Three days after the incident with Ajiao, Liu Che came to the workshop to find me.
"Tomorrow is a day of rest. I will take you somewhere."
The brush in my hand didn't stop. "Where?"
"Shanglin Park."
I looked up.Shanglin Park. The largest imperial garden of the Han Dynasty, spanning three hundredli, filled with mountains, waters, and wild beasts. I had read about it countless times in literature, but never imagined I would see it with my own eyes.
"What are we going there to do?"
"Ride horses," he said. "Can you?"
"No."
"Archery?"
"No, I can't do that either."
He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curving slightly upward.
"Then I will teach you."
"Your Highness, I still have work—"
"One must listen to the client." He stood up, brushed off his robes. "Tomorrow morning, I will come to pick you up."
With that, he left, giving me no chance to refuse.
The next day, before dawn, Qingxing came knocking on my door.
"Lady Lu, His Highness sent someone over with clothes."
I opened the door. She held a set of riding attire in her hands: moon-white narrow-sleeved Hu-style clothing, a deep cyan waist sash, and a pair of calfskin boots. The material was excellent, soft yet sturdy to the touch.
"His Highness said this would be convenient for riding."
I took it and tried it on. It fit surprisingly well.
Qingxing watched from the side, her eyes bright. "Lady Lu looks truly beautiful in this."
I didn't respond, but I glanced at myself in the bronze mirror. The moon-white color indeed complemented my skin tone, and the waist sash cinched just right. In Florence, I never wore clothes like this. My wardrobe was full of hoodies, jeans, and work clothes stained with pigments.
When I walked out, Liu Che was already waiting.
He sat atop a black horse, dressed in black riding gear, a long sword hanging at his waist, his hair bound in a high crown. The morning light struck him, outlining his silhouette clearly.
He looked down and saw me, his gaze lingering on me for a moment.
"Not bad," he said.
"Just 'not bad'?"
"Let's go." He turned his head and jerked his chin toward the back. "A horse has been prepared for you."
It was a small chestnut mare, its coat shiny, looking gentle. I walked over; it turned its head to look at me and snorted.
"What is its name?" I asked.
"It has no name," he said. "You give it one."
I thought for a moment.
"A-Hong (Little Red)."
He paused.
"Just that?"
"Just that."
He shook his head but said nothing more.
Shanglin Park was even larger than I had imagined.
The carriage traveled for most of an hour just to reach the entrance. Once inside, it was an endless expanse of grasslands and forests. The sky was high, the clouds pale. The wind blew from afar, carrying the scent of green grass and earth.
When I was in Florence, I occasionally went to the countryside in Tuscany. The scenery there was different—golden hills and cypress trees. Here, it was vast,苍茫 (boundless and gray-green) plains and distant mountains.
But the feeling of "leaving the city" was the same.
"What are you staring at?" Liu Che's voice came from ahead.
I snapped back to reality and realized my horse had fallen far behind. I nudged A-Hong's flank, and she trotted to catch up.
"If you can't ride, don't run," he said. "If you fall, I won't be responsible."
"Didn't Your Highness say you would teach me?"
"I said I would teach you, not that I would be gentle."
I glanced at him.
The corner of his mouth was curled; he was clearly suppressing a laugh.
"Then how does Your Highness plan to teach?"
He thought for a moment, flipped off his horse, and walked to me.
"Get down."
I dismounted. He led my horse to an open patch of grassland.
"Get on."
I climbed up again. This time he was beside me, one hand holding the reins, the other supporting the saddle.
"Straighten up. Don't squeeze too tight, or it will get nervous."
I adjusted my posture.
"Relax your legs. Straighten your back. Yes—"
His hand gave a light pat to my side, just a light tap, but my whole body stiffened.
"Relax," he said, his tone very natural, as if nothing had happened.
I took a deep breath and focused on the horse.
"Good, now walk. Not fast, let it walk slowly."
He led the horse, walking slowly around the grassland. A-Hong was well-behaved; her hooves made a dull sound against the grass.
"How does it feel?" he asked.
"Not bad."
"Are your arms sore?"
"A little."
"Normal. Everyone feels like this the first time."
He let go of the reins and patted A-Hong's neck.
"Now try it yourself. Walk slowly; I'll be right here."
I nudged A-Hong's flank, and she started walking slowly. At first, I wobbled, instinctively bending forward to grab the mane.
"Don't bend!" he shouted from behind. "Sit up straight! Use your core!"
I straightened my back and found it indeed more stable. A-Hong walked steadier and steadier; I began to find the rhythm.
"Good, a little faster now."
I gently nudged her, and A-Hong broke into a trot. The wind hit my face; the trees and grass around me receded.
"Yes! Just like that!"
His voice came from behind, carrying a kind of excitement I rarely heard from him.
I rode a lap, pulled the reins, and A-Hong stopped. I turned my head and saw him standing where he was, hands on his hips, smiling at me.
"Not bad," he said.
"Just 'not bad'?"
"To ride like this on the first try shows you have talent."
I smiled.
He paused.
"You smiled," he said.
"No."
"You smiled; I saw it."
I didn't refute him.
After riding for about an hour, he took me to the archery range.
It was an open flat area with several straw targets set up in the distance. He had someone bring a bow and handed it to me.
I took it and nearly dropped it—it was much heavier than I imagined.
"What is this made of?"
"Osage orange wood," he said. "This is the light one; I picked it for you."
He stood behind me, adjusting my posture.
"Feet apart, shoulder-width apart. Yes—turn your body sideways, don't face the target directly."
His hand rested on my shoulder, turning my entire body.
"Left hand pushes the bow, right hand pulls the string. Eyes on the bullseye."
I did as told. The bowstring was tight; I couldn't pull it past halfway.
"Use force," he said near my ear.
I gritted my teeth and continued pulling. My fingers hurt from the string biting into them.
"Good, release."
I let go. The arrow flew out, crookedly sticking to the edge of the straw target, barely hanging on.
"..." I silently looked at the result.
He laughed aloud behind me.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing," he said. "For a first shot, hitting the target is good enough."
"This counts as hitting the target?"
"It hit," he said seriously. "The edge is also part of the target."
I glared at him.
"Again," he said, handing me another arrow.
This time he stood behind me, not touching me, just moving closer.
"Use your wrist, not your fingers. Push the bow hand a little higher."
His voice was right by my ear, his breath brushing against my earlobe.
I adjusted my posture, drew the bow fully, and aimed.
The arrow left the string, embedding itself near the center.
"Progress," he said.
I practiced a few more shots on my own. My arm grew increasingly sore, my fingertips rubbed red by the string, but my accuracy was slowly improving.
"Your Highness," I turned my head.
He stood nearby, arms crossed, watching me.
"What is it?"
"You said you would teach me, yet you just stand there watching?"
"I am guiding."
"Guiding isn't just standing there watching."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Then what do you want?"
"Demonstrate once."
He looked at me, reached out, and took the bow from my hand.
"Watch closely."
He stood half a step in front of me, nocked the arrow, drew the bow, and aimed. The movement was fluid and clean. The bow in his hand looked as natural as an extension of his body.
The arrow left the string, striking the bullseye dead center.
He turned to look at me, the corner of his mouth slightly curved.
Sunlight hit his face; there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and stray hairs under his crown were blown by the wind.Fifteen years old.
In my mind, I thought: A fifteen-year-old youth, standing in the wind of Shanglin Park, holding a bow, light in his eyes.
He was very handsome.
Not just "good-looking," but the kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look away.
"What are you staring at?" he asked.
I withdrew my gaze.
"Nothing."
"Again." He handed the bow back to me.
I took the bow, nocked the arrow, and drew the string.
This time, my wrist was much steadier.
At noon, we rested on the grass by the edge of the woods. Attendants laid out mats and food boxes. I sat on the grass, my legs too sore to move.
"Tired?" he asked.
"Mm."
"Tomorrow will be even sorer."
"...Could Your Highness say something nicer?"
He thought for a moment.
"You rode very well today."
"That's more like it."
"And your archery improved quickly."
"Mm."
"A bit smarter than I imagined."
"...Your Highness better stop talking."
He chuckled and sat down beside me.
Wind blew through the forest, carrying the rustling sound of leaves. On the distant grassland, A-Hong was grazing with her head down.
"Lu Xingye," he suddenly called me.
"Mm."
"Are you happy?"
I turned to look at him.
He wasn't looking at me; he was gazing at the distant grassland, his expression faint.
"What?"
"I asked if you are happy," he said. "Today."
I was silent for a moment.
"Happy," I said.
"Really?"
"Really."
He nodded.
The wind paused for an instant.
In the distance, the sound of A-Hong's hooves came, dull, like a heartbeat.
"If you want to ride horses in the future, come find me," he said, his tone light, as if discussing something ordinary. "If you want to shoot arrows, come find me too. You don't have to be alone."
I said nothing.
The wind blew again, lifting the hem of his robe, brushing against the back of my hand.
"Your Highness," I said, "thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For bringing me here," I said. "Riding, archery. I haven't been this happy in a long time."
He turned to look at me.
"In that place of yours," he asked, "did no one accompany you to do these things?"
I thought for a moment.Days in Florence. Restoration studio, classroom, apartment. A triangle of three points. Occasionally having coffee with classmates, talking about papers and exams. During holidays, when others went home, I stayed at school, repairing things alone.
"No," I said. "I got used to being alone."
He was silent for a long time.
"Being alone isn't 'getting used to it'," he said. "It's 'having no choice'."
I paused.
He looked at me, his gaze serious.
"In the future, if anything happens, don't bear it alone."
I couldn't speak.
In Florence, I repaired things alone, ate alone, celebrated festivals alone. When sick, I was alone; when sad, I was alone; when homesick, I was alone.
No one had ever asked if I was happy. No one had said "come find me in the future." No one had said "don't bear it alone."
I blinked, suppressing that surge of heat in my eyes.
"Did you hear me?" he asked.
"I heard," I said.
He nodded.
In the distance, A-Hong started running across the grassland. Her chestnut mane fluttered in the wind, like a moving flame.
In the evening, we rode back.
The setting sun dyed all of Shanglin Park gold. I rode on A-Hong's back, following behind Liu Che. His silhouette was stretched long in the sunset, his black riding gear whipping in the wind.
"Your Highness," I called him.
He turned his head.
"What is it?"
"Today was truly happy."
He looked at me.
Then he smiled.
Not the kind of smile from before, but a lighter, deeper one. As if he had hidden something away, revealing only a corner of it.
"I'll bring you again tomorrow," he said.
"Tomorrow isn't a day of rest."
"Then the day after."
"Doesn't Your Highness need to handle state affairs?"
"No."
"...Your Highness will become a tyrant like this."
He laughed loudly.
The laughter echoed across the grassland.
I sat on the horse, watching him laugh.
The setting sun was behind him, dissolving his entire figure into the light.
I withdrew my gaze and nudged A-Hong's flank.
With more force than usual.
A-Hong trotted, catching up to his horse.
The two horses walked side by side; the sound of their hooves was light in the twilight.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"See you the day after."
"See you the day after."
[End of Chapter 8]