She Wanlin had no idea that the capital had already been turned upside down on his account. He’d been locked in a rather cramped cabin for a full seven days before being transferred to a larger tower ship.

Forget tower ships — as big as he’d grown, the largest vessel he’d ever poled was the little boat in the pond behind the courtyard of the Prince’s Mansion. Every year when the lotus flowers bloomed, or when it was time to gather lotus seeds, he would put on a bamboo hat, throw on a straw rain cape, and take up a pole to give his grandfather, or the family’s old ancestor, a little performance as a ferryman.

Occasionally he’d cast a net with something like proper form, and the fish he hauled up were always red.

Every time, everyone would cheer him on enthusiastically, praising how well he played the part, how steady he held the boat, how his air while netting fish was more like a seasoned old fisherman’s than anything.

Looking back on it now, that all seemed like a joke.

However many books a young man read growing up, he still had to go out and see the world for himself.

What She Wanlin used to think of as the utmost poverty was the kind of helpless people in the streets and alleys that Ruyi Gege talked about — going a whole year without a bite of meat — or someone like Old Chou, who didn’t even have a home.

Though his grandfather had once said that true poverty meant eating human flesh, he’d never believed it, no matter what.

But that Old Fang had told him that it was the boat trackers who were the truly poor — men who might have to haul ropes along cliffs for a dozen years just to afford a wife, and if things were even more desperate, several men might have to pool their money together to buy one woman to share, just to carry on the family line.

She Wanlin refused to believe it no matter what, so Old Fang laughed heartily and called over the trackers on the shore to ask them himself, several times — and in the end, he was convinced… So it turned out that even beggars had food to eat; that couldn’t really be called true poverty.

Oh, and it was only then that he learned the boat he’d been riding on was called a gorge boat, a vessel built for navigating dangerous shoals and rushing currents, while this new tower ship he’d been transferred to was fully five times its size — a fine ship built to gallop across great rivers. An ordinary family traveling any distance could never afford passage on a ship like this.

This ship had twin sails, and atop its mast was even a crow’s nest, where someone was often on watch. Its hold could store great quantities of cargo, while the deck and a half above could carry passengers, who could stroll about and stretch their legs — after all, a ship a hundred paces long could carry some two hundred people.

He had thought this was already grand, but he never expected that after half a day’s sailing, they would encounter something several times larger than even their own ship. Old Fang said those ships could sail out onto the sea.

The sea — could it be the sea that led to Penglai?

She Wanlin’s heart yearned toward it. It brought to mind a word his grandfather had once taught him: the world.

The Buddhist teachings called it the three-thousandfold great world. How much of it had he actually seen before this? He hadn’t even seen the sea. And so, he no longer wished to run away — he was prepared to follow along and see even farther places.

The most marvelous thing of all was that everything he was currently laying eyes on was imperial territory his elders had conquered alongside His Majesty. Thinking of all those familiar faces back in Yandu, She Wanlin found the whole thing wondrous beyond words.

From the gorge boat to the tower ship, She Wanlin grew more and more at ease, and his heart grew wilder by the day. At first he’d still worn the cloth clothes the two little maidservants had made him for a few days, but eventually he insisted on wearing one of Old Fang’s bare-armed new jackets instead, his pale, tender arms showing rather conspicuously — which had everyone laughing themselves silly.

But once they changed ships, he was put up in the largest cabin, one so luxurious it even had an inner and outer chamber, and this he didn’t much care for.

If, once he got out of here, he was going to keep living like this, that wouldn’t be a good thing at all.

The furnishings in the cabin were extravagant; the fine fabrics draped about, though somewhat worn, were nonetheless all exquisite silks and brocades, without exception.

The day the ship docked, four or five carts arrived at the pier, delivering all sorts of ingredients to the tower ship, along with bolts of silk and satin, chess sets and ornamental trinkets, and so on. It looked as if these people had no intention of neglecting him — in fact, they didn’t even seem to be treating him as an adult.

She Wanlin had tried guessing at these people’s identities, and their purpose, but so far he had little information to go on. Well, since he’d been brought here, he might as well make his peace with it.

As the days went on more pleasantly, that faint unease of having been abducted gradually faded away.

The first meal aboard ship had included two dishes of green vegetables; after that, it was river delicacies for seven days straight, and then increasingly monotonous fish of every size, clams big and small.

She Wanlin was finally served some fresh greens and melon dishes, and that day, with his appetite good, he managed the rare feat of finishing two small bowls of rice — which made everyone around him quite happy.

This young lord was a hot potato to handle; if he lost weight overnight, there’d be no explaining it to anyone.

She Wanlin was just enjoying his melon dishes in peace when suddenly, from the shore, came the sound of a flute — mournful and wailing, utterly desolate. Everyone in the cabin kept their expressions unmoved, though Master Ding did pause, hand still holding a serving spoon, to glance toward the door, and the maid called Xiaodeng went out.

Before long, the tower ship cast off its mooring lines and got underway.

She Wanlin was an extremely cooperative hostage — he never caused trouble and never asked idle questions, which was much to the liking of this old gentleman called Ding Yumen.

This man was already sixty-one this year, old enough to walk with a cane and meddle in whatever business he pleased, and yet his spirit and appearance looked no older than thirty-something — a testament to just how well he took care of himself.

Perhaps out of concern that this young prince might be lonely or frightened, this old gentleman often came to keep him company. Every mealtime, he fussed over him like an elder, tending to him with great care, even serving him food with his own hands.

And seeing how young he was, he’d even started giving him lessons like a proper tutor — and of all things, it was his least favorite subject, mathematics.

And he always came to teach right after meals — even at home he could have gone for a little digestive stroll, but here, this was simply intolerable.

She Wanlin had humored him for a few days, but when the old man moved on to military treatises, he stopped cooperating — he had no such fortune as to command troops, so why should he study military strategy?

The ship sailed swiftly onward for some twenty or thirty li before Master Ding finally finished his lecturing, picked up his brush, wrote out a problem on the table, and left, still smiling.

Once he was gone, She Wanlin picked up the problem written on the table — something like: “the land is six hundred paces, the gnomon is twelve double-hours?” — and tossed it aside in disgust. Did the man think he was an idiot?

Wasn’t this just the same old “draw a plot of land twelve hundred paces, take its square root” problem he’d already learned? Why did he need to learn it again?

Before he could finish the thought, Xiaoqiu, who was mending new clothes for him nearby, saw this and burst out laughing.

She Wanlin asked her, “What are you laughing at?”

Xiaoqiu was the very picture of a southern beauty — small-framed, narrow-waisted, graceful in bearing and gentle in temperament, her voice soft and sweet when she spoke. But she was exactly the type of woman the old family matriarch hated most — small-bottomed and full of complaints, the kind who’d burst into tears at the slightest fright and had to be kept at a distance, lest one get swept away by the flood of it.

An’er himself had never much cared for that type of woman, but he could tell His Majesty liked them, and so did Uncle Jinggui — he’d already collected four of them. Oh, and there was also Uncle Xiaohua — his little aunt, too, was just that soft and delicate sort.

Xiaoqiu bit through the thread with her teeth and began selecting from the colored threads beside her, preparing to draw one through the needle.

These threads came in eighteen sets, one color per set, with twelve shades of red alone — the standard thread chart used by a proper embroidery mistress — and she hesitated a little.

This girl had apparently come from somewhere quite hard-pressed; she’d originally hoped to show off a little skill in front of the young noble, only to find herself stumped by these threads. It took her a good long while to work something out in her head before she gave a demure smile and said, coyly, “I wasn’t laughing at anything, hee~!”

She Wanlin put his head down and silently bared his teeth in a grin.

Seeing that the young noble was ignoring her, Xiaoqiu felt a bit disappointed.

She was on morning duty, which meant she had to work while also keeping an eye on the young noble’s teacup, the dried-fruit dish, and whether he needed any attending to as he sat or moved about.

But this young noble was like a reclining Buddha — once seated, he didn’t budge an inch, leaving all the skills she’d spent years learning with nowhere to be put to use.

Little did she know, someone like this young noble actually loved nothing more than what came naturally.

She was at just the right age, and if she hadn’t put on airs, she’d have been lovely regardless — but she insisted on affecting these stiff, studied poses, which left She Wanlin thoroughly embarrassed on her behalf.

After a few careful stitches, running the needle through her hair for lubrication, she affected gentleness once more and asked coyly, “Master Ding teaches such good things — why won’t the young lord study? It really would be better to learn something~.”

She Wanlin looked at her and thought to himself: I have to study at home, I have to study even in the palace, and now that I’ve finally gotten free, you still want me to study — are you people not scheming against me on purpose?

Seeing him say nothing, Xiaoqiu gave a little pouty smile and magnanimously carried on being virtuous.

But then She Wanlin watched her pull out a large thread of bright green, about to thread the needle with it, and he finally couldn’t hold back anymore. He said, “If you dare embroider that color onto my clothes, I won’t wear it.”

Startled, Xiaoqiu quickly set down her needle and thread, stood up, and asked with an ingratiating smile, “Did I do something wrong? Have I offended the young lord and made him angry?”

She Wanlin looked up at the sky and sucked in a breath of cold air, forcing himself to endure it.

He shifted closer, looked down at the threads, then at the small section she’d already embroidered, and reached out to sort through the green threads a few times. “You’re trying to embroider orchid grass, aren’t you? I don’t understand embroidery, but what’s with this single stroke of dark green from top to bottom?”

He arranged several threads of green from dark to light, then from light green fading further, and finally picked out a pale silver thread and laid it out, pointing. “Shouldn’t it go like this?”

Xiaoqiu looked at the table, then at She Wanlin. She didn’t understand any of this, so she bowed her head a little sheepishly and said, “Young lord, I… I don’t understand.”

She Wanlin looked at her embroidery work and nodded. “If you don’t understand, then don’t embroider it. This fabric already has a subtle pattern woven into it — embroidering over it would just be gilding the lily…”

Before he could finish, laughter erupted from the doorway.

She Wanlin looked up — it was that Old Fang.

The moment Old Fang entered, he shot Xiaoqiu a glance and muttered, “Useless, embarrassing thing — get out of here.”

Hearing this, Xiaoqiu’s eyes welled with tears; not daring to let them fall, she hurriedly gathered up her embroidery and left.

Once the little maid was gone, Old Fang sprawled casually onto the couch by the window and said, “Don’t take offense, young noble. That country girl hasn’t seen much of the world. If you don’t like her type, once we dock tonight, we’ll get you a few sharper ones to replace her.”

She Wanlin sat down; being good-natured, he simply smiled and said, “She’s just fine. No need.”

Old Fang laughed again, eyes twinkling as he looked at She Wanlin. “Oh? Really now?”

There was something not quite right in his tone, something thick with malice. She Wanlin didn’t like it, so he ignored him and picked up the paper on the table to look over the problem.

Hmm — “arrange a man every five paces horizontally, a man every four sections vertically…” Old Fang was used to being brushed off, so he didn’t mind and kept talking. “Who’d have thought the young noble actually understood this women’s craft of embroidery.”

She Wanlin looked up in surprise and said earnestly, “I don’t understand it at all.”

It was only that he’d never seen that particular way of arranging colors before, so he couldn’t help pointing it out.

Old Fang clearly didn’t believe him, and even started criticizing him: “Heh, you young masters and nobles, living the good life since childhood — want to eat your fill, you eat your fill; don’t want to study, you don’t study. Living so comfortably, so idly, that you even start studying this women’s business — truly, it makes this old man quite envious.”

Without even looking up, She Wanlin asked him, “You’re so at leisure today — not busy for once?”

Old Fang chuckled. “Let me tell the young lord this — you and I have grown close these days, and starting today, this old Fang will be keeping you company often. What do you say to that?”

Something stirred in She Wanlin’s heart. He set down the paper and looked at Old Fang, smiling.

Bewildered by the smile, Old Fang tried to draw him out. “I wonder what the young noble is smiling about?”

She Wanlin lay back on the couch, arms folded behind his head, and said in a light, relaxed tone, “Tsk~ and here I thought you people were so formidable. Turns out you heard one little tune and got scared out of your wits.”

The moment he said this, Old Fang leapt up as if struck, stared at the young lord dumbfounded, and then walked out with a stony expression.

In a cabin below deck near the waterline, two old men sat — one fat, one thin; one in a blue robe, one in a yellow robe.

The two of them had lit a small clay stove and were brewing tea and playing chess when Old Fang walked in.

The old man in yellow saw him and asked, “Didn’t we say you’d be keeping close watch on him starting today?”

Old Fang’s expression turned respectful as he stood there and reported, “Zaishi, that boy seems to already know about our group — the news has somehow leaked.”

Zaishi — the one in charge of the principles of adapting land management to local conditions.

Hearing this, Zaishi gave a soft laugh. “Oh? Tell me again, in detail. Let me hear it.”

Old Fang respectfully recounted everything that had happened, not leaving out a single detail, even imitating exactly how the boy’s eyebrows had moved.

When he finished, the blue-robed old man, who had been silent all along, laughed as well. “Heh, no wonder they say a golden-feathered bird perched on a branch of wealth and honor sees the world from a higher vantage — you really did wrong that boy.”

Old Fang didn’t understand this remark, and looked at the blue-robed old man in confusion, his manner growing even more respectful, even more deferential, as he asked for guidance. “Xiaozai, this humble one doesn’t understand what you mean.”

Xiaozai — in charge of the palace’s penal codes, in charge of the Six Codes and Eight Statutes… governing the administrative orders of the royal palace. This “palace punishment” was not the other kind of palace punishment, but rather the legal codes of the royal palace.

It was an extremely important post.

Zaishi crouched down, holding the boiling iron kettle with one hand, brewing tea alongside Xiaozai.

Xiaozai bowed his head and took a sip, as if recalling something from long ago, and after a long while said, “That young noble truly doesn’t understand women’s embroidery techniques — it’s just that the clothes he wears happen to be arranged in exactly that kind of color scheme. That’s a natural gift seeping out of him; it doesn’t need to be studied. Didn’t you see how he even worked out the silver of dewdrops on leaves for that girl? Heh heh~ quite an amusing character.

Since childhood his ears have known nothing but courtly elegant music, and whoever was playing that flute for him just now must also be a master musician of the highest order playing timeless elegant music — the piece was ‘Exorcising Ghosts’ from the ancient Taigu Nanshan score. He recognized it, which means he knew someone was cursing him and he didn’t even realize it — quite the fool, too.”

A flash of grief and indignation crossed Zaishi’s face, though he wasn’t quite angry. “So it’s come to this — the west wind blows against the dying sun, the setting light carves the hills. Have any generation’s old officials ever been as unlucky as we are? Now even a tiger stranded on the plain gets treated like a ghost to be exorcised.”

Xiaozai only laughed. “It’s remarkable that child understands such an obscure ancient score, and that he could also read the weight of your words from a single remark about keeping him company. Ah, times have changed indeed — if this were the old days, I’d have gone to feel out his bones and joints myself; perhaps he’d even belong to our Sanli Cidi sect.”

Zaishi laughed and shook his head. “Old man, don’t go dreaming of such splendid things. Just managing to get our chef back would already be something.”

Then, turning serious, he said to Old Fang, “Don’t underestimate that young noble just because he’s small. He’s seen things in his lifetime that you’ll never see in yours. Where he grew up, even a man’s neck might as well have had three heads on it — you must act with the utmost care.”

Pointing at his own head, Zaishi instructed, “Since you’re a fool, go and serve him well. Don’t let those two country girls you brought along get in his sight — they’re not even as presentable as the old women who used to sweep our mountain gate. And yet you dared to have ideas! Such ambition, from you — go on, go on.”

Having had his secret thoughts exposed, Old Fang flushed red and retreated with cupped hands.

He didn’t hear Zaishi mutter afterward, “That we’ve come to using such lowly people these days — how many clever, capable children did we once have around us, only to have them ruined at the hands of fools. Ah…”

After finishing a light snack, She Wanlin walked with his hands clasped behind his back, followed by Old Fang and Xiaodeng, and went below deck.

He was curious about how the tower ship operated, so he wandered about looking here and there.

The stairway from top to bottom was narrow, and grew increasingly foul-smelling the further down it went.

Old Fang said with an ingratiating smile, “Why would the young lord want to come down here? It’s all rough laborers down below — dozens of men eating, drinking, and relieving themselves in the same space. The smell will offend you.”

She Wanlin smiled. “It’s fine. I’ve already seen the upper decks; I just wanted to take a look down here too. I won’t stay long.”

As he spoke, his feet touched the floor, and he entered a vast, dimly lit cabin.

Sure enough, it was just as foul-smelling as Old Fang had said.

Beneath the stairway was an open hole through which one could see the churning river water rushing below — it seemed the men here relieved themselves through this hole as a matter of routine, and given how close it was to the edge, there was an acrid, nose-stinging smell in the air.

Old Fang’s face twisted in disgust, but She Wanlin kept his expression unmoved, only looking with curiosity at the hanging cloth bunks in the middle of the cabin, and then at the bare-bodied sailors lined up on either side, working the oars. These sailors leaned against the square windows, gripping the oar handles, rowing the massive ship’s sweeps with a pushing-and-pulling motion of hands and feet, propelling the tower ship toward its destination.

She Wanlin looked around, and when his eyes landed on a scar-faced sailor rowing hard near the far end, he casually pointed and said, “You, come here.”

The sailor was startled. Seeing this fair-skinned, delicate young noble, he felt afraid — or perhaps it was his own ugliness — and lowered his head in shame.

The young noble was clearly displeased, and shot Old Fang a glare.

Seeing the young noble annoyed, Old Fang smiled and called out to the man at the oar in front instead, “You, come here — the young lord wants to ask you something.”

But the young noble, whatever mood he was in, glared at the man with his head bowed and said, “No, I want that one called over.”

Old Fang had no choice. He walked over and gave the tactless man a kick. “Hurry up and go answer him… useless thing.”

Startled again, the man leapt to his feet, and the two ounces of flesh between his legs swung in the dim light.

Xiaodeng, who had just come down, let out a cry of alarm and turned to flee.

The cabin fell silent, then burst into uproarious laughter…

Up on deck, a cool breeze drifted by. The young noble sat cross-legged on a cushion, with sliced melon beside him, along with several plates of assorted pastries stacked up.

The poor sailor, having hastily thrown on a loincloth, knelt on the ground, not daring to raise his head.

Seeing him frightened, She Wanlin said to Xiaodeng, “Go give him some melon to eat. Don’t scare him.”

Xiaodeng, resenting the crude fellow, pursed her lips and shook her head.

Old Fang spat into the river behind him, bent down to pick up two slices of melon, and while chewing, kicked at the poor man and said, “The noble is rewarding you with melon — take it! Eat it and answer properly. Look how useless you are — eat! It’s sweet, you’ve never had anything like it…”

Perhaps catching the scent of the melon, the scar-faced sailor finally sat up, took the melon, and looking at this unreachably noble figure before him, said with chattering teeth, “Th-thank you, thank you, m’lord, for the… the reward…”

She Wanlin smiled strangely, propping his chin on his hand as he asked, “Oh, here I thought you were mute, but it turns out you stutter.”

The man looked embarrassed, took a bite of the melon with his head lowered, glanced at the young noble again, and grew even more ashamed. After a long moment he managed, “N-no, not mute, and… and not… not stuttering either.”

Old Fang, tired of listening to this, stamped his foot with an exclamation, turned and climbed up to a higher spot, lying down without moving.

She Wanlin looked at Old Chou putting on this act, secretly resentful, but still had to feign the curious look of someone seeing him for the first time. Watching him finish the whole slice of melon, seemingly out of habit, he casually picked up another piece to give him, then suddenly thought of something and, huffing, ate it himself instead.

A flicker of a smile passed through Old Chou’s eyes as he chewed on the melon rind. In his heart flashed memories from his childhood — how this boy used to carry his little broken bowl all over the streets looking for him, calling out the whole way: Old Chou, come eat. Old Chou, does it taste good? Old Chou, where are you? Old Chou, are you cold? Old Chou, don’t wander off, you have to behave…

Sometimes he’d fall and not even cry, just get up and glare furiously at the food scattered across the ground, stamping his little feet with quite a temper.

He never imagined he’d see him again in a place like this. He’d watched him grow up, knew the boy favored him — and even now, he still wasn’t angry…

Watching Old Chou gnaw at the melon rind, She Wanlin asked, “Old fellow, you’ve had a hard time of it. Don’t be afraid — I’m just going to ask you how this ship moves. You’re free anyway, so just think of it as a bit of a break.”

Old Chou blinked, and went back to eating the rind.

Old Fang rolled over, saw this display of ignorance as an embarrassment, and with a look of disdain had Xiaodeng give him another piece of melon.

Old Chou, grateful, hurriedly caught it and ate again.

Old Fang scoffed, closed his eyes, and rolled over, only to hear the man who’d just gotten a free treat stammer, “Th-thank you. Th-this is a tower ship.”

The young noble said helplessly, “I know that.”

Old Fang, still without opening his eyes, laughed. “Idiot, the young lord’s asking you — how many men are down there, how many oars, how does this ship actually move?!”

The sailor suddenly understood, and pointed at the sail behind him. “That, that — how else would it move? It, it just gets blown along by the wind…”

Old Fang burst out laughing, but he’d only laughed a few times when the lookout in the crow’s nest overhead shouted, “Master Fang, look! There are a bunch of ships coming this way!”

Old Fang leapt up, took a few steps to the railing, and looked out across the water. Sure enough, there was a line on the water in the distance — a dozen or so ships approaching indistinctly. As they drew closer, his eyes grew wider and wider.

She Wanlin came over to look too, leaning against the railing to study them. Once he could make it out clearly, he laughed and said to Old Fang, “So there are even flower boats on the river?”

The grand flower boat, decked in blooms and silks, drifted slowly closer, and as it approached, a soft, melodious voice came drifting over…

“Ah~ Gege, where are you, what are you up to over there?”