Yuanyou first year, fourth month. The peach blossoms had faded; the Imperial Garden was now adorned with clusters of pomegranate flowers, bright red like lit lanterns.
I went to the Inner Kitchen as usual each day, brewed porridge as usual, tucked notes into the food box as usual. Zhao Xu's notes came as usual too—sometimes long, sometimes short, sometimes drawings. He drew the curtain of Funing Hall—layer upon layer, impenetrable, like a wall. He drew ministers arguing with mouths gaping wide, round and black as if to swallow people whole. He drew himself, shrunk in the corner, a tiny dot nearly drowned by those mouths and curtains. Each one I kept, with those old notes, already a thick stack tied with three red cords.
On the seventh day of the fourth month, when the young eunuch came for the food box, his expression was wrong. He stood at the entrance, hesitated a long time before entering.
"Elder Sister, the nurse summons you."
"Which nurse?"
"The one by the Empress Dowager's side. The Chief Nurse."
My ladle paused. Porridge still bubbled and boiled on the stove, osmanthus fragrance overflowing from the pot mouth, sweet to cloying. Outside the window, wind blew a few pomegranate petals onto the windowsill, bright red like drops of blood.
"Now?"
"Mm. His Majesty is still in lessons; the nurse said to come at this hour."
I set down the ladle, wiped my hands. Eunuch Li poked his head in from the door, looked at me, said nothing. Having learned from him these months, I could already read his unspoken meanings—this look meant: go, don't be afraid. But he added, voice very low: "Whatever she asks, answer. Don't hide. She knows everything."
I followed the young eunuch through corridors, through palace paths. April wind came, carrying pomegranate flower fragrance, warm and heavy. Behind Funing Hall was a side hall, where the Empress Dowager usually rested. The doors were deep brown beech wood, carved with the pattern of two phoenixes facing the sun, phoenix tails spreading to occupy half the door. Two palace maids stood at the entrance, wearing better clothes than ours, silver hairpins in their hair. Seeing me, their gazes swept across my face like appraising a newly delivered object. One went in to announce; one had me wait. I stood at the door, palms sweating. Bronze bells beneath the eaves chimed in the wind, ding-ding-dang-dang, each stroke striking the heart.
Waited about the time to drink a cup of tea before a voice came from within: "Enter."
I walked in. The hall was very dark, curtains half-drawn, only a thin line of light penetrating. The curtains were bamboo-woven, thin strips crisscrossing, cutting the outside light into small squares falling on the blue stone floor like a net. The air held sandalwood fragrance, faint, mixed with aged wood scent. The Empress Dowager sat on the couch, holding a cup of tea, not drinking. She wore everyday clothes, no crown on her head, only a jade hairpin inserted. The hairpin was blue-white, gleaming with quiet luster in the dim light. She looked somewhat older than last year, a few more white hairs at her temples, but her gaze remained as deep as a deep pool, bottomless.
The Chief Nurse stood beside her, holding a ledger in her hands. The ledger had a blue cloth cover, edges worn white, as if thumbed through for a long time. She looked at me, gaze alert, but said nothing.
"You are Shen Heng?" The Empress Dowager's voice was neither high nor low, as if asking something very ordinary.
"Replying to the Empress Dowager: yes."
"From Suzhou?"
"Yes."
"What does your family do?"
I paused. This question, no one had ever asked me. Eunuch Li hadn't asked, the nurse hadn't asked, Zhao Xu hadn't asked. They only cared if the porridge was sweet, if the food was good; no one asked what my family did.
"Replying to the Empress Dowager, the family... runs a noodle shop."
The Empress Dowager looked at me. That look was long, as if looking at me, as if thinking of something else. The teacup in her hand turned slightly, lid touching rim, making an extremely fine crisp sound.
"His Majesty's daily food, you prepare it?"
"Yes."
"Who told you to do so?"
I thought. "His Majesty himself told this servant to do so."
The Empress Dowager said nothing. She raised the teacup, drank a mouthful. Set it down. Movement slow, steady. Cup bottom landing on the table, almost no sound.
"Do you know the palace rules?"
"Know some."
"Know some?" She repeated, "Then do you know, privately altering imperial meals, what is the crime?"
My heart leaped to my throat. But I did not lower my head. I remembered what Eunuch Li said—she knows everything. Since she knows everything, then her asking these things was not to make me confess.
"Replying to the Empress Dowager, this servant knows. But His Majesty has poor appetite and cannot eat the Imperial Kitchen's food. What this servant prepares, His Majesty can eat a few more bites of."
The Empress Dowager looked at me, said nothing. The Chief Nurse opened the ledger in her hands, began to read. Her voice was flat, like reading an account book, word by word, neither hurried nor slow.
"Fourth month, Yuanfeng eighth year, began making egg-fried rice. Fifth month, osmanthus sugar porridge. Sixth month, Fengzhen pork noodles. Seventh month, three-shrimp noodles. Eighth month, osmanthus cakes. Ninth month, playing cards. Tenth month, kudzu root powder in porridge. Eleventh month, entered hall to attend illness during His Majesty's sickness. Twelfth month, presented New Year's silver. First month, Yuanyou first year, made lanterns for Lantern Festival. Second month, presented wheat ear after spring plowing. Third month, peach blossom branch. Fourth month—"
She paused, turned a page.
"Fourth month, osmanthus sugar porridge, sugar reduced by thirty percent."
She read item by item, voice without any fluctuation. I stood there, hearing those days read out one by one, as if reliving the past year. So she had recorded everything. Every matter, every day, recorded. Even how much sugar I reduced, recorded.
The Empress Dowager waved her hand; the nurse stopped, closed the ledger. When the ledger closed, it made a dull sound, like a stone falling to ground.
"You have great courage," the Empress Dowager said.
"This servant..."
"I did not tell you to speak."
I closed my mouth. The hall was very quiet. The sandalwood in the incense burner had burned out; the last wisp of smoke drifted from the lid's缝隙, scattering in the air, thin and winding, like a road about to disappear. The Empress Dowager watched that wisp of smoke, watched for a long time.
"When His Majesty was young, his appetite was poor," she suddenly said, voice lighter than before, as if drifting from far away, "When the late emperor was alive, imperial physicians changed one batch after another, all useless. I tried every method, useless."
She paused. Outside the window, wind stopped, bells no longer chimed; the hall was so quiet one could hear one's own heartbeat.
"Last winter, His Majesty was ill for seven days. Do you know what I was thinking during those seven days?"
"This servant does not know."
"I was thinking, can this child, survive it."
Her voice was very soft, soft as if speaking to herself. I stood below, looking at the Empress Dowager. She sat there, back perfectly straight, hands on her knees, motionless. But her eyes, watching that wisp of smoke nearly dissipated, held something I had never seen on her face before. Not majesty, not coldness, but fear. She too was afraid.
"Later he survived it," she said, "I asked him, what do you want to eat. He said, osmanthus sugar porridge."
She turned her head, looked at me. That gaze was no longer as heavy as before, as if something had melted slightly. Only slightly, but I saw it.
"I had people investigate. The Imperial Kitchen had never made osmanthus sugar porridge. It was you making it."
"Yes."
"What do you use to make it?"
"White rice, brown sugar, dried osmanthus."
"Only these?"
"Only these."
The Empress Dowager was silent a while. She raised her teacup, drank another mouthful. The tea had gone cold; she didn't mind.
"I tasted the osmanthus cake you made. Too sweet."
I paused. "Yes. His Majesty likes sweet things. But this servant has already been reducing sugar. Thirty percent less than last winter."
"Reduced how much?"
"Thirty percent."
The Empress Dowager nodded. She set down the teacup, fingers pausing on the rim.
"From now on, the daily food you prepare, first send it to the nurse. After the nurse inspects it, then send it to Funing Hall."
"Yes."
"Also—" she paused, gaze moving from my face to the pomegranate flowers outside the window, stopping a while, "His Majesty is growing, eat more meat. Don't always make sweet things."
"Yes."
She waved her hand. "You may go."
I turned to leave. Just as I took one step, her voice came from behind.
"Shen Heng."
I stopped, turned back.
"That wheat ear, keep it well. Cut by His Majesty's own hand, not something everyone can have."
I paused. She even knew about the wheat ear.
"Yes. This servant keeps it. Hanging at the bedhead."
She looked at me. That look was brief, but I saw it—the corner of her mouth moved. Not a smile, but something lighter than a smile. Like a fish swimming beneath ice, leaving only a shallow shadow.
"You may go."
I walked out of the side hall. Sunlight made me squint. The two palace maids standing at the door glanced at me, curiosity in their gaze, and something else. I had no mind to think. Wind came, carrying pomegranate flower fragrance, warm and heavy. The clothes on my back were soaked through, sticking to my skin, cool. I stood there, let the wind blow a while.
I slowly walked back to the Inner Kitchen. Eunuch Li was still sitting at the door, holding tea. Seeing me, he looked up, then lowered his head to drink tea. Tea rippled in the cup, steadied.
"Back?"
"Mm."
"What was said?"
"Said His Majesty had poor appetite as a child. Said osmanthus cake was too sweet. Said from now on daily food first send to the nurse. Said—" I thought, "said keep that wheat ear well."
Eunuch Li nodded. Raised the tea and drank a mouthful. Cup rim touched teeth, making an extremely light sound.
"When did the Empress Dowager notice me?" I asked.
Eunuch Li said nothing. After a while, he set down the teacup, stood up. Chair legs scraped against the ground, creaking.
"You think there's anything in this palace the Empress Dowager doesn't know?"
"You said that. But you didn't say, when she knew."
Eunuch Li looked at me. In that look was smiling intent, and something else.
"Last winter. The night you broke into Funing Hall."
I froze. "That night?"
"You think the guards didn't stop you, why? He picked up the teacup, walked into the Inner Kitchen, "You think the nurse didn't investigate you afterward, why? You think the Empress Dowager had you make osmanthus cakes, why?"
He walked into the Inner Kitchen, voice coming from inside, muffled, with echoes.
"The Empress Dowager sees everything. She doesn't speak, not because she doesn't know. But—waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for His Majesty to survive that winter. Waiting for you to fatten His Majesty. Waiting for you to walk before her yourself."
I stood at the door, still clutching that note. Wind came, pomegranate flower fragrance wave after wave, warm and heavy. I suddenly remembered the Empress Dowager's eyes when she said those words—"Can this child, survive it." She waited seven days. Waited for Zhao Xu to recover, waited for me to break into Funing Hall, waited for me to stand before her. She saw everything. She even recorded in her ledger how much sugar I reduced.
That night, I wrote on a note:
"Today the Empress Dowager summoned me."
Zhao Xu replied:
"I know. The nurse told me. What did the Empress Dowager say?"
I thought, then wrote:
"Said your osmanthus cake was too sweet. Use less sugar from now on."
He replied:
"Hmph. The nurse herself doesn't like sweet things."
I folded the note, tucked it beneath my pillow. With those old notes. With that jade. With that wheat ear. The Empress Dowager said, keep it well. Cut by His Majesty's own hand, not something everyone can have.
Moon outside the window. Round, bright. Moonlight leaked through the window缝, falling on that wheat ear, grains gleaming with faint silver light. I closed my eyes, remembering what Eunuch Li said—"The Empress Dowager was waiting." Waiting for what? Waiting for Zhao Xu to grow up. Waiting for me to fatten him. Waiting for me to walk before her. I walked before her. She didn't say good, didn't say bad. She only said, from now on daily food first send for her to see. She tasted it, found it too sweet. But she still let it be sent.
She too was waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for him to truly grow up. Waiting for the day he no longer needed anyone to check for him. When that day comes, whether the porridge is sweet or not, he will decide himself. When that day comes, every word he speaks will no longer be blocked by curtains.
Tomorrow, use half a spoon less sugar. The day after, another half spoon less. Reduce bit by bit. Reduce until he grows accustomed to days not so sweet. Reduce until he no longer needs sweetness to survive those too-long days.
One day, he will discover, porridge not sweet is also delicious. Days not sweet can also be lived through. When that day comes, he will truly have grown up.
Moonlight moved away from the window缝, fell on the floor, beside the shadow of that wheat ear. I turned over, took that wheat ear from the bedhead, held it in my palm. Wheat awns pricked my palm, tickling, like when he first handed it to me.
Keep it well. Cut by his own hand. Not something everyone can have.
[End of Chapter 17]