Jingyun Year One, January 15th. Luoyang. The Lantern Festival.
The Lantern Festival in Luoyang began in the afternoon.
The streets gradually filled with people. Vendors selling lanterns set up their stalls right in the middle of the road. Rabbit lanterns, lotus lanterns, carp lanterns, and crane lanterns hung everywhere, filling the entire street. Outside the tavern run by Central Asian women, a string of colored glass lanterns was hung; even in the daylight, the light filtering through the multicolored glass was dazzlingly vibrant. Children ran around holding their newly bought lanterns, while adults chased behind them shouting, "Slow down, slow down!" Laughter mixed with footsteps, making the whole street feel alive.
I stood by the window of my residence in the Eastern Palace, watching the bustle outside, my heart itching with anticipation.
The Lantern Festival. In Vancouver, this day was nothing special. But in the Tang Dynasty, it was the liveliest festival of the year—even more so than New Year's Eve. The imperial guards lifted the curfew, and the ward gates remained open. For three full nights, the common people of Chang'an and Luoyang could play from dusk till dawn. I had been here for nearly a year, traveling from Chang'an to Luoyang, from the dental clinic to the Eastern Palace, yet I had never seen what the Lantern Festival looked like in these great cities.
My residence was just west of the Eastern Palace, separated from his study by only a corridor. On the first day I moved in, he had arranged this himself, saying, "It is inconvenient for the Imperial Medical Doctor to live too far away in case of emergencies at night." Qingyuan had covered her mouth then, pretending not to understand the implication. I pretended not to understand either. But in my heart, I knew.
"What are you looking at?" His voice came from behind me.
I turned around. He leaned against the doorframe, wearing a moon-white round-collar robe covered by a black cloak, his hair bound with a jade hairpin. He was not wearing the Crown Prince's court robes, nor the Yuanyou Crown. He looked exactly as he did in Chang'an before—the young man from the Linzi Prince's Manor who would cross his legs and say, "I learn everything quickly."
"Looking at the lanterns," I said. "Your Highness, can we go out to see the lanterns tonight?"
He walked over and stood beside me, gazing at the market outside the window. On the windowsill sat that lamp shaped like the osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace, brought from Chang'an to Luoyang, never put away. "You want to see the lanterns?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you afraid of being recognized?"
"If Your Highness changes clothes, who would recognize you?"
He smiled. That smile—just like when he was caught stealing cherry bibo (dumplings) in the dental clinic, just like when we released river lanterns by the Qujiang Pool on the Winter Solstice. "Alright. I'll take you to see the lanterns."
The Lantern Market
The night of Luoyang on the Lantern Festival was more beautiful than on any other night.
Both sides of Zhuque Avenue were hung with lanterns. White, red, yellow, purple—large and small, high and low—like two flowing rivers of color, stretching from the city gate all the way to the foot of the palace walls. There were even more pedestrians than during the day, shoulder to shoulder, filled with laughter. The vendor selling candied hawthorns was surrounded by a dense crowd; the red berries glowed with an amber light under the lanterns. The wonton carts steamed heavily, the scent of green onions and dried shrimp drifting far away. A group of young girls gathered around the stall selling rouge and powder, chattering as they made their selections, occasionally bursting into clear, crisp laughter.
He walked on my left, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind. We blended into the crowd; no one recognized him. Without the Crown Prince's robes or the Yuanyou Crown, he looked like an ordinary young nobleman—though his aura, no matter how you looked at it, was anything but ordinary.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"There's a riddle-guessing stall over there." He pointed to a stall by the street. "Want to try?"
"Can Your Highness guess riddles?"
"Let's try."
The stall was hung with red paper strips, each bearing a riddle. The owner was an old man with a white beard, smiling warmly at the passersby. On the table before him were several boxes of osmanthus cake as prizes.
He casually plucked a strip. The riddle read: "One bite takes off the cow's tail." Guess a character.
He glanced at it, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Gao (Tell/Confess)."
The old man nodded with a smile. "Young master has great talent."
He picked another. "Red lantern, green canopy; nine out of ten people love it when they see it." Guess a fruit.
He thought for a moment. "Persimmon."
The old man gave a thumbs-up and handed over a box of osmanthus cake. "Young master is highly gifted; here is your prize."
"Your Highness is amazing," I said.
"Of course." The corners of his mouth curled up as he handed the cake to me. "I learn everything quickly."
I also picked a strip. "Has a head but no tail, has a tail but no head, has a face but no mouth, has a mouth but no face." Guess an object.
I stared at it for a long time, unable to guess. The riddle twisted and turned, sounding like it described one thing, then another.
He leaned over to look, then suddenly laughed. "Qingyan, your riddle is—'Tooth'."
I paused. "Tooth?"
"Has a head but no tail—the root is the head, the tip is the tail? No—" He laughed himself. "This riddle is poorly written. Later, I'll write a good one for you."
The old man beside us chuckled, "The young master and his lady are so affectionate."
My face flushed instantly. "We are not—"
"Thank you, elder." He pulled a handful of coins from his sleeve and placed them on the table, several times the price of the cake. He pulled me away, his fingers clasping my wrist. The grip wasn't tight, but I couldn't break free.
"Your Highness, he misunderstood—"
"Whether he misunderstood or not," he held my hand without letting go, his voice laced with amusement, "the riddles are guessed. Now, let's go see the lanterns."
The Glass Lantern Tree
At the end of the market stood a gigantic lantern tree.
Called a "tree," it was actually a wooden framework, over thirty feet tall, hung full of colored glass lanterns. Red, yellow, blue, green—the light filtered through the colorful glass, swirling in the night like a glowing coral tree. The shadows of the lanterns fell on the surrounding walls, rippling out in circles, dyeing the entire street in color. A crowd gathered beneath the tree. Children looked up with mouths wide open, their eyes reflecting the bright lights. Young mothers hoisted their children onto their shoulders; the children reached for the lanterns, unable to grasp them, kicking their legs in frustration.
He stood beside me, gazing at the lantern tree. The firelight played upon his face, flickering light and shadow, making his eyes appear exceptionally bright.
"Is it beautiful?" he asked.
"It is."
"When I was a child, there was also a lantern tree in the palace. Larger and taller than this one," his voice was soft. "In front of the Zetian Gate, it was erected every Lantern Festival, illuminating half the palace city."
"Did Your Highness see it as a child?"
"I did." He paused. "But back then, no one watched it with me."
He spoke calmly, but I could hear it—in those Lantern Festival nights, he stood alone before the Zetian Gate, watching that huge lantern tree. The lights were brilliant, the streets empty of everyone but revelers, but the liveliness belonged to others. He had nothing.
"Your Highness."
"Mm?"
"In the future, every Lantern Festival, I will watch the lanterns with you."
He turned to look at me. The lantern light danced in the depths of his eyes, like two tiny stars. "Good," he said.
Beneath the lantern tree, someone set off fireworks.
A golden firework shot into the night sky, exploding at its peak into thousands of golden stars that drifted down gently. The crowd cheered. Another burst forth, red, blooming layer by layer like a peony in the night sky. Then a purple one, cascading like a waterfall from heaven, scattering into fragments of light halfway down.
He stood beside me, holding my hand. Fireworks bloomed overhead, one after another, like stars falling to earth. The warmth of his palm transmitted through the cold winter wind, warm and comforting.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Do you know, I had another wish when I was a child?"
"What wish?"
"That when I grew up, I would make sure the people of the Great Tang could all see lanterns like these." He looked up at the fireworks. "Not the lantern trees in the palace, but lanterns on the streets, in the alleys, at everyone's doorstep. Not just waiting for the Lantern Festival, but seeing them every single night."
I looked at him. Fireworks bloomed in his pupils, one after another, making his eyes brighter than anything else.
"Your Highness."
"Mm?"
"You have already achieved it."
He paused. I pointed to the children under the lantern tree—those looking up, mouths open, eyes shining with the reflection of the lights. The little girl riding on her father's shoulders held a rabbit lantern, smiling so widely her two front teeth showed.
"They see it," I said. "Because of you."
Because he led troops into the palace on that rainy night. Because he withstood the pressure from Princess Taiping in the court. Because he reviewed memorials late into the night every day, thinking about how to let the people eat their fill, wear warm clothes, and buy a rabbit lantern for their daughters on the Lantern Festival.
He was silent for a long time. Behind us, the flow of lantern light continued; overhead, fireworks bloomed; the laughter and chatter of the crowd surged like tides, then receded.
Then he smiled. That smile was different from every time before. It was not the smile of a youth, nor the smile of a Crown Prince. It was a deeper, heavier smile, solid as the earth.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For accompanying me to see the lanterns." He held my hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. "For coming from such a faraway place."
I tightened my grip on his hand. His fingers were long, knuckles distinct, every inch of them warm.
The fireworks continued to bloom. One after another, illuminating the entire Zhuque Avenue.
Tage Dance
On the way back, passing through the Copper Camel Ward, we heard a cheerful song.
A large crowd had gathered by the street, layered three deep, clapping and stomping. I stood on tiptoes to peek inside—it was the Tage dance. Dozens of young people held hands, forming a large circle, singing and dancing as they moved. The steps weren't complex: two steps forward, one step back, turn left, then turn right. But the beauty lay in their unity; the footsteps of dozens of people hitting the ground merged into a single rhythm, dong-dong-dong, like a heartbeat.
"This is Tage," he whispered in my ear. "A tradition of the Lantern Festival. Want to try?"
"I don't know how—"
He had already pulled me into the crowd. An enthusiastic woman pulled me into the circle, teaching me hand by hand. Two steps forward, one back, turn left, turn right. I was clumsy, mistiming the beat twice and nearly tripping.
He stood opposite me in the circle, laughing so hard he bent double.
"Your Highness!" I glared at him. "What are you laughing at?"
"Laughing at you." He walked over, stood beside me, and took my hand. "Follow me."
He led me in the dance. Two steps forward, one back, turn left, turn right. His steps were steady, guiding me step by step. This time, I didn't miss a beat.
"When did Your Highness learn the Tage dance?"
"Just now," he said. "I learned it after watching once."
"...Your Highness learns everything quickly."
"Of course."
I couldn't help but laugh. The people in the circle sang a song I hadn't heard before. The tune was old, but beautiful. I couldn't make out all the lyrics, but I heard the last line clearly: "May we year after year share this time of lanterns."
He held my hand, dancing the clumsy steps amidst the crowd. Light from all directions illuminated his face, casting shifting shadows. The corners of his mouth were upturned, his eyes bright. He looked like an ordinary young man, in the lively Lantern Festival night, holding the hand of the girl he liked.
In that moment, he was not the Crown Prince. Not the future Son of Heaven. He was just himself. Just Li Longji.
I tightened my grip on his hand. He did not let go.
Undercurrents
We walked slowly back along the Luo River embankment. The night wind blew off the water, carrying the chill of ice chunks, but his palm was warm.
River lanterns floated on the Luo River, hundreds upon thousands of them, their candlelight swaying on the water's surface like a flowing galaxy. People squatted by the bank releasing lanterns, hands pressed together in prayer, eyes closed making wishes. On the shore, people set off firecrackers; the crackling sounds sent children screaming and running away, covering their ears.
When we reached the side gate of the Eastern Palace, he suddenly stopped.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Did anyone come looking for you today?"
I paused. "No. Why?"
He was silent for a moment. The lantern under the eaves illuminated his face; the laughter in his eyes had faded, replaced by an expression I rarely saw—cold, heavy, like the frozen waters of the Luo River in winter.
"People from Princess Taiping were asking about your whereabouts today."
My heart sank abruptly. That name felt like a stone pressing against my chest.
"She wants to know the origins of that 'female doctor' in the Eastern Palace," his voice was calm, but I felt his grip on my hand tighten, his knuckles turning slightly white. "What your name is, where you come from, and why you are by my side."
"Your Highness—"
"Do not be afraid." He looked at me. "I am here."
He stood at the entrance of the Eastern Palace, his cloak billowing slightly in the night wind. Behind him, the lights of Luoyang City stretched for ten thousand homes; overhead, fireworks still bloomed in the distance, booming muffledly. His shadow was lengthened by the lantern light, falling at my feet.
"Qingyan, no matter what happens, you must remember one thing."
"What?"
"You are my doctor. No one can touch you."
He reached out and tucked the stray hairs blown across my forehead behind my ear. His fingertips brushed my cheek, slightly cool, but my entire body felt warm.
"Go in. You have teeth to examine tomorrow."
I nodded and turned to walk into the Eastern Palace. My residence was not far ahead; red lanterns hung along the corridor, lighting the path warmly, separating it from the cold wind outside into two different worlds. Reaching the corner of the corridor, I looked back.
He was still standing there. The lantern under the eaves lit up his face; a corner of his cloak was lifted by the wind, then fell again. The lights spread out behind him, dyeing the entire street a warm orange. His eyes were very bright, brighter than the river lanterns, brighter than the fireworks.
"Your Highness."
"Mm?"
"Happy Lantern Festival."
He smiled. That smile was the same as the one in the Tage crowd earlier—not the smile of a Crown Prince, not the smile of a Son of Heaven. It was the smile of a youth, clean and bright, like the lanterns of the Lantern Festival.
"Happy Lantern Festival, Qingyan."
Return
Back in my residence, Qingyuan was waiting for me under the lamp, holding a rabbit lantern. Made of red paper, with one ear longer than the other and crooked eyes, it was ugly. Yet she held it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"Third Lady! Look! I made it!"
"It's beautiful." I took it and hung it by the window, next to the lamp shaped like the osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace.
"Did His Highness walk you back?"
"Yes."
"He treats you so well." Qingyuan leaned on the table, propping her chin in her hands, her eyes shining. "Third Lady, do you think when His Highness becomes Emperor, he will still treat you this well?"
I paused.
Outside the window, the fireworks of Luoyang City continued to boom, one after another, distant, like a heartbeat. The two lamps swayed gently in the night wind, one painted with an osmanthus tree, the other with crooked ears.
"He will," I said.
"How do you know?"
Because he said so. No matter what his status, my job is still to manage his teeth. At the moment of his greatest glory, above ten thousand men, he thought of a small dental clinic, of a lamp painted with an osmanthus tree. When Princess Taiping's people asked about my whereabouts, the first words out of his mouth were, "Don't be afraid, I am here."
"Because he promised me," I said.
Qingyuan looked at me and suddenly smiled. "Third Lady, you're blushing."
"No. It's the light."
"The light is white."
"Qingyuan."
"Mm?"
"Sleep."
She laughed and burrowed into her quilt. I blew out the candle and lay in bed, gazing at the two lamps by the window. The one with the osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace was drawn by him, brought from Chang'an to Luoyang, never put away. The rabbit lantern was made by Qingyuan, with uneven ears, ugly but warm.
The two lamps swayed gently in the night wind, their shadows falling on the ceiling in rippling circles, like water waves.
In the distance, the fireworks of Luoyang City gradually ceased. The sounds of the street slowly dispersed. The new year had begun just like that.
I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I still have teeth to examine. I still need to teach Qingyuan more characters. I still need to grind new tooth powder.
And I still have—to see him.
No matter how Princess Taiping's people inquire, no matter how the undercurrents surge in the court. As long as he is here, I fear nothing.
(End of Chapter 12)