The palace hall on this autumn night blazed with lamplight. As Chu Zhao walked to the entrance of the sleeping quarters, she could still hear the laughter of palace maids inside.

“His Majesty draws so well!”

“Is this a cat?”

“No, it’s a parrot!”

Chu Zhao stepped into the hall, asking with a smile, “What is A Yu playing at?”

Xiao Yu, who had been sitting at the desk, immediately stood up and ran toward Chu Zhao. “Sister!”

Chu Zhao reached out to catch him, asking, “Is this homework assigned by your teacher? Attending court, studying, hosting a banquet, and now so late at night you still have to paint—our A Yu works too hard!”

She bent down, speaking softly to the child.

“Should I speak to the Grand Tutor and have him let you rest for a day?”

Xiao Yu shook his head. “I’m not tired! It’s not homework from my teacher. I wanted to paint this myself.” He pulled Chu Zhao by the hand. “Sister, come look.”

Chu Zhao followed him to the desk and looked at the spread-out painting, on which clumsy brushstrokes outlined a pattern.

“Has A Yu just started learning to paint?” Chu Zhao made no effort to hide her amusement. Rather than offering praise, she said with a hint of pride, “When I first started learning, I painted better than this.”

The child’s face flushed slightly as he said, “I’ll work hard to learn.” Then in a smaller voice, “I looked at the paintings you drew, Sister.”

Only then did Chu Zhao notice a collection of writings on the table—the Chu Garden Anthology. She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re looking at this too.”

Xiao Yu looked at her smile and nodded vigorously. “I asked Eunuch Qi to find it for me. Sister, you’re so amazing—you can do everything. I want to be like you too.”

Chu Zhao looked at the child’s clear eyes, feeling both amused and somewhat melancholy.

She sat down, letting Xiao Yu lean against her. “I certainly can’t do everything.”

She reached out to flip through the anthology and discovered that all the sections about her were marked. It was obvious that Xiao Yu had only read the parts about her.

Chu Zhao turned to the sections about other people.

“Look, many people are much better than me.”

“I’m also working hard to learn.”

Xiao Yu nodded. “Then I’ll work hard to learn just like Sister.”

Chu Zhao patted his forehead. “That’s right, we both must work hard!”

Xiao Yu smiled at her, though he quickly suppressed it.

This child rarely smiled. Chu Zhao understood—after suffering the trauma of his parents’ tragic deaths, even adults couldn’t bear it, let alone a six-year-old child who could hardly be expected to smile.

Though the child appeared not to cry or make a fuss and seemed to have recovered to normal, in truth he still clutched a bamboo tube every night when sleeping—that gift that had been meant for the Crown Prince, meant for father and son to play with together.

At least these past few days, he no longer woke startled in the middle of the night.

Chu Zhao gathered him close, saying softly, “A Yu, remember this—you work hard for yourself, not for others.”

Xiao Yu looked at her with only partial understanding.

“For instance, you want to paint because you want to, not because I can paint or because I like it,” Chu Zhao said.

She gently stroked the child’s head.

Such a young child, and so dependent on her—it would be very easy for her to turn him into her appendage.

Such a young child, yet also the most exalted person, holding the power of the entire realm in his hands.

To make him her appendage, to have him take joy in what pleased her and grieve at what saddened her—that would be very advantageous for her.

But—

She had been someone’s appendage before, living according to another’s emotions, with eyes only for that person and none for herself.

How could she bear to let this child become like she had been?

This child was also pitiable. In this life, like her, he had narrowly escaped death and survived. If he was going to live, he should live like a real person.

“Our A Yu can admire others, can look up to others, but will always be only A Yu, and will never become someone else.”

“Everyone has their own good qualities. A Yu also has his own good qualities.”

The words Sister spoke seemed only partially comprehensible to him, different from what he’d heard before. In the past, Mother would often say how amazing Third Uncle was—skilled at music, chess, calligraphy, painting, horseback riding, and archery, capable of everything—and told him to be like Third Uncle.

He had looked forward to becoming like Third Uncle, so that Third Uncle would praise him and like him.

Of course, now he didn’t care whether Third Uncle was amazing or not, didn’t want to become Third Uncle, and didn’t care whether Third Uncle liked him or not.

He no longer liked that Third Uncle.

He liked Sister Chu Zhao. He wanted to become like her, to be the same as her. She would surely be very happy and would like him even more.

So that wasn’t the right way after all.

Xiao Yu nodded. “Sister, I’ll remember.”

The small child’s expression was serious, but he was still just a child after all—unable to hide the anxiety and nervousness in his eyes.

He worried about saying the wrong thing, worried about doing the wrong thing, worried that this sister wouldn’t like him. Chu Zhao had never interacted with Xiao Yu before and didn’t know what kind of child this imperial grandson of golden lineage raised in the deep palace had been like.

Such a child would certainly have been cherished by everyone, with no one daring to anger him, no one allowing him to be unhappy, and he should have been carefree.

But overnight, everything had changed.

For a child, the impact was too great.

“A Yu,” Chu Zhao said softly, having him sit down. She held his hand and looked into his eyes. “If you can’t remember, if you don’t understand, if you make mistakes—none of that matters. You’re still young. You can learn slowly. Don’t be afraid. As long as you’re not afraid, there’s nothing frightening in this world.”

Xiao Yu nodded again, this time much more relaxed than before, with a faint smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.

Though he only partially understood, there was one thing he did understand. He leaned closer, nestling against Chu Zhao’s embrace. Sister was especially good to him, different from how Eunuch Qi and the other eunuchs and palace maids were good to him, different from how the court officials were good to him.

Like Mother—yet not like her.

In any case, it was genuine kindness.

Chu Zhao looked at the child nestled against her and thought of the child from that other life whom she’d never had the chance to meet, and also of the mother who’d never had the chance to meet her.

She gently stroked his head.

“A Yu, I was born without a mother,” she said.

Xiao Yu looked up at her in surprise. Was Sister like him, also without a mother now?

Chu Zhao looked at him. “My mother died because she gave birth to me.”

A six-year-old child didn’t quite understand what this meant.

“When mothers give birth to children, it’s very dangerous. Many mothers die from accidents,” Chu Zhao explained simply. “For both mother and child to be safe is the most fortunate thing that can happen.”

She pinched Xiao Yu’s cheek as she spoke.

“Sister is so envious of you. A Yu and your mother were a fortunate mother and son.”

Were he and Mother still fortunate? Xiao Yu wanted to grin and smile, but he couldn’t manage it. Since the incident, he hadn’t even dared to think about Mother—

Warm arms embraced him, driving away the cold, and a soft female voice fell from above his head.

“You had your mother’s company all these years. I didn’t have even one day.”

“I’ve never known what it feels like to have a mother.”

Sister was so pitiful. Xiao Yu reached out his arms and hugged Chu Zhao, gently patting her back—just as Mother used to pat his.

“A Yu, but I believe my mother loved me very much,” Chu Zhao said softly, allowing the child to comfort her. “Even though our mothers are gone, their love won’t disappear. They’ll always be in our hearts, always accompanying us.”

Xiao Yu nodded in her embrace, making a forceful sound of agreement. Then he raised his head.

“Sister,” he said, “do you want to go see your father?”

Chu Zhao paused. “How did you—”

Xiao Yu said, “Eunuch Qi said you and Grand Tutor Deng had an argument. I was worried, so I ran over to check and heard what you were saying.”

After all, he was the Emperor. When he came near to listen, no one dared stop him, and no one dared disobey his command to alert the three people inside the hall.

Chu Zhao fell silent for a moment. She had intended to find an opportunity to tell Xiao Yu slowly, but since he already knew—

“Yes,” she nodded, lowering her gaze. “My father is dying. A Yu, I’m also going to be without a father.”

A small hand reached up to gently touch her cheek, as if to wipe away her tears.

“Sister,” Xiao Yu said, “you should go see him quickly. Don’t be like A Yu—that night I didn’t run over to talk to Father. I got angry and ran away, and then I never got to see Father again.”

Chu Zhao hadn’t been crying, but hearing these words, a single tear slid down her face.

Ah, A Yu.