The next morning, Song Yu'an was woken by the sound of birdsong.
The chirping drifted in through the window, clear and melodious, carrying the dampness of morning dew. It wasn't the magical, maniacal laughter-like call of the Australian kookaburra, but some unnamed bird she couldn't identify. Its trills mingled with the scent of unknown flowers from outside the corridor, seeping into the bed curtains strand by strand.
She lay in bed, staring at the top of the canopy for a long time.Year 12 of Yongle. Beijing. Eastern Palace. Inside the Crown Prince's cricket jar.
She silently recited these words in her heart, as if confirming a reality.
The pillow was as hard as a brick. The quilt was made of silk, light and fluffy, feeling almost weightless on her body. The bed was made of yellow rosewood (huanghuali)—she had seen something similar in a glass case at the Sydney Museum, lit by spotlights, with a plaque reading "Ming Dynasty Huanghuali Moon-Gate Canopy Bed, National Grade One Cultural Relic."
She was now lying on a Grade One Cultural Relic.
Song Yu'an rolled over, buried her face in the pillow, and let out a muffled laugh.
After laughing, she felt a sudden sting in her nose.
She lay there for a while longer before finally sitting up. Her clothes were folded neatly on the low table at the foot of the bed, sent by the little maid from yesterday: a moon-white narrow-sleevedshuhe (jacket), covered by a bean-green plain long skirt. The fabric was fine cotton, washed very clean and folded perfectly. Beside it lay another set—lotus-purple, with a few orchid sprigs embroidered on the cuffs.
Song Yu'an picked up the bean-green skirt and held it against herself, perplexed.
In Australia, she was used to T-shirts and shorts; even when she wore skirts, they were sporty pull-ons. This style with crossed collars, right-over-left wrapping, and layers of tying strings—she had put it on backwards twice yesterday and eventually had to call for help.
"Is anyone there?" she called out toward the door.
The curtain moved, and the little maid from yesterday poked half her body in. She looked about thirteen or fourteen, with a round face and eyes as black and bright as freshly washed grapes. Yesterday, when leading Song Yu'an to the room, she had been so nervous she could barely speak, never daring to look her in the eye.
"You're awake, Miss?" Her voice was thin, like a mosquito's hum.
"Mm. Could you help me put this on?" Song Yu'an held up the pile of strings, looking sincere. "I can't figure it out."
The little maid quickly glanced up at her, then lowered her head again, the corners of her mouth curving slightly upward.
"This humble servant will help you, Miss."
She trotted over, her fingers deftly arranging Song Yu'an's clothes. Tying strings, knotting, adjusting the collar—it was done in no time.
"You put your clothes on backwards, Miss," the maid whispered, unable to suppress a small laugh. "This side faces inward."
"No wonder my neck felt strangled," Song Yu'an looked down. "Thank you. What's your name?"
"This humble servant is Ruolan."
"Ruolan," Song Yu'an repeated. "Beautiful. Who gave you that name?"
"It was... my former master," Ruolan's voice dropped. "Later, my master passed away, and I was assigned to the Eastern Palace for cleaning duties."
Song Yu'an didn't press further, just nodding.
"Ruolan, where is the kitchen? I'd like to get something to eat."
"This servant will take you."
The Eastern Palace's small kitchen was in the east courtyard. After winding through two corridors and passing a moon gate, they arrived. The air was filled with the scent of rice porridge and steamed buns, mixed with the smoky aroma of burning firewood, and a faint hint of something deep-fried.
Song Yu'an's stomach growled traitorously.
Ruolan went in and spoke a few words to the eunuch in the kitchen. The eunuch peeked out at Song Yu'an, his expression complex—a mix of curiosity, scrutiny, and something indescribable.
Soon, breakfast was served: a bowl of white rice porridge, a dish of pickled melon, half a salted duck egg, two sesame seed cakes, and a small bowl of steaming hot tofu pudding topped with gravy and chopped cilantro.
Song Yu'an took a sip of the porridge first. The grains were cooked thick and soft, melting in her mouth with the sweet freshness of new rice.
She then bit into a sesame cake. The outer layer was crispy, the sesame seeds fragrant and slightly burnt, while the inside was layered and flaky, filling her mouth with the scent of wheat.
"Delicious," she sighed sincerely.
The tofu pudding was also excellent. The gravy was simmered with shiitake mushrooms and daylilies, savory and well-seasoned, reminding her somewhat of the taste back in her hometown of Wuxi.
Halfway through her meal, she suddenly remembered something.
"Ruolan, where is the Great General—I mean, the cricket—and its jar?"
"His Highness ordered Eunuch Li to move it to the small side room next to yours, Miss," Ruolan said. "He said it would be convenient for you to look after it."
Song Yu'an raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and sped up her eating.
In the small side room, the Great General's jar sat on a shelf by the window.
Next to the jar was something new—a small white porcelain dish containing freshly shelled melon seeds, still slightly warm.
Song Yu'an squatted down and lifted the lid.
The Great General lay on the soft mud at the bottom of the jar, its antennae twitching slightly. Hearing the movement, it lifted its head and turned toward her.
"Good morning," Song Yu'an's voice unconsciously softened. "How are you today?"
She extended a finger and gently touched the cricket's back. The Great General didn't躲 (dodge); instead, it even shuffled forward half an inch.
Song Yu'an carefully lifted it onto her palm to observe.
The swelling on the right mandible had improved compared to yesterday—the redness had receded, changing from deep red to light pink. The abdomen's color had also lightened, shifting from dark black to dark gray.
She pulled a small cloth bundle from her sleeve pocket—prepared last night. It contained honeysuckle and dandelion, ground into a fine powder in a mortar and mixed with a little alum water to form a paste. The alum acted as an astringent, helping the ointment adhere better to the cricket's mouthparts.
"Come on, open up." She used a thin bamboo stick to pick up a grain-of-rice-sized amount of ointment and gently touched the Great General's mouthparts.
The Great General hesitated for a moment, then opened its mandibles.
Song Yu'an's movements were extremely light and steady; the ointment was accurately applied to the inflamed area.
The Great General shook its antennae but didn't struggle.
"Good girl," Song Yu'an curved her eyes into a smile. "Bear with it, and you'll be fine in a couple of days."
She placed the Great General back in the jar, then used a soft feather dipped in honey water to offer it a drink. The cricket lapped at it a few times, its antennae perking up, looking much more spirited.
"You can have a tiny bit of soft rice today," she placed three grains of rice mixed with honey water into the jar. "Don't eat too much; your digestive system hasn't fully recovered yet."
She was focused on observing the Great General eating when footsteps sounded behind her.
"What are you doing?"
Song Yu'an didn't turn around: "Applying medicine. Feeding. Observing."
"This Prince asked—what were you saying to the Great General?"
Song Yu'an turned her head.
Zhu Zhanji stood at the door. Today he wore a blackzhiduo (straight robe), his hair simply tied up without a crown, looking much more casual than yesterday, yet that air of noble elegance remained unchanged.
Behind him stood Eunuch Li, carrying a food box.
"I was talking to it, of course," Song Yu'an said matter-of-factly. "Don't you talk to your Great General?"
Zhu Zhanji's expression stiffened slightly.
His way of "talking" to the Great General mainly consisted of: "Great General! Attack!" "Great General, well done!" "Great General, why aren't you eating??"
Speaking softly and coaxingly, like comforting a child, as Song Yu'an did... he had never done that.
"Do you think it understands you?" He walked in, his tone carrying a hint of defiance.
"Whether it understands or not doesn't matter," Song Yu'an said. "What matters is your tone. If you are relaxed, it relaxes. If you are tense, it gets tense. Animals are far more sensitive to these things than humans."
She paused, glancing at him. "You are very tense right now."
"This Prince is not tense."
"When you entered, your steps were three-tenths faster than usual, your breathing was hurried, and—" she pointed to his hand, "you're gripping the cricket probe tube until your knuckles are white again."
Zhu Zhanji looked down at his hand and silently loosened his grip on the tube.
He cleared his throat: "How is the Great General?"
"Recovering well. The inflammation on the right mandible is subsiding; it can eat today." She pointed to the rice grains in the jar. "Look, it's already eaten two."
Zhu Zhanji leaned in to look.
The Great General was crouched beside a grain of rice, nibbling on it bite by bite, its antennae wagging triumphantly.
Zhu Zhanji's eyes instantly lit up.
It was a pure, unmasked joy. Not the restraint of a Crown Prince, nor the steadiness of a heir apparent—but the heartfelt happiness of a sixteen-year-old boy seeing his beloved pet recover.
"Great General!" His voice rose several octaves. "You're finally eating!"
He reached out to touch the Great General, but just as his fingers neared the jar's rim, Song Yu'an slapped his hand away.Slap.
Eunuch Li's pupils dilated violently.
Ruolan covered her mouth.
Zhu Zhanji looked down at the back of his hand, now red from the slap, then looked up at Song Yu'an. His expression shifted from shock to disbelief.
"You hit This Prince?"
"I told you not to touch it," Song Yu'an said calmly. "It just finished eating and needs to rest. Reaching in will scare it."
"This Prince has raised the Great General for a year—"
"You raised it for a year and it didn't get better. I raised it for one day and it improved. So, listen to me."
Zhu Zhanji's mouth opened and closed, then closed and opened again.
Eunuch Li rubbed his hands together anxiously, whispering urgently, "Miss Song! His Highness is just concerned about the Great General. Please speak nicely—"
"I did speak," Song Yu'an's tone was as calm as if reading a recipe. "I said don't touch. He insisted on touching. What's wrong with me stopping him?"
"Is that what you call stopping?!" Zhu Zhanji finally exploded. "That was hitting! You hit This Prince! You, a—"
He stammered on "You" for a while, unable to find a suitable word.
Because she was right. He indeed shouldn't have touched it right after it ate. He indeed always carried the Great General around in his bosom, shaking it. He indeed—
He had raised it for a year, yet achieved less than she did in one day.
This realization dealt a heavy blow to Zhu Zhanji's pride.
He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound less like he was sulking: "This Prince... This Prince just wanted to look."
"Looking is fine, but no touching." Song Yu'an's tone softened slightly. "Wait until it's completely healed, and you can look all you want. For now, just endure it."
Zhu Zhanji pressed his lips together and said nothing. He stood beside the jar, watching the Great General eat rice, his expression complicated.
After a while, he suddenly spoke: "How much longer until it's fully healed?"
"Seven to ten days."
"So long?"
"The inflammation on its right mandible didn't happen overnight; do you expect it to heal in a day?"
Zhu Zhanji fell silent again.
After watching silently for a moment, he turned, took the food box from Eunuch Li, and placed it on the table.
"Your breakfast." His tone was indifferent, as if mentioning something unimportant.
Song Yu'an opened the box. Inside was a bowl of silver ear fungus soup, two boiled eggs, a plate of osmanthus cake, and a dish of honey-preserved kumquats.
"Eggs and silver ear fungus, just as you requested yesterday." Zhu Zhanji turned his face away. "This Prince said I would give them to you, so I did."
The silver ear fungus soup had been simmered in a small clay pot; the broth was thick, the fungus translucent and melting in the mouth. The osmanthus cake was made of glutinous rice flour and sugar-osmanthus mixture, sprinkled with a little dried osmanthus; one bite filled the mouth with floral fragrance.
Song Yu'an took a bite, looked up at him, and said, "Thank you."
Zhu Zhanji snorted, "No need to thank This Prince. This Prince just doesn't want the Great General to be without a doctor."
"I know," Song Yu'an smiled. "You're doing it all for the Great General."
Zhu Zhanji detected the teasing in her words, and the tips of his ears turned slightly red.
He decided to change the subject: "What are your plans for today?"
"Apply medicine to the Great General, feed it, observe it. And then—" she thought for a moment, "I want to go out."
"Where?"
"To the market. The honeysuckle and dandelion from the Imperial Hospital are meant for humans; their medicinal properties are too strong. I want to find some wild ones; they are gentler. Also," she paused, "I want to buy a suitable jar. The current one is a bit too big; the Great General isn't comfortable in it."
Zhu Zhanji frowned, "This Prince can have the official kiln—"
"Official kiln jars look nice, but they aren't necessarily practical," Song Yu'an interrupted. "I need one with good ventilation, the right size, and a sloped bottom. You have to pick those out yourself."
Zhu Zhanji was silent for a moment.
"This Prince will accompany you."
Song Yu'an looked up at him, "You? Leave the palace?"
"This Prince occasionally leaves the palace," Zhu Zhanji's tone carried a hint of tsundere pride. "Did you think This Prince is locked in the Eastern Palace every day?"
"Not really. I just thought... wouldn't it be too conspicuous with you following?"
"This Prince can change into civilian clothes."
Song Yu'an thought for a moment and nodded, "Alright. Shall we go in the afternoon?"
"Afternoon." Zhu Zhanji agreed, turned to leave, then stopped.
"Oh, right," he said without looking back, "From now on, you are not allowed to hit This Prince."
"I didn't hit you; I just slapped your hand."
"Slapping is not allowed either."
"Then don't reach your hand in."
Zhu Zhanji took a deep breath and strode away.
Eunuch Li followed behind. After walking a distance, he couldn't help but look back at Song Yu'an.
His eyes seemed to say:Miss, you really aren't afraid of death.
Song Yu'an smiled at his retreating back and continued eating her silver ear fungus soup.
Ruolan whispered beside her, "Miss... you really did hit His Highness just now."
"I didn't hit him; I just slapped him."
"Slapping... slapping isn't allowed either. His Highness is of golden branches and jade leaves; no one has ever dared to touch him since he was a child."
"Then I'm the first?" Song Yu'an took a bite of osmanthus cake, speaking unclearly. "That's pretty good."
Ruolan opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
In the afternoon, Zhu Zhanji indeed arrived.
He had changed into an indigo bluezhiduo, his hair tied with a bamboo hairpin, and no jade pendant hung from his waist. He looked like an ordinary wealthy young man—if not for the two plain-clothed guards following behind him.
"Get in the carriage." He pointed to the carriage parked at the courtyard entrance.
Song Yu'an stepped onto the mounting block and climbed in, lifting the curtain to peek inside. The interior was much larger than it appeared from the outside. Thick cushions covered the floor, a small incense burner smoked with sandalwood in the corner, and a small tabletop by the window held a teapot and cups.
"Your carriage... is quite luxurious," Song Yu'an sat down, touching the cushion beneath her—it was silk.
"This is the most modest carriage This Prince uses for travel," Zhu Zhanji said, sitting opposite her, a hint of pride in his voice.
Song Yu'an decided not to ask what the "immodest" ones looked like.
The carriage started moving. The wheels crunched over the stone road with a rumbling sound. Song Yu'an lifted a corner of the curtain to look outside.
Beijing's markets were far more bustling than she had imagined. Shops lined both sides of the street—restaurants, cloth shops, pharmacies, pawnshops—with signs hanging one after another. Pedestrians rubbed shoulders; vendors carrying loads weaved through the crowd, shouting their wares at the top of their lungs.
The air was a mix of various scents—the fragrance of freshly fried dough sticks, the bitterness of herbs, the腥 (fishy/stinky) smell of horse manure, and the aroma of braised meat drifting from some shop. Blended together, they formed a vivid flavor belonging to this era.
Song Yu'an watched, captivated.
"Have you never seen a market before?" Zhu Zhanji's voice came from across.
"I have," Song Yu'an said, "but it's not quite the same."
"How is it different?"
She thought for a moment, "The markets where I come from... don't have so many smells."
This was the truth. Markets in Sydney also had hawking calls, chatter, and music, but compared to here, they were as quiet as a library. Here, the sounds and smells were three-dimensional and all-encompassing—bargaining, children crying, donkeys braying, the clang of the blacksmith's hammer—all mixing together, buzzing in one's eardrums.
"A market without smells? What kind of market is that?" Zhu Zhanji dismissed the idea.
Song Yu'an smiled and didn't argue.
The carriage stopped at a street corner. Eunuch Li's voice came from outside: "Your Highness, there are too many people ahead; the carriage cannot pass."
Zhu Zhanji lifted the curtain and jumped down nimbly. Song Yu'an followed, climbing down clumsily—her skirt was too long, and she stepped on the hem, stumbling and nearly falling.
A hand promptly caught her arm.
"Don't you watch where you're walking?" Zhu Zhanji frowned, his tone full of disdain, but his hand didn't let go.
"The skirt is too long," Song Yu'an steadied herself and shook her skirt. "Where I come from, no one wears skirts like this."
Zhu Zhanji released his hand and snorted, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"I know. That's why I haven't cut it."
"You wouldn't dare."
Song Yu'an smiled and didn't reply.
The market was even livelier than she imagined.
They walked through the crowd, with Eunuch Li and the two guards following at a moderate distance. Song Yu'an's eyes couldn't keep up—here was a stall selling sugar figures, there an old lady selling silk flowers, ahead a monkey performer, and beside them a shop selling donkey meat burgers, with oily juice dripping down the buns.
Her attention was caught by a hua-mei bird in a cage. There was a bald patch on the bird's wing; her professional instinct kicked in, and she stared at it for a few extra seconds.
"That bird has a skin disease," she whispered.
Zhu Zhanji followed her gaze, "How do you know?"
"The feathers on the wing are shedding unevenly; it's not molting, it's mites. Look, it keeps pecking at that spot."
Zhu Zhanji looked at the bird, then at her, his expression subtle.
"You've treated birds before?"
"Yes. Parrots, hua-mei birds, pigeons—I've seen them all. Pigeons mostly—we had a huge square where I come from, full of pigeons. People often complained about sick pigeons."
Zhu Zhanji didn't know what a "square" was but didn't ask.
"We're here." Eunuch Li stopped ahead.
Song Yu'an looked up—it was a shop selling cricket jars.
The storefront wasn't large, but inside it was filled with jars of all kinds. Clay, porcelain, purple clay; large, small, round, square; plain or carved; a dazzling array.
The shopkeeper was a thin old man in his fifties. Seeing Zhu Zhanji's attire and bearing, his eyes lit up, and he eagerly welcomed them.
"Young master, here to pick a cricket jar? Our shop has excellent Chengni clay jars, all shipped from Suzhou—"
"We'll look ourselves," Zhu Zhanji interrupted coolly.
The shopkeeper wisely retreated to the side.
Song Yu'an squatted down and examined them one by one.
Her way of inspecting jars was different from others. Others looked at appearance, patterns, and glaze color. She looked at size, depth, ventilation, and the slope of the bottom.
"This one won't do; it's too small. This one won't do either; it's too flat, water will accumulate. This one—" She picked up a purple clay jar, tapped it, and listened to the sound. "The walls are too thick; ventilation is poor."
Zhu Zhanji stood beside her, watching her choose a jar, and suddenly found it amusing.
The way she picked a cricket jar was as if she were selecting something extraordinary—brows slightly furrowed, lips pursed, fingers running along the inner wall, occasionally leaning in to sniff it.
"What are you smelling?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Smelling for odd odors. Some jars emit bad smells if inferior materials were added during firing; crickets don't like that."
Zhu Zhanji also squatted down, picked up a jar, and sniffed it.
He smelled nothing.
"Can your nose really detect that?"
"It's trained," Song Yu'an said without looking up. "When I was abroad, my master said my nose was sharper than anything else."
This wasn't boasting. Her sense of smell was indeed keener than average—an advantage in the veterinary field. Many diseases produce distinct odors in their early stages, which she could detect.
"This one." She picked up a grayish-brown clay jar, examined it inside and out, weighed it in her hand, and said, "This one is good. The size is right, the wall thickness is moderate, the bottom is sloped so water won't accumulate, and—" she sniffed it, "no odd odor."
She held the jar up to Zhu Zhanji, "What do you think?"
Zhu Zhanji took it and looked. Honestly, in his eyes, this jar was the most ordinary kind—no patterns, no glaze, dull gray. In a shop like this, he wouldn't even glance at it.
But Song Yu'an's eyes were bright, as if she had found a treasure.
"If you like it, buy it," he said.
Song Yu'an smiled, "Then I won't be polite."
She selected three more jars of different sizes and bought a few tools—a small brush, a thin bamboo stick, and a small copper probe tube.
The shopkeeper calculated the bill, "Three taels of silver in total."
Song Yu'an reached into her sleeve pocket, then froze.
She had no silver. She didn't even know what money looked like in this era.
She turned to look at Zhu Zhanji.
Zhu Zhanji looked at her expressionlessly, pulled a ingot of silver from his sleeve, and threw it to the shopkeeper.
"Keep the change."
The shopkeeper smiled so hard his eyes disappeared.
Leaving the shop, Song Yu'an hugged the jars, feeling slightly embarrassed, "I'll pay you back later."
"Pay back?" Zhu Zhanji raised an eyebrow. "With what? Your food and lodging in the Eastern Palace are provided by This Prince. What do you have to pay with?"
Song Yu'an was speechless.
He spoke the truth. She was currently penniless, without even an identity in this era; indeed, she was relying on him for survival.
"Then I'll work off the debt," she said. "Treating the Great General doesn't count; that's separate. I'll help you with other things."
"Like what?"
"For example—" she thought, "Help you train crickets? I know how to improve a cricket's fighting ability through diet and exercise. Or help you build a set of cricket... maintenance methods? Regular check-ups, disease prevention, food pairing—"
"What are you talking about?" Zhu Zhanji interrupted. "Food pairing? What methods?"
"It's... never mind, you wouldn't understand anyway. Basically, it's to make your future Great Generals healthier and stronger."
Zhu Zhanji looked at her, a hint of curiosity and defiance in his eyes.
"This Prince's skill in raising crickets has no rival in the entire capital."
"That's because no one else knows how either," Song Yu'an said. "You use folk methods; I use... proper methods. Proper methods are far superior to folk methods."
"Proper methods?" Zhu Zhanji frowned. "What methods?"
Song Yu'an opened her mouth, realizing this question couldn't be explained in one sentence.
"Never mind, I'll tell you slowly later."
Zhu Zhanji snorted and didn't press further.
They wandered around the market for a while longer. Song Yu'an bought a pack of honey-preserved kumquats, a pack of osmanthus cake, and a small bag of brown rice—she found the rice in the Eastern Palace too refined and wanted something rougher for the Great General.
Passing a bird stall, she stopped and stared for a long time.
"Do you want to buy a bird?" Zhu Zhanji asked.
"No," Song Yu'an shook her head. "Just looking. That myna has an injured claw, and that parrot's beak is overgrown and needs trimming." She sighed, "Animals needing treatment are everywhere."
Zhu Zhanji looked at her and suddenly said, "You seem... to really like animals."
"Of course," Song Yu'an said. "If you didn't like them, who would do this job? It's dirty, tiring, and you get bitten."
"Bitten?"
"Often. Cat scratches and dog bites are daily occurrences. Once, I was bitten by a stray dog and needed several stitches." She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint scar on her forearm. "This one is from a cat scratch. This one from a rabbit bite. And this one—"
"Enough, enough," Zhu Zhanji interrupted, his expression complicated. "Are you a veterinarian or a beast tamer?"
"Both," Song Yu'an smiled. "The animal world is simple—if you treat them well, they treat you well. Much simpler than humans."
She said this lightly, but Zhu Zhanji heard another layer of meaning.
The meaning she didn't say aloud.
He didn't ask further.
On the way back to the Eastern Palace, Song Yu'an hugged her newly bought jars, leaning against the carriage wall, feeling drowsy.
She hadn't slept well since traveling through time, and after wandering the market all afternoon, she was indeed tired.
The carriage jolted, and her head tilted to the side, nearly hitting the wall.
A hand reached out and steadily supported her head.
"Your sleeping posture is terrible," Zhu Zhanji whispered softly.
He didn't withdraw his hand, holding her head like that until the carriage came to a stop.
When Eunuch Li lifted the curtain, the scene he saw was—the Crown Prince supporting Miss Song's head with one hand, sitting in an awkward posture, his ears bright red.
"Your Highness—"
"Shh." Zhu Zhanji glared at him, lowering his voice. "Don't wake her."
Eunuch Li wisely lowered the curtain.
Zhu Zhanji looked down at Song Yu'an's sleeping face.
Her eyelashes were long, casting a small fan-shaped shadow. The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward; she didn't know what good dream she was having. She still hugged that dull gray cricket jar tightly, as if afraid someone would snatch it away.
He suddenly remembered her words: "The animal world is simple, much simpler than humans."
He felt he must be going crazy. But he felt—
She deserved a simpler world.
He gently rested her head against the carriage wall, withdrew his numb hand, and jumped out of the carriage.
"Li Quan."
"This servant is here."
"When she wakes up, move the things inside. Be careful with the jars; don't drop them."
"Yes."
Zhu Zhanji walked two steps, then stopped.
"Oh, and—tomorrow, have someone from the Needlework Bureau come measure her for a few sets of clothes. Just one decent set; it's embarrassing to go out looking like that."
Eunuch Li bowed his head in agreement, unable to suppress a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Song Yu'an was woken by Ruolan.
"Miss, Miss, we've arrived."
She blinked open her sleepy eyes, realizing she had fallen asleep in the carriage. She was still holding the cricket jar, which was now warm from being hugged.
"How did I fall asleep..." She rubbed her eyes and jumped out of the carriage.
Ruolan helped carry the other items, and the two walked into the Eastern Palace.
"Miss, His Highness just—"
"Hmm?"
Ruolan hesitated for a moment, then smiled, "Nothing much. His Highness said to have the Needlework Bureau make clothes for you."
"Make clothes? Why?"
"His Highness said... you only have one decent set, and it's embarrassing to go out."
Song Yu'an was stunned for a moment, then laughed.
"His mouth is truly poisonous."
Back in the small side room, she first moved the Great General from the old jar to the new one.
The Great General circled the new jar, probing everywhere with its antennae, then settled in a corner, its antennae held high, looking quite pleased.
"You like it, right?" Song Yu'an whispered softly. "Much more comfortable than that official kiln one."
The Great General chirped "Ji," its voice much clearer than yesterday.
Song Yu'an smiled, took out the newly bought honey-preserved kumquats, and ate one.
Very sweet.
She spat the seed into her palm, looked at it, and suddenly had an idea.
"Ruolan, are there any flower pots in this courtyard?"
"Yes, Miss. What do you want to plant?"
"Kumquats." Song Yu'an tucked the seeds away. "I want to grow a kumquat tree."
"Why plant this?"
Song Yu'an thought for a moment and smiled, "Just for fun."
What she didn't say was that growing a kumquat tree from seed to flowering and fruiting would take at least several years. She probably wouldn't live to see it bear fruit.
But what did it matter?
In this world, she had to plant something.
Ruolan found her a clay pot and got some ash from the kitchen to mix into the soil. Song Yu'an buried a few kumquat seeds, watered them, and placed the pot on the windowsill.
"Will this really grow kumquats?" Ruolan asked curiously.
"Yes," Song Yu'an said, "but it will take a long time."
"How long?"
"Several years, probably."
Ruolan widened her eyes, "Then Miss has to wait several years to eat kumquats grown by herself?"
Song Yu'an looked at the clay pot on the windowsill and was silent for a moment.
"Whether I get to eat them or not doesn't matter," she said. "What matters is that I planted them."
Ruolan didn't quite understand her meaning, but seeing her smile, she smiled too.
Night fell.
Song Yu'an lay on the hard pillow, staring at the canopy.
Her fingers touched the tube of lip balm in her sleeve pocket. She took it out and looked at it. The plastic casing gleamed with a cold white light under the moonlight.
She clenched the lip balm in her palm and closed her eyes.
On the windowsill, the newly planted kumquat pot sat quietly in the moonlight.
Outside the corridor, footsteps seemed to pass by, very light, like night patrol guards. Or perhaps not just guards—the footsteps paused briefly near the side room, then continued onward.
Song Yu'an didn't hear them. She was already asleep.
The lip balm pressed against her palm, like a stubborn piece of evidence from another world.
But in that world, no one was waiting for her.
And in this world—
There was a sick cricket, a tsundere Crown Prince with a soft heart, a pack of very sweet honey-preserved kumquats.
And a pot of just-planted kumquat seeds.
She rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.
Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining brightly on the glazed tiles of the Eastern Palace.
(End of Chapter 2)