The workshop was ten times better than the storage room.
At least there was a decent workbench, windows that let in light, and a charcoal brazier burning in the corner—early March in Chang'an was still cold at night.
I arrived before dawn.
The fragments of the bronzeding were arranged by number; the largest piece was no bigger than the palm of a hand. Sitting at the workbench, I gently swept away the floating dust from the fractures with a soft brush, then picked up a piece, holding it against the light to carefully examine the direction of the cracks.
For bronze vessels broken due to material aging, the greatest difficulty in restoration is not joining the pieces, but reinforcing them. The fragments themselves lacked sufficient strength; simple adhesion would only lead to them shattering again at the slightest vibration.
I needed to install copper supports on the interior of the vessel before joining the pieces. This required precision, and it required time.Three days.
In my mind, I cursed Liu Che once.
Not a bitter, teeth-grinding curse, but a habit formed during my time in Florence—whenever a professor assigned an impossible task, I would mutter a curse in Chinese under my breath, then get on with what needed to be done.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
I did not look up. Everyone in the Eastern Palace knew I disliked being disturbed while working.
The footsteps stopped behind me.
Closer. Too close.
I put down the tweezers and turned my head slightly.
Liu Che stood half a step behind me, looking down at the fragments on the workbench.
He had changed into light-colored casual robes. He wore no crown, his hair bound only by a jade hairpin. He looked completely different from the sharp, imposing figure of last night in the hall; he looked younger. Like a young man in his early twenties, rather than the master of the Eastern Palace.
I did not rise to bow. The tweezers were still in my hand; putting down the tool and bending over now would ruin the position of the copper foil I was working on.
"Does Your Highness have business?" I asked.
"Passing by."Passing by the workshop?
I said nothing, lowering my head to continue my work. The tweezers held a small strip of copper foil; I matched it against the curve of the fragment's interior, slowly bending it.
He did not leave.
He just stood there, quietly watching me work.
I was not used to being stared at. In the restoration studio, everyone had their own workstation and did not disturb one another. Being watched by someone—especially a Crown Prince—from behind gave me an indescribable discomfort.
But I did not want to ask him to leave.
Speaking meant interaction, and interaction meant trouble.
I continued to bend the copper foil. The arc was wrong, slightly off. I pressed the edge with my fingernail, adjusting it gently.
"Your hands are very steady," he suddenly said.
I did not respond.
"I have seen many craftsmen whose hands shake when they work," he paused. "Yours do not."
"Because this is not a craftsman's work," I said, my eyes not leaving the foil. "This is the work of a restorer. Craftsmen make new objects; I repair old ones. It is different."
"How is it different?"
"Craftsmen create something from nothing; I restore wholeness from fragmentation." The arc of the foil was finally adjusted. I placed it inside the fragment to test the fit; it was seamless. "They seek creation; I seek restoration."
"Restoration..."
He repeated the word, his tone carrying something I could not understand.
I picked up a brush, dipped it into the mixed raw lacquer, and applied it evenly to the surface of the copper foil. The smell of raw lacquer spread through the air, somewhat pungent.
"You do not like being watched," he said again.
This time it was not a question, but a statement.
I stopped my work and finally looked up at him.
He was looking down at me, his gaze not scrutinizing, but more like... assessing.
"Your Highness," I said, "could you please refrain from speaking while I am working?"
The air went silent for a second.
The eunuch behind him turned pale.
Liu Che, however, did not get angry. He merely raised an eyebrow.
"I am the Crown Prince. I speak whenever I wish."
I pressed my lips together.
In Florence, chatting was forbidden in the restoration studio. The professor said distraction was the greatest enemy of artifact restoration—one moment of lapse could destroy something hundreds of years old.
"Then could Your Highness say something useful?"
As soon as I said it, I regretted it.
Not because I feared punishment, but because I realized I had wasted words. This person was not worth my emotional energy.
Liu Che was silent for a moment.
"Are you saying I am useless?"
His tone was unreadable, but I knew he was teasing me.
Deliberately.
"I am referring to your words," I lowered my head and continued applying the lacquer.
It was quiet behind me for a long time.
So long that I thought he had left.
Then I heard a very light laugh.
Not a cold sneer, nor a mocking laugh. Just... laughter.
Footsteps sounded as he walked away.
Reaching the door, he stopped.
"In three days, I will come to see the result."
"Mm."
"If it is repaired, I will reward you."
"Mm."
"If it is not—"
"I know," I interrupted him. "You will punish me."
He was silent for a moment.
"You truly do not fear me."
I did not look up. "I do. But fear does not change the fact that three days is not enough."
He laughed again.
This time the laughter was even lighter, as if spilling from his throat.
"Lu Xingye." He called my name.
"I am here."
"What is the most difficult thing you have ever repaired?"
I paused.
No one had ever asked me this question. Not in Florence, and certainly not in the Eastern Palace.
"A fourteenth-century statue of the Madonna and Child," I said. "Shattered by an earthquake. Hundreds of fragments; it took four months to assemble."
I paused, then added, "I repaired it while studying abroad. I studied artifact restoration in Florence."
He did not ask where "Florence" was, merely remaining silent for a while.
"Four months?"
"Mm."
"Then for thisding, how long would you truly need?"
I hesitated for a moment.
"Seven days."
He said nothing.
I waited a while, but did not receive any grace like "I will give you seven days." As expected.
"Three days," he said.
Then he left.
I looked at the bronze fragments on the workbench, suddenly feeling my temples throb.Three days.
I took a deep breath and continued mixing the lacquer.
On the second day, problems arose.
The inner curve of the third fragment was larger than I had estimated. Even bent to its limit, the cut copper foil fell short. I switched to thinner copper sheets, recutting and bending them. I tried three times; each time, the arc was not precise enough.
On the fourth try, the tweezers slipped, and the copper sheet sprang away, landing on the floor.
I stared at the copper sheet on the ground for two seconds.
Then I bent down, picked it up, and started over.
This time, I used my fingernail to pre-crease the fold lines on the copper sheet before bending it bit by bit. My fingers were sore, but I did not stop.
Outside the window, the sky darkened and then brightened.
I did not remember when I had fallen asleep with my face on the workbench. I only remembered waking up with an imprint on my face and a neck so stiff I could hardly turn it.
A maid was dozing in the corner, her head nodding repeatedly.
I did not wake her. I stretched my wrists and continued.
By dusk on the third day, the bronzeding stood on the workbench.
It was not brand new, but it was whole.
Six copper foil supports had been added to the interior of the vessel, invisible from the outside. The fractures were filled with raw lacquer mixed with cinnabar, the color matched to be nearly identical to the vessel body. Unless one looked closely, it was difficult to detect the signs of restoration.
I stepped back, tilting my head to look.Hmm. Not bad.
For work rushed out in three days, achieving this level was the best I could do.
"Go inform His Highness," I told the maid. "Theding is repaired."
The maid ran out and returned in less than a quarter of an hour.
"His Highness says Lady Lu should bring theding to the main hall."
I frowned.Can't he come to see it himself?
But I did not say it aloud. Carefully placing theding on a wooden tray, I carried it out. Theding was not heavy, but it was fragile. I walked very slowly, every step steady.
The main hall was brightly lit.
As I crossed the threshold, I saw Liu Che immediately.
He sat at the head, holding a scroll of bamboo slips. Seeing me enter, he put down the scroll, his gaze falling on theding in my hands.
"Present it."
The eunuch took the tray and placed it before him.
He did not look at theding immediately, but first glanced at me.
"What happened to your eyes?"
I paused.
"What?"
"They are red," he said. "Did you not sleep?"
I did not answer.
How much I had slept in three days, I barely remembered. Probably less than eight hours in total. Last night, while mixing the cinnabar color, my hand had trembled slightly, spilling pigment on the workbench. I wiped it clean, mixed it again, and by the time I finished, dawn had broken.
Liu Che did not ask further, lowering his head to examine theding.
He looked very carefully. He turned it over to inspect the bottom, then held it up against the light to check the interior. His fingers traced the restored lines slowly, his movements surprisingly gentle.
"It is invisible," he said.
"It can be seen up close," I said. "The color needs further treatment, but it cannot be polished until the raw lacquer is fully dry, so—"
"I said it is invisible," he interrupted me.
I fell silent.
He set theding down and leaned back in his chair, looking at me.
That look came again.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"What?"
"A reward," he said. "I said if it was repaired, there would be a reward."
I was silent for a moment.
In truth, I wanted nothing. I needed no jewelry, no silk, no promotion or wealth—none of it meant anything to me here.
But I needed one thing.
"I want to return to the storage room," I said.
He paused.
"What?"
"There are several lacquerware pieces in the storage room that need handling," I said. "They have been sitting for three days; the dust may have already—"
"Lu Xingye."
He called my full name.
I closed my mouth.
"I asked what reward you want," he said, word by word. "And you tell me you want to go back to work?"
I did not understand why he was angry.
Silence spread through the hall. He looked at me, something unreadable in his eyes—not anger, but more like the frustration of punching empty air.
"Those lacquerware pieces—"
"Do not mention the lacquerware."
I shut my mouth.
The hall remained quiet for a long time.
I looked at him; he looked at me.
Finally, it was he who looked away first.
"Go back and rest," he said, his tone somewhat weary. "Repair your lacquerware tomorrow."
I opened my mouth, wanting to say that leaving the lacquerware too long would make the lacquer layer more brittle, doubling the difficulty of treatment. But seeing his expression, I swallowed the words.
"Yes."
I turned to leave.
"Lu Xingye."
My steps halted.
"Next time," his voice came from behind me, "when I ask what you want, say something useful."
I was silent for a moment.
Then I turned around.
"Your Highness," I said, "could you please refrain from speaking while I am working?"
He froze.
Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and left.
Stepping out of the main hall, the night breeze blew against my face, somewhat cool.
I looked down at my hands. There were traces of raw lacquer on my fingertips, a bit of cinnabar stuck under my nails, and a shallow scratch on the web of my thumb—I didn't know when I had gotten it.Three days.
I had done it.
Returning to my quarters, I blew out the lamp and lay on the couch.
In the darkness, I heard my own breathing, steady and quiet, just as usual.
But I knew something was different.
That young Crown Prince would not just "pass by" once.
And I did not know how long I could maintain such peaceful days within this Han palace.
[End of Chapter 2]