The seventh year of the Former Yuan era, eleventh month. Winter Solstice.
Before dawn, Qingxing came knocking on my door.
"Lady Lu, wake up quickly. Today is the Grand Ceremony of the Winter Solstice. His Highness said you should attend to witness it."
I opened my eyes; outside the window, it was still dark. In Chang'an's November, the cold penetrated to the bones. The charcoal fire in the workshop had burned all night, but anywhere outside the quilt felt like an ice cellar.
"Witness it?" I sat up, my voice hoarse. "I am not an official. What would I do there?"
"His Highness said to let Lady Lu go and see. He said you have been here for so long, yet you have never seen the Winter Solstice in the palace."
I was silent for a moment. He was right. I had been here for nearly a year. We had passed the Dragon Boat Festival, the Mid-Autumn Festival, and I had celebrated Halloween for him. But I had never witnessed a true festival of the Han Palace.
"Alright."
Qingxing brought in a new set of clothes. Not riding gear, but a formalquju robe, deep cyan, with dark patterns embroidered on the collar and cuffs. The fabric was thick, feeling heavy in the hand.
"His Highness had this made," Qingxing said. "He said Lady Lu had no clothes for formal occasions."
I took it, my fingers pausing on the embroidery. The stitches were dense—exquisite Shu embroidery. I didn't know when he had someone take my measurements.
After changing, Qingxing helped me style my hair. It wasn't the elaborate palace bun, but simply tied up with a jade hairpin. The hairpin was also new; I didn't know where it came from.
When we stepped out, a sliver of white had just appeared on the horizon.
In front of the Eastern Palace's main hall, people had already gathered. Civil and military officials, arranged by rank, formed a dense black mass. The colors of their court robes were deep—black, dark brown, deep crimson—looking like a frozen sea in the morning light. No one spoke. The entire square was as quiet as a grave.
Atu gui (gnomon) stood in the center of the square. The sun's shadow fell upon the stone surface, long and thin—the longest shadow of the year. The Grand Historian crouched beside it, marking a line on the stone with a charcoal pencil.Winter Solstice: the shadow is longest. From today onward, each day would be shorter than the last; the Yang energy begins to rise.
I was arranged in a corner under the corridor. The position was inconspicuous, but offered a clear view of the entire main hall. Qingxing stood behind me, whispering, "Lady Lu, the Winter Solstice ceremony is the most solemn of the year. His Highness will lead the officials in worshipping Heaven, then return to the palace to receive congratulations."
I nodded.
Drums sounded.
After three rounds of drumming, the doors of the main hall opened.
Liu Che walked out from within.
He wore a blackmianfu (ceremonial robe), his head crowned with a twelve-tasseledmianguan. The tassels were made of white jade, hanging before his face, swaying gently with his steps. His face was partially obscured behind the jade beads, his expression unreadable.
He walked very slowly. Every step landed on the beat of the drums, steady as a mountain. The officials knelt in unison, shouting "Ten thousand years!" The sound echoed across the square, wave upon wave, like a tide.
I stood under the corridor, watching him step by step toward the altar. A fifteen-year-old boy, wearing heavy ceremonial robes, wearing a crown that covered half his face, walking under the gaze of everyone. His back was straight, his shoulders level, his steps without a hint of hesitation.
But I saw it.
From the main hall entrance to the altar, he took thirty-six steps. Each step landed on the drumbeat, each step steady. But at the moment he reached the altar, turned, and faced the officials—his lips were flat.
No smile.
Not serious, not solemn—it was an absence of expression. Like a bronze mirror wiped clean, reflecting nothing.
The ceremony for worshipping Heaven was long. Reading the prayer, offering wine, burning silk, three kneelings and nine kowtows. He performed every movement perfectly, as standard as an illustration in a book of rites. But that face remained expressionless throughout.
I stood under the corridor, my fingers gripping the railing. The wood was cold; the chill seeped from my fingertips into my heart.Why doesn't he smile?
After the ceremony ended, the officials dispersed. The square became quiet again, leaving only a few eunuchs cleaning up the sacrificial vessels.
I stood where I was, unmoving.
Liu Che walked out from the main hall. He had changed out of the ceremonial robes into a black casual robe; the crown was removed, his hair simply tied back. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slightly slumped.
He saw me and paused.
"Why are you still here?"
"Waiting for Your Highness."
He glanced at me. "Let's go."
I followed him back. Crossing the corridor, there was no one around. His pace was faster than when he arrived, as if he wanted to finish this path quickly.
"Your Highness," I spoke, "today's Winter Solstice ceremony was very grand."
"Mm."
"Your Highness did very well."
He said nothing.
"But Your Highness did not smile."
His steps halted briefly. Then he continued walking.
"One cannot smile during the grand ceremony," he said, his tone light.
"I know," I said. "But from beginning to end, Your Highness did not smile once."
He stopped. He turned to face me. The light in the corridor was dim; his face was half in shadow, his expression unclear.
"What do you want to say?"
"I want to say—" I looked at the dark circles under his eyes, "is Your Highness unhappy?"
He was silent for a long time. A wind blew from the end of the corridor, carrying the dry cold unique to winter.
"Lu Xingye," he said, "do you know what the Winter Solstice ceremony means?"
"Yes. Worshipping Heaven, welcoming the Yang. 'At Winter Solstice, one Yang is born.' It is the start of the new year."
"Correct," he said. "'One Yang is born.' Officials offer congratulations, ten thousand people celebrate together. On this day, everyone must smile. But I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because I must be the master of the world," he said. "The Son of Heaven's smile is not for himself."
His tone was calm, as if stating something he had figured out long ago.
But I heard something else.A smile not for himself. Then for whom? For the officials? For the world? For those kneeling on the ground shouting "Ten thousand years"?
"Your Highness," I asked, "then have you ever smiled? A smile for yourself?"
He did not answer. He turned and continued walking.
I followed him. Reaching the workshop door, he stopped.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"You just said I did very well," he said without turning around. "Really?"
"Really."
He was silent for a moment. Then he pushed open the workshop door and walked in.
The workshop remained as it was last night. The repaired bronze mirror sat on the workbench; the charcoal fire had gone out, and the room was cold. He glanced at the cold charcoal basin and frowned.
"Why isn't the charcoal burning?"
"Forgot," I said. Actually, I had left in a hurry this morning and hadn't had time to add more.
He sat down in his usual spot—on the ground opposite the workbench, leaning against the pillar. Today there was no cushion; he sat directly on the floor, back against the pillar, eyes closed.
"Your Highness, the ground is cold."
"I know."
"Your Highness—"
"Sit for a while," he said. "Just a while."
I sat down opposite him. The workbench separated us; his face was on the other side, eyes closed.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"In your world, do you celebrate Winter Solstice?"
"No."
"Then what do you celebrate?"
"Nothing."
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
"In the past," he said, "how did you spend it alone?"
I thought for a moment. "Just... lived through it. Wake up in the morning, go to the restoration studio, repair things. Eat at the cafeteria at noon. Continue working in the afternoon. Return to the apartment at night, sleep. Same as any other day."
"Didn't it feel desolate?"
"I got used to it."
He said nothing. Silence stretched for a long time.
"Since I was five years old, every Winter Solstice I have had to wear ceremonial robes and stand for two hours," he suddenly said, his voice low. "The first year, my legs were so sore I couldn't walk. Mother said, 'Endure it, it will be better later.'It will be better later—I have heard that phrase for ten years."
He leaned against the pillar, looking at the roof.
"Ten years. My legs don't get sore anymore; I can stand for however long without pain. The ceremonial robes no longer feel heavy. I know the prayer texts by heart; I wouldn't make a mistake even with my eyes closed."
He paused.
"But I am still not happy."
I looked at his face. Fifteen years old. Saying "not happy" with such a light tone, as if talking about something unrelated to himself.
"Your Highness," I said, "if you are unhappy, why don't you say it?"
"What good would saying it do?" He looked at me. "I am the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince's unhappiness is not 'unhappiness.' It is 'undignified,' it is 'unstable,' it is 'not qualified to be the master of the world'."
He mimicked his Grand Tutor's tone, doing it very well. But I heard what was inside—not mockery, but grievance. A grievance hidden so deep he might not even realize it himself.
"Your Highness," I said, "let me make you something to eat."
He paused. "What to eat?"
"Dumplings."
"Dumplings?"
"Mm. Food from my hometown. Dough wrappers filled with stuffing, boiled. In my world, there is a saying: if you eat dumplings on Winter Solstice, your ears won't freeze off."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "That's a lie."
"Of course it's a lie," I said. "But when I was young, every Winter Solstice, my grandmother would make dumplings. The whole family would sit together. It was very warm."
He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my face for an instant. Not scrutinizing, not assessing, but something softer.
"Okay," he said.
I didn't go to the Imperial Kitchen. During the Winter Solstice ceremony, it would be chaotic there; going would only cause trouble. I thought for a moment and went to the small kitchen in the side courtyard of the Eastern Palace—where eunuchs and maids cooked their own meals. The stove was small, but they had rice, flour, oil, and salt.
The kitchen was managed by an old eunuch surnamed Zhang. Seeing me, he frowned.
"Lady Lu, this place is dirty. It is not where you should be."
"Eunuch Zhang, I wish to borrow a stove for a while. Just a moment."
"This—" He hesitated. "Does His Highness know?"
"He does," I said. "His Highness sent me."
He said nothing more, pointing me to a stove in the corner. I took a few coins from my sleeve and slipped them to him. He pushed back slightly, then accepted them.
Flour, pork, cabbage, green onion, ginger. The ingredients weren't complete, but enough. I rolled up my sleeves and began kneading the dough.
The water was cold, so cold my fingers went numb. I kneaded the dough forcefully to warm my hands. Once the dough was ready, I covered it with a cloth to rest. Then I chopped vegetables and minced meat. Cabbage was chopped fine, salted to draw out water, then squeezed dry. Pork was minced into a paste, mixed with minced green onion and ginger, and stirred until elastic. Mixing the two together, the aroma of the filling slowly spread.
"Lady Lu, what is this?" Qingxing had followed me somehow, standing nearby and watching curiously.
"Dumplings. Food from my hometown."
"Shall this servant help roll the wrappers?"
"Can you?"
"Just teach me, Lady Lu."
I taught her how to roll the wrappers. Hers were crooked, thick in some places and thin in others, but she was very serious. I picked up a wrapper, added filling, folded it in half, and pinched the pleats. With a pinch and a fold, a dumpling was formed. The pleats were neat, like a row of small combs.
In Florence, I occasionally made dumplings. Alone. Making twenty, eating them over two meals. The wrappers were bought from the supermarket; the filling was mixed by myself. While making them, I would think of my grandmother. She made dumplings very fast; with a pinch of her fingers, one was done. Her pleats were much nicer than mine.
"Lady Lu makes them so beautifully," Qingxing said.
"I learned from my grandmother when I was young."
I made twenty. The shape wasn't perfect, but at least none leaked.
The water in the pot boiled, bubblinggulu gulu. I dropped the dumplings in; the plump white dumplings tumbled in the boiling water. Steam rose, white and misty, enveloping the entire small kitchen. That layer of white fog was like a curtain, separating the cold and the rules of the outside world.
Liu Che stood at the doorway.
He didn't come in; he just stood outside the threshold, watching the dumplings in the pot. The steam hit his face, shrouding his eyebrows and eyes in a white mist. I couldn't see his expression clearly, but I could see his shoulders—they were more relaxed than they had been at the ceremony.
"Is this dumplings?" he asked.
"Mm."
"Smells quite fragrant."
"Your Highness, come inside and wait. It's cold at the door."
He stepped over the threshold and came in. The small kitchen was tiny; with him inside, it felt even smaller. He stood beside the stove, very close to me. Steam rose between us, warm and hot, blocking out the winter cold.
The dumplings were cooked. I scooped out six and placed them in a coarse pottery bowl, handing it to him.
He took it and looked. Plump white dumplings lay in the bowl, steaming. He picked one up with chopsticks and took a bite.
He chewed twice.
"How is it?" I asked.
"Not bad."
"Could Your Highness—"
"It's delicious," he said.
I paused. He lowered his head and continued eating the second one. The roots of his ears turned red.
I stood beside him, watching him eat. Six dumplings; he ate very slowly, one by one. With every bite, steam rose from the dumpling, fogging his face. When he was eating the third one, he suddenly stopped.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, taking another bite. "It's hot."
Just like that bowl of noodles last time. When he said "it's hot," his voice was very light, as if confirming something.
After finishing the last one, he put down the bowl.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Every Winter Solstice from now on, you will make dumplings for me."
"Your Highness, the Winter Solstice ceremony is so busy—"
"No matter how busy, we must eat," he said. "You said it yourself: sitting together as a family is very warm."
His voice was very light, as if speaking a very distant word. After saying it, he paused, seemingly startled by his own words. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something else, but he didn't. He lowered his eyes, looking at the empty bowl, silent for a moment.
"Your Highness," I said, "okay."
He lifted his head and looked at me. He smiled.
Not the smile from the ceremony, not the smile for the officials. A smile for himself. Very faint, but very real. When he smiled, the dark circles under his eyes seemed to fade slightly.
Sunlight from outside the window streamed in, hitting his face.At Winter Solstice, one Yang is born. Today is the shortest day of the year, and also the coldest. But from today onward, the days will grow longer.
"Your Highness," I said, "it's time to go back."
"Mm."
He stood up and walked to the door. He stopped and turned back.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"Today," he said, "I am very happy."
Then he left.
I stood in the small kitchen, looking at the doorway. The steam had dissipated, but the sunlight remained. There was leftover flour on the workbench; my fingers were dusted with flour, and filling was embedded in the cracks of my nails.The cracks on the bronze mirror can be repaired; the chill in the human heart can also be filled by a bowl of dumplings.At Winter Solstice, one Yang is born. The days will grow longer. Warm days lie ahead.
[End of Chapter 12]