The earlier a prince of Dayu was summoned to court to observe state affairs, the more it bespoke both his standing in His Majesty’s heart and the acumen of his mind.
Yet such precedent proved meaningless where Sheng Fuze was concerned.
At the tender age of eight, he was already hailed as “Master Ze” amongst the scholarly circles of the capital. By thirteen, the completion of his private retreat, the Song Garden, rendered his name a byword for brilliance across the capital.
A year after its refurbishment, he began hosting Spring Festival gatherings within the garden walls. Whether young masters and noble ladies from the city, or humble folk from the outskirts, none who had once set foot within that enchanting space failed to speak of His Highness the Third Prince, Sheng Fuze.
He had lived so extravagantly, so boldly, that even the imperial kindred and high-ranking courtiers began to suspect ulterior motives.
But—heaven bear witness—Sheng Fuze merely wished to live freely and grandly. Born into a family of rare fortune and gifted with no small measure of brilliance, how could he resign himself to a life of dull restraint and quiet obscurity? Such a fate, he believed, would leave him weeping in regret upon waking in the dark watches of the night.
And so, at fifteen, when Emperor Yuanxing summoned him to court by day, His Highness took to feigning illness by night in the Tonghuai Palace.
He complained of vomiting and diarrhoea, of fever and vertigo. Any imperial physician summoned need only place a finger and be told, “There, that hurts,” as if he might expire at any moment.
The charade grew so noisy that the Empress, roused from her slumber, came rushing to his chambers without even time to dress her hair properly, hastily throwing on a robe.
No sooner had she entered than the boy, who moments earlier had been howling in theatrical agony, softened to a whisper, still feigning pain but lacking conviction in his voice.
In short: a coward’s retreat.
The Empress cast him a single glance, pressed her fingers to his pulse, and in an instant discerned the truth. A touch of ire flickered in her eyes, though it was not without amusement.
By rights, the Crown Prince would be the first to feel the ripples of Sheng Fuze’s entry into court. As his mother, the Empress ought to refrain from interference, for too ready a defence might earn her quiet reproach.
Yet whether the jostling ride from Fengqi Palace had left her sore of body, or whether the sight of her son playing at illness with such conviction pricked her pride, she resolved to teach him a lesson.
Withdrawing her hand, she spoke with deliberate clarity: “This ailment lies not in the flesh, but in the heart. The boy is restless, his spirit unquiet. Let him copy scripture at the Grand Tutor’s side for a month, that he might find calm.”
Emperor Yuanxing, catching her meaning, lengthened the sentence on the spot. From one month to three.
Thus, did the Third Prince act his farce so thoroughly that his hand nearly gave out from writing. It was then that Ke Hongxue, watching him trudge daily into his little courtyard clutching a mountain of paper, found it too pitiful to bear. He quietly took to mimicking Sheng Fuze’s handwriting, and helped him transcribe the texts.
In truth, most of what Sheng Fuze handed to Grand Tutor Ke during those three months had been penned by Ke Hongxue in his stead.
And Grand Tutor Ke, seated in his study, poring over the essays, could not help but feel his own grandson had been raised for the benefit of the Sheng household.
Thus the matter of Sheng Fuze’s entry into court was delayed once again. When he turned sixteen, the ministers renewed their petition, and Emperor Yuanxing raised the subject anew.
This time, the prince bowed his head with due humility. The Ministry of Internal Affairs had already begun tailoring his ceremonial robes when, within days, a “misstep” during riding practice left him flung from his horse, his arm fractured clean through.
The Empress did not scold him. She furrowed her brow and reset the bone herself. Then, after a long, searching silence, she asked: “Why do this to yourself?”
Sheng Fuze offered a sheepish smile. “I am poor at archery on horseback. Please, Imperial Mother, don’t be angry.”
“Poor at riding and archery?” she echoed softly. She removed the collar from about her neck and laid it before him. “This,” she said, “was fashioned from the snow wolf you hunted single-handedly with your father at the Autumn Hunt. You were fourteen.”
Sheng Fuze lowered his gaze and did not reply directly. He merely said: “This son is foolish and wayward. He dallies amid blossoms and grows distracted with ease. He is given to clever tricks and never suited to statecraft. Rather than drag myself into court prematurely, I’d rather steal a few more carefree days. Punish me as you wish, but I beg you, don’t let it vex your health.”
There was such open honesty in his words that the Empress found herself at a loss. After a pause, she merely said, “Rest and recover,” and swept away.
And so, for that entire year, no one again spoke of the Third Prince’s attendance at court.
Only when he turned seventeen did he finally give assent. Any further delay would truly breach ancestral custom.
Even then, Emperor Yuanxing, wary of another rebellion, assigned two squads of guards to monitor his son night and day, lest he again contrive some mishap and land himself in the infirmary.
Fortunately, the Third Prince kept his word.
By then, the Crown Prince had long since established his footing, having spent five years in court. Under ordinary circumstances, a younger prince’s participation would pose no threat.
But Sheng Fuze had never belonged to the category of “ordinary prince.”
That autumn evening in the Song Garden marked the next time Ke Hongxue saw him. It had been some time since summer’s end, when Sheng Fuze slipped quietly into the Ke household’s small courtyard. He did not climb over the wall this time, but knocked at the gate. In his hand he carried a flask of osmanthus wine. Under the soft moonlight, he smiled.
“Ah Xue,” he said, “the osmanthus is in bloom. Shall we float lanterns upon the Jinfen River?”
The young master was still as radiant as jade and morning dew, though now there lingered upon him a gentler, more composed air.
He invited him to release lanterns. Ke Hongxue looked at him for a long moment, then turned inside to fetch another cloak.
He still did not drink, and so he sat on the pleasure barge and watched Sheng Fuze sip.
Perhaps the river’s lull loosened him, for the Third Prince’s carefree flair began to show once more. He reclined in the cabin, half-lost in the songs drifting from both shores, lightly echoing the verses, humming along. His voice was smooth, melodious, haunting, but ever laced with that cool, aristocratic aloofness that marked his birth.
When one peeled back the cultivated charm and sociable brilliance, the true Sheng Fuze had always been as distant and cold as moonlight out of reach. Clear, penetrating, and startling in its beauty.
Yet that moonlight was wrapped in dawn’s warmth, starlit skies, spring blossoms, and the grandeur of mountains and rivers. A splendour few ever glimpsed beneath the surface.
Golden osmanthus blossoms floated upon the dark water. Their scent was light, neither overpowering nor faint, perfectly tuned to the season. A rare moment of peace.
Sheng Fuze drank, and sang, and let slip thoughts long locked within his heart.
“There’s unrest in the court. I wonder if Imperial Father’s noticed.”
“My cousin from the Wei family is clamouring once again to be sent to the northern frontier. Zumu has punished him to kneel at the ancestral hall. I heard he’s staging a hunger strike, so I asked qi di to sneak him a roast chicken.”
“Imperial Mother… seems to have revived old longings she ought not to hold.”
“The other day, Imperial Father said he intends to pass the throne to my da ge. But xiong zhang is only twenty. He’ll have to wait at least two more years.”
At the mention of the Crown Prince, Sheng Fuze paused. He lifted his gaze under the soft boat-lit starlight, and looked across at the snow-pale figure who had touched no wine, seated opposite him amid the drifting fragrance of blossoms.
Perhaps the wine had gone to his head, for he stared at Ke Hongxue a moment longer than necessary, then lowered his eyes and let out a soft, ambiguous laugh. He traced the rim of his cup with a finger.
“Xiong zhang’s wedding is next month,” he said lightly. “Have you prepared a gift, Ah Xue?”
Ke Hongxue blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden turn from matters of state to such personal talk. Still, he answered:
“I asked Father to bring back a pair of Eastern pearls and a jade Guanyin from the South.”
“Tsk,” Sheng Fuze murmured, tone faintly sour. “Such a fine gift… and not even one for me?”
Ke Hongxue’s eyes widened at once, lips parting slightly in disbelief.
Sheng Fuze saw his expression and broke into a laugh.
“I’m teasing,” he said, voice warm with mirth. “You’ve given me many gifts already. How could I hold that against you?”
He leaned back, shut his eyes, and began to hum again.“When we reach the shore, wake me,” he murmured. “I’m so very tired. I think I’ll sleep a while.”
Ke Hongxue closed his mouth and lowered his eyes to the figure sleeping within the boat’s cabin, swallowing down every word he had meant to say.
He had wanted to say: “I asked my father to help me find a set of green jade vessels. They stay warm in winter and cool in summer. Perfect for wine. Don’t always drink it cold, it’s harsh on the stomach.”
“And this year, Shu sent forty bolts of new brocade to the palace in tribute, half reserved for the Emperor alone. I thought you’d look handsome in such fine cloth, so I procured ten bolts from the common market. They’ll reach your residence in a few days.”
“You mentioned once that Huizhou’s composite ink is especially fine, though the finest craftsmen can scarcely produce a few pieces each year. I had someone search for two months and finally found twenty. You can keep them for yourself or give them away. It’s excellent either way.”
The oars stirred the water with quiet rhythm. In the distance, faint strains of music and laughter rose and fell, but all the words he’d wished to say remained locked behind his lips… including the one he most longed to ask: “Didn’t you say you wanted to live as a free and idle prince, wandering the great rivers and mountains of the south? When will you set out?”
The cabin lay still, the breeze of early autumn slipping in through the gaps. Ke Hongxue remained silent the whole journey. When at last he opened his mouth, he only said, “Your Highness, we’ve docked.”
Beside them was the pier of Liujin Parlour. The boatman brought them to a halt. Sheng Fuze stirred from a light sleep, rubbing his eyes. A retinue had already gathered on the shore to escort him to his next banquet of wealth and fame.
The Third Prince rose to leave. For some reason, Ke Hongxue found himself asking for the first time, “May I come with you?”
Sheng Fuze paused, startled, but then smiled as though indulging a child. “What would you do there? You don’t drink. And those banquets are a mess. Tiring and coarse. I’d hate for you to be tainted by them.”
“Be good. Go home and get some rest,” he said with a soft laugh. Just as he turned to go, he seemed to remember something. From his sleeve he casually drew out a white jade seal. “Saw this while out in the market the other day. It’s a fine shape, though uncarved. Keep it for now. When I’ve chosen the right character for you, I’ll have it engraved.”
The seal warmed in his palm. Not something of common stone, and certainly not the kind of thing found at a street vendor’s stall.
Ke Hongxue did not call out the lie, only watched as he left. He saw him speak with the men waiting on the bank, smiling easily, no trace of the fatigue that had let him drift off moments ago.
The boat drifted away again. The water’s hush gave way to noise, the lanterns shimmered one by one, and the scent of osmanthus hung heavy in the air. Holding that unmarked seal, Ke Hongxue suddenly wanted to ask: “So messy, so tiring. Aren’t you tired?”
The author has something to say:
You, the Third Prince, famed across the land—brilliant, dazzling, generous in deed, gifted in governance; learned beyond measure, beloved by friends and respected by the court. Are you not weary?
