The autumn night’s palace was brilliantly lit. As Chu Zhao approached the bedchamber hall, she could hear the laughter of palace maids from inside.

“Your Majesty draws so well!”

“Is this a cat?”

“No, it’s a parrot!”

Chu Zhao stepped into the hall and asked with a smile: “What is A-Yu playing with?”

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

Chu Zhao reached out to embrace him and asked: “Is this homework assigned by your tutor? Court sessions, studying, hosting banquets, and now drawing so late at night—our A-Yu is working too hard!”

She knelt and whispered to the child.

“Would you like me to speak with the Grand Tutor and get you a day of rest?”

Xiao Yu shook his head: “I’m not tired! This isn’t homework assigned by the tutor; I wanted to draw this myself.” He took Chu Zhao’s hand and said, “Sister, come and see.”

Chu Zhao followed him to the desk and looked at the drawing spread out, where crude brush strokes outlined a pattern.

“Has A-Yu just begun learning to draw?” Chu Zhao asked with unconcealed amusement. Rather than offering praise, she said somewhat proudly, “When I first started learning, I drew better than you.”

The child’s face reddened slightly as he said, “I’ll work hard to learn.” Then he added softly, “I’ve seen your drawings, Sister.”

Only then did Chu Zhao notice a scroll of collected works on the table—the Chu Garden Collection. She couldn’t help but smile: “So you’re reading this.”

Xiao Yu looked at her smile and nodded vigorously: “I asked Eunuch Qi to find it for me. Sister is so impressive, capable of everything. I want to be just like you.”

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

She sat down and let Xiao Yu lean against her: “I’m certainly not capable of everything.”

She reached out to flip through the collection and noticed that all sections about her had been marked. Xiao Yu was only interested in her contributions.

Chu Zhao opened the pages featuring other people’s works.

“Look, many people are more talented than I am.”

“I’m still learning diligently, too.”

Xiao Yu nodded: “Then I’ll study hard like you, Sister.”

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

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

This child rarely smiled, and Chu Zhao understood why. Having experienced the tragic deaths of his parents during the upheaval, even adults couldn’t bear such trauma; how could a six-year-old child still find reasons to smile?

Although the child appeared to have recovered, neither crying nor making a fuss, he still slept every night clutching a bamboo cylinder—the gift meant for the Crown Prince, a token of father-son play.

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

Chu Zhao embraced him and said softly: “A-Yu, remember that you work hard for yourself, not for others.”

Xiao Yu looked at her with partial understanding.

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

She gently stroked the child’s head.

Such a young child, and so dependent on her—she could easily turn him into her appendage.

Such a young child, yet the most noble, holding the power over the realm.

Making him her appendage, teaching him to be happy when she was happy and sad when she was sad, would be advantageous to her.

But—

She had been someone else’s appendage, living according to another’s emotions, seeing only others and never herself.

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

This child had suffered greatly, too. In this life, like her, having escaped death, he deserved to live as his person.

“Our A-Yu can like others, can admire others, but you will always be A-Yu, never becoming someone else.”

“Each person has their strengths, and A-Yu has his qualities.”

Sister’s words seemed both clear and unclear to him, different from what he had heard before. His mother used to often say how talented his third uncle was—skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, horseback riding, and archery—and that he should be like his third uncle.

He had eagerly hoped to become like his third uncle, to earn his third uncle’s praise and affection.

Of course, now, he no longer cared whether his third uncle was talented, nor did he wish to become like his third uncle. He no longer cared whether his third uncle liked him or not.

He no longer liked that third uncle.

He liked Sister Chu Zhao and wanted to become like her, to be the same as her. Surely she would be happy and like him more.

So it wasn’t like that after all.

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

The child’s expression was serious, but being a child, his eyes couldn’t hide his uneasiness and nervousness.

He worried about saying something wrong, doing something wrong, and worried that this sister might not like him. Chu Zhao had never interacted with Xiao Yu before and didn’t know what kind of child the Imperial Grandson, raised in the deep palace, would be.

Such a child would surely have been held in everyone’s palm, with no one daring to anger him, no one willing to make him unhappy, and he should have been carefree.

But everything changed in a single night.

For a child, the impact was tremendous.

“A-Yu,” Chu Zhao said softly, having him sit down. She held his hand and looked into his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember, don’t understand, or make mistakes. You’re still young; you can learn slowly. Don’t be afraid. As long as you’re not afraid, there’s nothing in this world to fear.”

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

Though he didn’t fully understand, there was one thing he did comprehend. He moved closer, nestling in Chu Zhao’s embrace. Sister was especially kind to him, different from the kindness of Eunuch Qi and the other eunuchs and palace maids, different from the court officials.

Like his mother—yet unlike her.

In any case, it was sincere kindness.

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

She gently stroked his head.

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

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

Chu Zhao looked at him: “My mother died giving birth to me.”

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

“When mothers give birth, it’s dangerous. Many mothers die due to complications,” Chu Zhao explained simply. “For both mother and child to be safe is the luckiest thing for them.”

As she spoke, she pinched Xiao Yu’s cheek.

“Sister envies you so much, A-Yu. You and your mother were such a fortunate mother-child pair.”

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

Warm hands enveloped him in an embrace, dispelling the chill, and a soft female voice came from above his head.

“You had your mother’s companionship for these years; I didn’t have even a single day.”

“I never knew what it felt like to have a mother.”

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

“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 never disappears. They are forever in our hearts, forever accompanying us.”

Xiao Yu nodded against her chest, making an emphatic sound of agreement, then lifted his head.

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

Chu Zhao was startled: “How did you—”

Xiao Yu said: “Eunuch Qi said you were arguing with Grand Tutor Deng. I was worried, so I came to see, and I heard what you were saying.”

He was, after all, the Emperor. No one dared stop him from approaching to listen, nor dared to disobey orders by disturbing the three people inside the hall.

Chu Zhao was silent for a moment. She had planned to find an opportunity to explain things gradually to Xiao Yu, but since he already knew—

“Yes,” she nodded, lowering her gaze. “My father is dying, A-Yu. I’m about to lose my father too.”

A small hand raised to gently stroke 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, who didn’t run over to talk to Father that night, who ran away angry, and then could never see Father again.”

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

Ah, A-Yu.