Chapter 91: Stroking the Tiger

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For a princess, spending every day within the imperial palace was truly tedious; only the court attendants and the painter still felt remotely novel.

As a princess she could not simply go to admire the attendants on her own, so she had to draw near them only through paintings, collecting that faint taste of novelty from afar.

A little maid, spoiled by the princess’s favor, ran wild through the halls whenever no one was around. The magnolia had just bloomed before her, and she thought to pluck one for the princess to see.

No one expected any movement in the grass, yet after staring for a long while she suddenly saw someone emerge from it.

Yu Hualiang had slipped into the grove to chase after Lintang, and when he came out he saw the maid shrieking in fright. He was mortified beyond measure.

“I mean no harm! I’m only chasing someone,” he said. “I won’t hurt you, all right? Please don’t scream.”

The maid kept shaking her head and calling for guards, forcing Yu Hualiang to follow her and “explain.”

Then he caught sight of a familiar face. He only managed to murmur, “Qianqian…,” and was already pinned to the ground by the guards.

Princess Yongcheng had not expected to meet him at all. She ordered the guards to release him, and Yu’s bewilderment only deepened.

The maid rounded on him with a threat: “Look at me again, and I’ll gouge out your eyes.”

Yu realized how disrespectful he had been. He lowered his head in silence. The princess seemed not to mind; her voice was gentle.

“Painter Yu?”

“Yes,” Yu answered.

He hesitated, then added with formal humility, “Your servant, Your Highness.”

Yongcheng could not help but laugh. “Why are you here, Painter Yu?”

He could not say he had been chasing Lintang. He stared at the grass where he had come from and blurted out an excuse. “I… I was chasing a rabbit!”

“Then it seems Painter Yu really does like small creatures,” she said with a laugh.

Yu was puzzled—who knew this side of him so well? He gave a shy nod. It was not untrue.

“Painter Yu, follow me,” Yongcheng said, motioning forward.

Yu stood dumbstruck at what she intended. The maid, irritated by his daze, shoved him sharply. “The princess is calling you. Move!”

As awareness returned, he followed in silence. Yongcheng smiled lightly. “Why so quiet? In Meilin, you weren’t this shy.”

At once he felt accused and hurried to explain. “Forgive me, forgive me, Princess! You and my—my former beloved... she looked so alike. I truly thought it was her.”

Yongcheng only smiled. “Painter Yu, do not be nervous. I bear you no grudge.”

“Her name was Qianqian,” he went on. “Now life and death have parted us; we will never meet again.”

Yongcheng looked doubtful. “But… I heard you are a eunuch.”

She then thought to herself that maybe only after losing the woman he cherished had he chosen that path, and she felt a flicker of pity.
She said, “Painter Yu, do not be sad. Since you like little beasts, please check the ones in my courtyard. They have not eaten for days.”

Yu considered. “Could be a stomach issue, if it were a rabbit. Still, this needs a proper veterinarian.”

“Even a veterinarian is afraid of them,” she replied.

Yu smiled faintly at that, until he saw what they were.

There, in the courtyard, crawled two tiger cubs.

A true imperial eccentricism. Princesses and commoners do not keep the same things.

Yongcheng explained, “These two little tigers were caught by my brother, the Seventh Prince, on his last hunt. Their mother died, and he had them made into soup for me. I could not bear it, so I kept them.”

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Yu inspected them. Each was the size of an adult cat, yet still only a cub. He moved closer and crouched. Yongcheng was about to remind him that they were tigers, but Yu had already laid his hand on one’s head.

Such boldness startled even her. He stroked the first; it opened its weak eyes and gave a small cry.

Its voice sounded like a cat’s. He touched the second cub, which was in worse condition and did not even cry.

Yu frowned. “These two are still very young, not even weaned.”

“The mother is already dead,” Yongcheng said. “It is hard enough to find a tigress now.”

“They don’t need tigress milk. Cow’s milk, even dog’s milk, will do. They need nourishment tonight, or they won’t see tomorrow.”

At once Yongcheng, seeing his urgency, asked that someone fetch milk. Yu lifted one cub in his arms. “The ground is too cold. They need warmth and bedding.”

“I already had a cage made for them,” she said.

“They are weak still. Qianqian—could you bring a quilt?”

Only after finishing did Yu realize what he had done. He dropped his gaze in apology.

“Alone, if there are no attendants nearby, this princess permits you to call me so,” Yongcheng said with a smile.

Yu silently accepted her mercy, and his guilt toward Qianqian only thickened.

He tucked the cubs into a blanket and held them close to keep them warm. Yongcheng chuckled.

“Painter Yu, you look exactly like their mother.”

“I only want to save them,” Yu said.

Yongcheng knelt beside him. “Why are you not afraid of them?”

Yu thought a moment. He knew the cubs were not dangerous; a tiger raised among humans often loses its urge to attack.

He replied, “In the beginning, all creatures are good by nature—even tigers.”

Yongcheng brightened and reached out to touch a cub. The cub opened its mouth and wailed, clearly wanting to nurse.

Yu said, “Raise them well and they will be faithful, and one day they will take you as their master.”

“Have you ever raised tigers, Painter Yu?” she asked, stroking another.

“Not at all,” he said. “I only raised dogs.”

“Pff… then you are truly amusing.”

Not long after, a guard finally brought in a dog. The cubs, famished, ate for half the afternoon before showing even a little spirit.

“They still need at least a month more of milk,” Yu said. “Find us more dogs.”

The guard nodded and led one away. Even after eating, the cubs began shouting for their mother, restless and wild. Yu took one up and stroked it, but it tried to bolt.

“Princess, have you given these two tigers any names?” he asked.

Yongcheng looked confused. “Do tigers need names?”

“If you keep them as pets, then yes,” he said.

“What names do you think suit them?” she asked.

Yu hesitated. For his golden dog, it was Qianqian who had chosen the name. He forced a tight smile. “This one is lively, like spring when all things awaken. Call him Spring.”

“And this lazy one,” she echoed, “is winter when all things rest. Call him Winter?”

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Yu gave a doubtful nod, and Yongcheng approved. “Excellent names—Spring and Winter, a cycle of all living things.”

Yu had never imagined such meaning in names. He nodded quickly in agreement. Seeing the dusk settle, he said, “Your Highness, I should be leaving now.”

She looked at the sky and then at him. “If Painter Yu says so, then leave.”

She then handed him a jade token. “If you wish to come see Spring and Winter, carry this jade pendant. The guards will not block you.”

Yu clenched it in his hand, and his thoughts slipped back to the night the Seventh Prince had given him one.
With a faintly dim expression, he thanked her and left the courtyard, only to find himself lost.

Princess Yongcheng’s sleeping halls were ringed by green bamboo, quiet and graceful; yet with only those narrow paths, he could not find the way out. He turned and turned, only to circle back.

Just when he was about to go find the princess, a black figure dropped from the bamboo and made him jump. It was Lintang.

To meet her here, Yu thought, was proof of the Emperor’s excellent secrecy—he had sent Lintang to shadow him.

Lintang’s face was as cold as before. “The Emperor summons.”

Not a superfluous word—only a command that inspired fear. She walked ahead, and Yu had no choice but to follow.

Lintang led him along hidden lanes to a pavilion buried in dense bamboo. The place resembled the Huanlin Court of the Seventh Prince’s estate, yet it was larger and finer. Inside sat a man in yellow robes, dignified and commanding.

As Yu drew closer, he felt a dangerous current and dropped to one knee.

“Long live the Emperor, long live the Emperor, long live the Emperor!”

The Emperor sat behind a table and regarded the kneeling, frail Yu. Even he seemed curious what kind of man had drawn the cold, ruthless Seventh Prince after him for three years.

“Raise your head,” the Emperor ordered.

Yu felt oddly as if he were a favored wife being appraised. He lifted his head slowly.

He looked up at the sovereign, whose brow and countenance were far more open than the Seventh Prince’s. The Emperor seemed less like a tyrant, more like a handsome young master from a wealthy house. A strange intimacy stirred in him.

The Emperor smiled and said, “No wonder my Seventh Brother is so infatuated with you. That face of yours could outshine a woman’s.”

Then he even reached out his hand. Yu’s eyes widened; his heart flinched. Could this be another eunuch too?

He instinctively shifted back and sat down hard on the ground.

The Emperor laughed and pulled his hand back. “Ha—don’t be frightened. I will not do anything to you. Sit up properly.”

Yu exhaled and, with gratitude, sat down quietly. Lintang poured him tea as if she were a perfect wife.

The Emperor took her cup, smiled at Yu, and pushed it toward him. “Painter Yu, drink.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Yu said, and drank.

Lintang filled another for the Emperor. He kept watching Yu as though he were examining a rare treasure, and Yu felt his skin prickle.

Then the Emperor suddenly asked, “How has my Seventh Brother been treating you?”