The capital was ever lively, and the topic on everyone’s lips over tea and gossip these days was the Grand Tutor Hua Zhi.

Indeed—the Grand Tutor Hua Zhi, rather than the Regent’s Princess Consort. At some point, without anyone quite noticing when, that title had become the accepted way to speak of her.

With the late Emperor’s edict standing before all, now half a month since the present Emperor’s wedding, everyone was speculating on what the Grand Tutor would do. Word had it that the people had even opened wagers on the matter, and a fair number had bet.

Hua Zhi closed the documents before her and looked up at the two people sitting across from her—one her elder disciple, the master of Daqing; the other her blood brother, a young man who would surely accomplish great things. That two such people had been taught by her meant that when her time finally came, the histories would carry her name in bold strokes.

She lifted her official cap from her head, cradling it gently in both hands, then set it down on the low table. She drew the Grand Tutor’s seal from her sleeve and placed it beside the cap. Then she rose and knelt before the Emperor, pressing her forehead to the ground. “Hua Zhi has not failed the trust the late Emperor placed in her.”

The Emperor felt his throat tighten. He had long anticipated this moment, yet he still wished it had arrived a little more slowly. He even wanted to say that the late Emperor had his edict, but so did the Emperor himself—he could issue a new decree and appoint her Grand Tutor again, keeping her under his instruction. The words rolled around in his mouth several times, but instead he rose in silence, stepped forward, and lifted her from the ground with both hands. Then he took a step back and gave a long, formal bow. “What the Grand Tutor has taught, this student will carry with him for the rest of his life.”

Hua Zhi accepted this bow from her student. She had given years of sincere teaching—she had earned it.

“Since the Grand Tutor has no interest in official life, I will not press. But the fact that I am the Grand Tutor’s student will never change.” The Emperor’s eyes were faintly red, yet he was smiling. “The Grand Tutor’s library must have a place for me—I cannot be the only one showing partiality to the little apprentice-brother.”

“I have never forgotten that I have two disciples.” Hua Zhi bowed and took her leave. “This subject will await Your Majesty’s arrival in the library.”

The side hall that had held three people now held only two. Hua Bailin was the first to break the silence, his gaze resting on the official cap. “From now on, the Grand Tutor won’t need to come to the palace in heat and cold anymore. You should be glad—it’s only a different classroom, isn’t it? Isn’t that so?”

Looking at Hua Bailin’s expression—sly and bright—the Emperor felt the constriction in his chest ease at once. Was it not exactly as he said? His teacher was simply no longer bound by the title of Grand Tutor, no longer constrained and wearied by all its attendant obligations. That she was his teacher had not changed in the slightest. At most, he would shift the lessons to the Regent’s Manor in the future—and spare his teacher the trouble of making the journey.

In the years that followed, the two of them truly lived up to what they had said. At least several days each month, they would go to the Regent’s Manor, and in that library, they would receive instruction from their teacher. The class remained just the two of them. Zeng Han would occasionally come to sit in, but as he walked a different path, he spent most of his time quietly reading on the lower floor.

Without any deliberate effort to forge closeness, the three of them, having grown up together in this environment, were naturally more intimate with each other than with anyone else. Even after Hua Zhi stopped teaching, this library remained the place they came to most often.

Here, even if nothing was said and nothing was done—simply sitting in the fragrance of ink for half a day, or taking a short nap—was enough to feel satisfied. It was also because of this library that Changtian Emperor, who brought Daqing into an age of great prosperity, never became a truly solitary ruler. Later historians who studied Daqing disagreed on countless points; on one point alone there was universal agreement: it was Hua Zhi who made the Changtian Emperor who he was.

All of that was still far in the future. The matter of the Grand Tutor surrendering her seal stirred considerable commotion before gradually settling back into quiet. Having shed the burdens from her shoulders, Hua Zhi needed no period of adjustment—she happily burrowed into her library, finally free to do what she had wanted to do for a very long time. Her hands just paid the price for it.

Gu Yanxi pricked the water blisters on her fingertips, his heart aching, and said as he applied medicine, “What are all those people in this household for, if not for this? Rough work like making bamboo strips—why does it have to be done by your own hands?”

“I just haven’t mastered the technique yet.” Despite fingers that ached considerably, Hua Zhi’s enthusiasm was undimmed. “I’m at leisure now—I need to find something to occupy myself with.”

Gu Yanxi lifted her hand and showed it to her, letting the evidence speak for itself.

“Once I get the technique down, it won’t be like this anymore.” Hua Zhi flexed her fingers. After careful treatment and daily massage without interruption, her hand had recovered almost entirely—only her grip remained weaker than average. It was on account of this that, though she had suffered no shortage of difficulties in these past few years, she had truly not been allowed to do a single task requiring physical exertion. Now that she was attempting it out of the blue, she was spectacularly clumsy at it.

Gu Yanxi could not convince her, but the thought of her hands being injured pained him, so he did the only thing he could—come home straight from official duties and work on the bamboo strips alongside her. Gradually, without anyone noticing exactly when it happened, it became one of them making the strips while Hua Zhi stood beside him working the finished strips into slips for writing.

As Gu Yanxi grew ever more free—until eventually he carried only an empty title and no longer attended court or handled matters of state—the two of them came to spend their days side by side, making bamboo strips, preparing slips, and transcribing texts onto them. It became the pattern of their daily life.

The Hua family’s boys would come by often to help. No one asked Hua Zhi why she was going to all this trouble. They simply felt that whatever their elder sister did must have a reason. Hua Zhi never explained—never said how many great works had been lost because paper did not survive the ages, or how many medical texts had become, by later times, legends whose very existence was uncertain, or how much of what earlier generations had labored to produce had never reached its full value before vanishing into the current of time. Things that would invite trouble or bring harm to others she could not do. But this matter touched no one’s interests, and no one could say a word against it.

The Emperor, who also came regularly and invariably pitched in to help for a while, understood something of what lay behind it. His teacher had said more than once how deeply she regretted that so many precious texts no longer existed in their era. She did not want those who came after to carry the same grief. Even if staving off that grief was so enormous an undertaking that it might well occupy many years of her remaining life.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Hua Zhi smiled and waved toward the Regent as he came into the courtyard. “I already have so much—high standing, a husband who cherishes me, students who do me proud. Compared to so many others, I am far more fortunate than I deserve. If I don’t do something with that, I fear heaven itself will take notice and reclaim it all.”

She let him fasten her cloak and pressed her face almost imperceptibly against the back of his hand. “And besides—this is something I have wanted to do for a very long time. I am very happy to see it come to be.”

That their teacher was truly happy was evident from her smile—luminous and bright. The Emperor, watching the young men of the Hua family working diligently in the courtyard, felt the corners of his own mouth curve upward without his noticing. One more reason why he loved coming here.

“Send someone to bring Old Doctor Yu.”

Gu Yanxi’s words made everyone nearby look up—and instinctively their eyes went to Hua Zhi.

Hua Zhi blinked. What was it? She was unaware of anything.

“No color in your face.”

The Emperor was close enough to look more carefully, and confirmed it. “Teacher—are you feeling unwell anywhere?”

Hua Zhi considered for a moment, then shook her head slightly. She felt all right.

Whether or not she felt all right was not for her to say. After Old Doctor Yu took her pulse, he shot to his feet—then, just as everyone braced for him to speak, he sat back down, expression rigid, closed his eyes, and took the pulse again. Everyone was somewhat frightened. Their hearts rose into their throats.

When the assembled party had nearly run out of patience, Old Doctor Yu let out a long, slow breath and opened his eyes. “Congratulations, Your Highness—the Princess Consort is with child.”

Gu Yanxi’s mind went blank all at once with a rush of sound. The composure that rarely left his face gave way to something like being wholly at a loss. Before he had married Hua Zhi, he had already prepared himself for the possibility of having no children of his own. He had even thought that when the time was right, he would formally adopt Zeng Han as his heir. And now—he no longer needed to?

It was Hua Zhi who, after the first rush of joy passed, came back to herself and followed up quickly. “Is the child well? What do I need to do?”

“Whatever feels comfortable to the Princess Consort is the right thing. It is still early days—from what I can see now, there are no complications. The Princess Consort need not worry overmuch.”

“Yes—thank you so much.” Hua Zhi reached out and tugged at her husband, who had not yet found his bearings. She wanted to smile at him, but felt her nose prickling instead. Not having children meant cutting off the family line—especially in an era like this one. She understood, given his standing as Regent, how immense the pressure on Yanxi must have been. Yet he had never once shifted that pressure onto her. He had borne it alone, not allowing her to carry a single share of it. He never spoke of love in words—yet in all he said and did, he had given love a perfect score.

Her life, truly, was now complete.

Outside, the sunlight was glorious and warm, and inside, every smiling face was more radiant than the sunlight itself. The Grand Empress Dowager, who had received the news, pressed a stick of incense into the incense burner, then walked to the door and looked up at the magpies on the branches, calling and calling in cheerful chorus. The corners of her lips rose.

How truly wonderful.

END