A Robe to Share - Chapter 3

For the Mid-Autumn family banquet, the emperor had a feast arranged. The foreign princess rolled up her sleeves and made a whole table of wonderful dishes for every guest.

The emperor’s share was the one thing she wouldn’t touch.

Poor Zhong Ze drooled his way through an inspection of the banquet hall. For the sake of his dignity, he couldn’t simply help himself to other people’s food.

Instead, under the chief eunuch’s trembling gaze, he would pretend to be looking idly around, pop a morsel into his mouth at lightning speed without even having it tested for poison, nod thoughtfully, and move on to the next table.

I felt so sorry for him that I used the rather patchy skills I’d learned from the princess to prepare a whole table of food for him.

When she found out, she said nothing. She merely ordered the private kitchen to send me all the ingredients I needed and handed me a few recipes.

Zhong Ze was deeply touched by his meal that night.

That very evening, he rewarded me with an extraordinarily long… poem he had composed himself.

Well, the handwriting was lovely.

I promptly hung it in the privy.

The foreign princess had a very long name I could never quite remember, so she told me to call her A-Yun.

I asked her whether she hated the emperor.

Sitting beside me with her chin in her hands, she looked at the moon and shook her head in earnest.

“He’s a good emperor. Honorable, clever, kind. Compared with Father, he’s an extraordinary man. He doesn’t get angry when we defy him, and he doesn’t casually believe every bit of slander he hears. …I don’t hate him. I admire him.”

“Then why won’t you cook for him?”

A-Yun smiled and stroked my head. “…Just a little fit of temper on my part. Besides, he has you to cook for him now, doesn’t he?”

After a while, she withdrew her hand and sighed wistfully. “He’s a good emperor, but he isn’t a proper husband… Perhaps he still can’t forget Zhong Qian.”

I had thought that being unable to forget someone usually involved a very long story.

But the story was simple.

Zhong Qian was Zhong Ze’s distant younger cousin, the second daughter of the Prince of Lingguang.

They had fallen in love at first sight in their youth and loved each other deeply.

Unfortunately, Zhong Qian developed a lung disease. They had only two short years together before she died.

Stories in books were always full of excitement.

Yet partings brought about by disaster or misfortune could often be told in just a few sentences.

After that, Zhong Ze had sought out no other consorts. He had merely accepted the principal wife his mother chose for him and A-Yun, whom the foreign state had pressed on him.

I thought Zhong Qian must have been a very, very lovely girl.

She must have been, for him to miss her for so long.

No wonder Zhong Ze had been so lenient with Zhong Sizhe at the family banquet.

Perhaps seeing the younger brother always reminded him of the older sister.

Zhong Sizhe was only eighteen, yet he was thoroughly awful. Such a waste of that handsome face.

On the night of the banquet, he was the one who promised to sneak me off to see the Cowherd and Weaver Girl stars.

He was also the one who abandoned me on top of the artificial hill.

About two hours later, he came back, tilted his head in puzzlement, and asked, “Why aren’t you crying?”

“…It’s a little cold, but the view’s lovely. It’s better than being locked in my stepfather’s woodshed.” I told him the truth, then couldn’t help sneezing again.

Zhong Sizhe paused. Then he caught me around the waist, lifted me up, and brought me down from the hill. He was good at martial arts. No wonder Zhong Ze never included him in his hunting parties.

“You’re the consort Tang Song sent to His Majesty?” he asked, bending toward me.

“You need to wise up. Stop letting people trick you.” Muttering to himself, he took me to the entrance of the inner palace. “Go back and wrap yourself in a quilt. Drink some hot water. Tsk, don’t look at me. I’ll tell His Majesty exactly what happened.”

That night after the banquet, half asleep, I heard Qilan tell another maid that the young heir of the Prince of Lingguang had got drunk and beaten Prince Tang up.

Served him right.

That was Qilan’s verdict.

A few weeks later, Zhong Sizhe came to the palace again.

I was playing with the dog in the courtyard when he leaned against the hall doorway and called, “Well, well.” He gave me quite a fright.

“This dog’s a good deal quicker than you. What’s its name?”

“…Xiaobai.” I lowered my head, still recovering from the shock.

“Little White? A terrible name. I can tell you chose it.”

“…Your Lordship, you shouldn’t enter the inner palace without permission. It’s against the rules.” Ignoring his remark, I kept my head down and murmured my warning.

“Tsk… There are only two consorts here. If I’m unlucky, I won’t even see a soul. What’s there to worry about?” Zhong Sizhe tipped up his head and pointed his nostrils at me.

“I see there’s nothing you worry about.” At some point, Zhong Ze had materialized behind him like a ghost. His voice was ominous.

“Ah!” This time it was Zhong Sizhe who jumped aside.

It seemed our little terror wasn’t quite as dismissive of Zhong Ze as he pretended.

“Men are not permitted to enter the inner palace at will.” With his customary precision, Zhong Ze planted a shoeprint on Zhong Sizhe’s backside. “Have I been too indulgent with you?”

“…Ha. Yes, I’m taking advantage of your guilt over my sister. If you’re so mighty, bring her back to life!”

Rubbing his backside, Zhong Sizhe vaulted over the palace wall and left in a fury.

I saw the guards around the emperor visibly relax. Apparently, they were just as helpless against this little demon.

Zhong Ze stood rigid, his face ashen with anger.

…I had never seen him like that. For a wise ruler who worked hard at governing, didn’t chase women, and avoided arrogance and extravagance, surely most troubles couldn’t leave him looking this way.