March.
The late spring chill in Chang'an had not yet receded. The wind filtering through the workshop's paper windows was cold.
Liu Che was fifteen years old this year.
I learned this number later. When I first met him, I only thought he looked young; I didn't realize he wasthat young. Fifteen. In the world I came from, that was merely the age of a high school freshman—sitting in a classroom grinding through practice problems, complaining about the cafeteria food, losing sleep over anxiety for an upcoming exam.
Yet here, he was already the Crown Prince of a nation, residing in the Eastern Palace, managing myriad state affairs, and attending court before dawn every day.
So when he "passed by" the workshop for the third time, I did not say, "Your Highness, could you please refrain from speaking while I am working?"
Not because I didn't want to, but because I noticed—
There were dark circles under his eyes.
He arrived later than usual that day. The sun had already dipped west, and the light in the workshop was dimming. Qingxing was lighting the lamps.
He stood at the door, not entering immediately.
I glanced up at him.
Casual robes again, no crown. But today was different—his complexion was poor, his lips slightly dry, and his entire demeanor radiated exhaustion.
"Your Highness?"
"Mm." He walked in and sat in his usual spot—opposite the workbench, on the floor leaning against the pillar.
"What is wrong with you today?"
"Nothing."
I did not press further. Lowering my head, I continued repairing the bronze mirror.
The raw lacquer had dried completely; today marked the beginning of the final polishing. Using a fine stone fragment, I gently smoothed the filled lines. The force had to be extremely light; one fraction too heavy would grind away the surrounding copper patina.
He sat opposite me, watching quietly.
I had grown accustomed to this silence. He had even learned to hold his breath when I was joining critical parts—the first time I noticed this, I was surprised, but I said nothing.
"I was scolded by my Grand Tutor today," he suddenly said.
My hand paused for a moment.
He leaned against the pillar, his tone casual, as if discussing something trivial.
"What did he scold you for?"
"Saying I am not steady enough," he paused. "That I should not reveal emotions in the court."
"Did you reveal them?"
"No," he said. "But the Grand Tutor said my gaze when looking at people is too sharp, making them feel as though I am scrutinizing them."
I looked up at him.
"You do," I said.
He paused.
"What?"
"When you look at people, you indeed seem to be scrutinizing them," I said. "As if assessing whether an object is worth attention."
He said nothing.
"However," I lowered my head and continued polishing, "it may not be intentional."
"What do you mean?"
"Habit," I said. "You are the Crown Prince. You have been observed by others since childhood, and you have observed others since childhood. Over time, it becomes instinct."
He was silent for a long time.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Do you always speak so directly?"
I thought about it.
"In my place, this is called 'speaking straight.'"
"In Chang'an," he said, "this is called 'not fearing death.'"
I glanced at him.
The corner of his mouth curved slightly, as if suppressing a smile.
I couldn't help it either; the corner of my mouth twitched.
I quickly suppressed it.
But he saw it.
"You smiled," he said.
"No."
"You smiled."
"You saw wrong."
He stared at me for two seconds, then turned his head away.
But I saw the tips of his ears turn red.
"Your Highness," I put down my tools and flexed my fingers, "are you hungry?"
He turned to look at me.
"What?"
"Have you eaten anything since morning?"
He did not answer.
I looked at Qingxing. Qingxing shrank her neck slightly and whispered, "His Highness has been in the front court all day; he didn't even have time for lunch..."
I was silent for a moment.
"Qingxing, go to the kitchen and see if there is anything to eat."
Qingxing glanced at Liu Che. Seeing no objection, she hurriedly ran out.
The workshop fell quiet.
"You don't need to do these things," he said.
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because if my client starves to death, no one will pay my wages."
He froze.
Then he laughed. Not the restrained laugh from before, but a genuine, amused laugh full of youthful spirit.
"Client," he repeated, shaking his head. "You truly are..."
He didn't finish. But I noticed the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have faded slightly.
Qingxing brought back a bowl of noodles. Simple—noodles boiled in plain water, topped with a poached egg and sprinkled with chopped green onions.
Liu Che glanced at it but didn't move.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He picked up his chopsticks. "It's just been a long time since I ate something this simple."
I watched him.
He lifted some noodles with his chopsticks and took a bite. Then he stopped.
"It's hot," he said.
There was something strange in his tone. Not sentimentality, not nostalgia, but more like... a certain confirmation.
"Noodles are naturally hot," I said.
He didn't answer, continuing to eat.
He finished the entire bowl, drinking even the soup.
Putting down the bowl, he looked at me.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Is there anywhere you want to go?"
I thought about it.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Home."
He was silent for a moment.
"Where is home?"
"Very far," I said. "Farther than you can imagine."
"Farther than the Western Regions?"
"Ten thousand times farther than the Western Regions."
He said nothing. He just looked at me.
"Then why are you here?"
"I don't know," I said. "I woke up one day, and I was here."
"Do you want to go back?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because my things are there," I said. "My tools, my books, the artifacts I was halfway through repairing."
"Just those?"
"Just those."
He looked at me, seeming to search for something in my expression.
But he found nothing.
"And you?" I asked.
"What?"
"Is there anywhere you want to go?"
He was silent for a long time.
"No," he said. "Since I was born, I have known where I must go."
He paused.
"There is no need to think about it."
The sky outside the window had turned completely dark. The lamp wick jumped, casting shifting shadows across his face.Fifteen years old.
In my mind, I thought: A fifteen-year-old youth, saying "no need to think," with no trace of reluctance in his tone.
But there was it in his eyes.
Something very deep.
"Your Highness," I said, "you should return."
He did not move.
"Sit a little longer."
"It is dark."
"I know."
"You have early court tomorrow."
"I know."
He leaned against the pillar, closed his eyes, his breathing shallow.
I thought he had fallen asleep.
"Lu Xingye," he suddenly spoke.
"I am here."
"Will you always be here?"
I fell silent.
He did not look at me, keeping his eyes closed, as if asking an unimportant question.
"I don't know," I said.
He opened his eyes and glanced at me.
Then he stood up and brushed the dust from his robes.
"Leaving."
He reached the door and paused.
"See you tomorrow."
Then he left.
The workshop became quiet again.
I looked at the bronze mirror on the workbench; the half-polished lines glowed with a dim luster under the lamp.Fifteen.
I picked up my tools and continued polishing.
My fingers were steady.
[End of Chapter 4]