Seventh Prince

The Seventh Prince’s chamber was not far from the Plum Fragrance Pavilion. Walking leisurely along the riverside, passing through layers of artificial rockeries, and then along a winding path, one would arrive there.

However, the palace gates, once painted vermilion, now bore peeling lacquer; many door studs had fallen off, and the walls appeared dilapidated, exuding a sense of decay.

Xia Yunhe paused before the gate, lifting her gaze to the ancient lintel, her eyes resting on the plaque, as aged as the palace itself.

“Palace of Hidden Fragrance.”

She murmured softly, her brows knitting slightly.

Li Fushun, the plump eunuch, caught the note of doubt in her voice and carefully explained, “This was originally Lady Mei’s residence. Lady Mei passed away early, so the place has been left idle. After the Seventh Prince returned, His Majesty ordered that he be accommodated here.”

Xia Yunhe raised her hand, pointing to the plaque. “Lady Mei was the Seventh Prince’s mother?”

The eunuch drew a sharp breath, hastily covering her hand and glancing around to ensure no one was nearby before whispering, “Lady Xia, please don’t mention that.”

He withdrew his hand from her wrist, rolled up his sleeve, and strode to the door, pushing hard against the heavy nanmu wood gate.

With a creak, the gate cracked open.

Li Fushun wiped the sweat from his brow, sighed, and forced a helpless smile. “There are many taboos in the palace. It’s understandable that Lady Xia wouldn’t know. Even elderly courtiers are sometimes unaware.”

He slipped through the narrow opening first.

Xia Yunhe followed closely, sidling into the chamber.

Before her eyes lay a desolate scene; wild grass, waist-high, swallowed the ruined buildings. Xia Yunhe halted, astonished—could anyone really live in such a place?

Seeing her hesitation, Li Fushun chuckled, “Lady Xia, you will get used to it after a few visits.”

The plump eunuch swept away the weeds and carefully guided her around broken steps to prevent any missteps.

Approaching the eaves, a lazy yet smug voice drifted out, “Your Highness, please calm yourself. Lady Xia will come when she’s ready. Your mischief is quite improper.”

Xia Yunhe coughed lightly, and silence fell immediately inside.

Soon after, she heard a scuffle. A slender, pale-faced eunuch, dressed in blue, stumbled out, his left eye bruised and blackened. Upon seeing the two, he fell to the ground and prostrated himself repeatedly.

Then, crawling to Li Fushun’s feet, he sobbed while kowtowing, “Grandfather, please make a decision for me.”

No longer arrogant within the room, the pale eunuch pressed his body to the floor, trembling uncontrollably.

Li Fushun kicked him aside, his face hardening. “You neglected your duties to your master and deserved the beating. Now be gone.”

The man nodded repeatedly, clutching his chest as he retreated.

“Hmph!”

Xia Yunhe turned to see the Seventh Prince in a pale moon-colored cotton robe. The sleeve was obviously shortened, the garment tightly bound to his body. Her brow furrowed as she silently reproached the eunuchs for their opportunism.

Xie Yi’s eyes brightened upon seeing her; the mocking smile at the corner of his eyes vanished, replaced by a docile expression.

He bowed and quietly greeted her, “Sir.”

Yet the tremor in his voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.

A prince whose mother had died young, long held hostage, unloved and neglected by his father, had sharpened his claws to fend off the palace’s open and covert threats. Xia Yunhe felt a pang of pity.

Li Fushun lifted the curtain, beckoning the prince and Xia Yunhe inside.

Upon entering, Xia Yunhe immediately noticed a tear in the left sleeve of the Seventh Prince’s robe, revealing a deep red bruise beneath whenever he moved.

In the center of the room stood an old purplewood carved folding screen depicting magpies announcing spring. Dust and grime had settled in its cracks over time, dulling its once rich luster. The magpies’ eyes and jewels on the branches were long gone.

Behind the screen was a yellow rosewood lamp chair, its lacquer peeling in large patches. The right rear leg was chipped neatly at the corner, with surrounding scratches exposing the delicate wood grain beneath.

The remaining furniture was equally worn and aged, matching the screen and chair.

Among them, the chair behind the screen seemed oddly out of place. Noticing the prince’s bruises, Xia Yunhe guessed that the eunuch had hastily helped him down from it upon hearing her cough. As for the ropes used to bind him, she searched the room but found no low cabinets or similar furniture where they might have been stored. She recalled the eunuch’s hunched posture, as if hiding something.

This man had kowtowed and begged for mercy upon their arrival, his crouched form clearly a sign of guilt.

Earlier, she hadn’t paid much attention, but now a chill ran down her spine.

The Seventh Prince invited her to sit behind the desk and bowed respectfully. Li Fushun stood by, watching—the eunuch still had to report back to the emperor.

Seeing the youth remain composed in the face of turmoil, Xia Yunhe steadied her thoughts. Having grown up amid schemes and intrigues, these things might mean little to the prince.

Before she could speak, the youth spread out a wrinkled sheet of paper, weighed down by an inkstone, presenting it to her.

His name was scrawled crookedly across the page, which was creased and bore several large gray footprints. Xia Yunhe ignored the mess and picked up the rice paper to examine it carefully.

In calligraphy and painting appraisal, she most enjoyed observing where the ink had dried. As the ink dried, the subtleties of brushwork revealed themselves—the evaporation leaving watermarks indicating whether the ink was dead or alive, whether the shading was deliberate, and if the strokes were rich and varied.

The two characters on the paper were twisted and tangled like a mess of threads, appearing clumsy, yet a closer look revealed masterful control of brush and ink. The connections between strokes were deliberately crafted.

In other words, Xie Yi had painstakingly disguised his handwriting as ugly as possible.

Xia Yunhe laid down the paper, gently touched her forehead, closed her eyes to contemplate, marveling at the depth of Xie Yi’s cunning. It was truly remarkable for the prince to work so hard to conceal his skills.

Opening her eyes with a worried brow, she turned to Li Fushun and sighed deeply.

Li Fushun, seeing the prince’s chaotic script, assumed Xia Yunhe was worried about the difficulty of teaching him and smiled reassuringly, “Lady Xia, take your time.”

Xia Yunhe nodded, her gaze catching the torn sleeve hanging from the youth’s elbow. She deliberately asked, “Your Highness, why is the tear in your sleeve getting bigger?”

Xie Yi bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes as he looked toward Li Fushun, tremblingly exposing the bruise to the eunuch steward.

Li Fushun’s face went pale as he exclaimed, “Merciful heavens! Your Highness, I shall fetch you some soothing ointment immediately.”

With that, he lifted his robe and hurried out of the Palace of Hidden Fragrance.

After dismissing the eunuch steward, Xie Yi wiped away his tears and revealed two small tiger-like teeth with a joyful smile.

Xia Yunhe smoothed the paper and looked at Xie Yi. “Your Highness deliberately tore your clothes to show your wounds. You got what you wanted.”

Seeing Xia Yunhe had seen through his little scheme, Xie Yi bit his lip and cautiously asked, “Sir, are you angry?”

“The palace is full of traps. Be careful, Your Highness.”

Xia Yunhe rested her arms on the desk, revealing a sliver of alabaster wrist, her fingers slender and well-proportioned.

Xie Yi stared at her hand and pondered, “Sir, will you teach me to write?”

Xia Yunhe caught him staring at her fingers in a daze and quickly withdrew her palm, wondering if Xie Yi, like herself, had been reborn. She thus carefully probed, “From what I observe, Your Highness wields the brush like an expert. Just write earnestly.”

The Seventh Prince was surprised, lowering his gaze and hiding his emotions. “If you do not wish to teach me, why choose me that day? If it was out of pity for my lack of maternal clan support, it was unnecessary.”

Hearing this, Xia Yunhe lightly tapped her right index finger on the desk, uncertain whether he was truly reborn. Frowning, she resolved to test him further. “Perhaps I am the same as Your Highness.”

The same?

Xie Yi tilted his head and asked, “My mother died early? Sir, is it the same for you?”

His words momentarily caught Xia Yunhe off guard.

Xie Yi did not look at her again but lowered his eyes and said quietly, “My mother died young. I was away for six years and upon returning, my father paid me no mind. You could have chosen the Crown Prince, the Fourth Prince, or the Fifth Prince, yet you chose me. That made me truly happy.”

“There is only one thing I wish to ask you,” Xie Yi lifted his head, his childish innocence gone, replaced by a trace of confusion. “When we were with the envoy, you wore red, full of spirit, sincere and warm to others. Why are you so distant now?”

Xia Yunhe looked puzzled, but Xie Yi continued, “The day you brought me back to the country, I remembered you at once.”

His words pulled her into distant memories: Chu’s narrow victory, the northern Rong proposing hostage exchanges, her accompanying the envoy as vice envoy, riding out despite illness to maintain dignity in front of the northern Rong generals.

A youth clad in red, riding a horse, treading into the lands of the roaming barbarians.

That youthful vigor was now but a memory.

“Your Highness,” she began but hesitated, unsure how to express herself. The prince’s mind was deeper than most. After a long silence, she finally said, “Today is different from before. Your current situation calls for patience and readiness. Yet, if you were more open, I could better assist you.”

Xie Yi frowned, puzzled by her words, then suddenly enlightened, “Sir, do you doubt my handwriting?”

Xia Yunhe looked up at him, and he slowly said, “My writing was taught by Aunt Chunlan. She died protecting me in the northern Rong lands and taught me to hide my talents to survive. Now that you have seen through me, I trust you and tell you the truth.”

The boy’s eyes shone with clarity and resolve, vaguely overlapping with a face deep in her memories.

It was on the border training ground she had first seen the Seventh Prince—just a glance, yet as potent as strong wine, etched deeply in her mind.

His sword-like eyebrows were sharp, his gaze piercing. His hair was bound in a leather warrior’s cap, topped with a dark red brocade forehead cloth embroidered with cloud patterns. He wore a simple yet striking red-and-black arrow suit, boots of wild beast leather, an arrow pouch at his waist—radiating youthful vigor.

He stood at the dusty center of the training ground, expression solemn, left hand gripping a blackwood hard bow, right hand drawing an arrow from his waist. The bowstring twanged; the arrow streaked like a meteor, hitting the target a hundred meters away. The assembled soldiers erupted in cheers.

She had just arrived at the border town then, busy with military affairs daily. Only that afternoon did she stand watching from the sidelines. As the sun dipped west, painting the sky crimson, the Seventh Prince suddenly looked her way, smiled, revealing dazzling teeth. Bathed in sunset, he turned back, nocked three arrows in succession—each striking the bullseye—the crowd’s cheers growing louder.

Brightly clad and spirited, a young man in his prime.

Xia Yunhe withdrew from the memory, wiped her eyes, and said, “Your Highness, forgive me. I was discourteous.”

She thought for a moment, then wrote a line of poetry on the paper:

“May you grow wings, transforming into a fish of the northern seas.”

Xie Yi lowered his head, scrutinizing the elegant script, then smiled, showing his eyes curved with delight. “I am truly happy.”

The one who could change a lifetime at a glance stood before him—he was truly happy.