremendous risks and a difficult path ahead, the concrete tangible assurances they could leave behind were limited to just these things.
They did not demand that Lu Shuqing become a second coming of Gai Nie or Shi Kuang[mfn]Gai Nie is a master swordsman, and Shi Kuang is a legendary musician.[/mfn], they simply hoped that when he thought of them, there would be a visible “object” to remember them by.
