The Prince and Ai - 7. Chapter 7

Zhu Cilang

Eastern Palace, Forbidden City, Beijing

Eleventh Month of the Seventh Year of Chongzhen (December 20^th 1634)

Hou Zhi’s appearance forces me to reconsider Zhang Xianyong, the Daoist priest appointed to Emperor Chongzhen’s court. In my previous life, Zhang Xianyong had little influence during my father’s reign and retired from his position two years later to assist victims of the famine. Until today, I dismissed his praise of me and the quadricycle under the famous name “wooden ox and flowing horse” as an attempt to expand Daoist influence at court.

Daoist authority in the Ming court had declined since reaching its height during the reign of the Jiajing Emperor. Daoist masters now occupied ceremonial positions without meaningful political power. In my previous life, Emperor Chongzhen favored Confucian officials trained in Zhu Xi’s School of Principle, as well as Jesuit officials from the West, because he considered Daoism an empty religion without practical applications. Zhang Xianyong therefore remained largely ignored throughout the reign.

Zhang Xianyong observes my favorable reaction to Hou Zhi before addressing me. His expression remains composed as he says, “Your Highness, I understand that you have no reason to believe my words or the signs I have observed in the heavens. For generations, men have used elixirs and Daoist teachings to deceive the court and obtain power.”

Zhang Xianyong pauses, then continues in a solemn voice. “I also understand that the Ming Dynasty is in peril and that Your Highness already carries many burdens. At my advanced age, I have little else to offer the nation. If I presented Hou Zhi to Emperor Chongzhen or the imperial court, they would not use his abilities properly because they distrust anything associated with Daoism.”

His disciples remain motionless behind him as Zhang Xianyong finishes his explanation. “Whether Your Highness believes me or not, the stars changed at the beginning of this year. I traced that change to Your Highness, the crown prince. Several previously divided stars have begun to converge around you in the pattern associated with the four ancient sage kings of Huaxia.”

I leave Hou Zhi standing behind me and turn fully toward Zhang Xianyong. “What do you want from this crown prince beyond placing Hou Zhi in my service? Let us speak honestly, Celestial Master Zhang Xianyong. Are you not also interested in the medicines and other knowledge granted by my heavenly teacher?”

Several of Zhang Xianyong’s disciples stir at the question, but Zhang Xianyong remains calm. His voice contains no anger when he answers, “Some members of my sect desire divine knowledge so they may advance their cultivation. Others hope to elevate their positions during Your Highness’s future reign, including my own son. I admit that freely.”

Zhang Xianyong releases a quiet breath before continuing. “I am a pure practitioner of the Dao, Your Highness. My duty is to interpret the signs of heaven and recognize the limits of my authority. You are the only true connection to the immortals who remains upon the earth, and I have no wish to claim knowledge or power that does not belong to me. I only hope that Your Highness can preserve the Ming Dynasty and allow all people to prosper through the knowledge you have received.”

Before I can respond, Zhang Xianyong performs nine formal bows. He then turns and leaves the courtyard with his disciples without requesting a reward or awaiting my decision.

The abrupt departure supports my memories of Zhang Xianyong as a sincerely devout Daoist master. Perhaps he truly seeks nothing more than the opportunity to convey his interpretation of the heavens.

Ai provides additional information once Zhang Xianyong has departed. “Historical records described Zhang Xianyong as an honest Daoist who did not seek political power. He will leave his government post in two years and later surrender leadership of his sect so he can provide disaster relief.”

Ai continues before I can respond. “After Zhang Xianyong’s departure, his son, Zhang Yingjing, will succeed him as master of the sect. Zhang Yingjing will later submit to the Manchu Qing Dynasty after your death, allowing the sect to attain greater influence by serving as the spiritual voice of the foreign conquerors.”

The information becomes darker as Ai proceeds. “According to secret messages exchanged between Zhu Cizhao and Zhu Cijiong in Chengdu, Zhang Yingjing will be killed seven years after your death. The available evidence indicates that Zhu Cizhao probably arranged the assassination.”

Ai allows me a moment to consider the future before offering advice. “We should evaluate Zhang Xianyong’s offer as more than an opportunity to obtain Hou Zhi’s service. By naming you a Sage King, Zhang Xianyong has provided a religious justification for you to claim authority over his sect. You could eventually unite the various Daoist sects under your Sage King title and create a powerful new institution within society.”

I examine the possibilities Ai has presented. Zhang Xianyong’s intentions appear trustworthy, and Hou Zhi’s service may prove invaluable, but Zhang Yingjing could exploit his father’s relationship with me to obtain influence later.

The famine that caused Zhang Xianyong to abandon his position is still two years away. If I can prevent the conditions that led to that disaster, Zhang Xianyong may remain at court. I could also consider Ai’s proposal and eventually assume authority over the Daoist sects through the title of Sage King.

I do not believe in Daoist teachings, but the Daoist tradition of observing natural phenomena interests me. Ai agrees that the practical elements of those traditions could be reorganized into a standardized field of observation and experimentation called chemistry.

The soap now being produced is one result of chemical knowledge. Ai explains that the same discipline can also advance explosives, metalworking, medicines, and firearms. The possibilities are considerable, but the political danger cannot be ignored.

After the reign of the Jiajing Emperor, Confucian officials led by Minister Xue Jie purged Daoist officials from government positions and executed many of them. Only ceremonial offices, including the position currently held by Zhang Xianyong, survived. Confucians trained in Zhu Xi’s School of Principle resist competing schools of thought, including Wang Yangming’s School of Mind and the traditional teachings of Daoism.

Despite that opposition, Daoist observational practices, Wang Yangming’s School of Mind, and the practical philosophy of Mozi could support the creation of a new intellectual school. Ai and I will need to examine that possibility during future discussions.

With Zhang Xianyong gone, Hou Zhi remains beneath my roof in the Eastern Palace. The question of what to do with him can no longer be postponed.

The informants of the Eastern Depot miss very little. Their agents watch the courtyards, listen beside doors, and prepare reports for officials who value information as a source of power. The imperial household will learn about the strange child with a tail before the next lunar cycle ends, and the news may spread sooner if Zheng Zhihui decides to use Hou Zhi’s presence against me.

The simplest response would be to present Hou Zhi as a curiosity from the sect at Mount Longhu. I could call him a living tribute from the mountain of the Celestial Masters and permit the court to treat him as another palace novelty.

The court has long displayed unusual people, animals, and foreign gifts. The Yongle Emperor once filled the imperial menagerie with giraffes from Malindi and white elephants from Siam. A child with fur and a tail would attract officials who would inspect him, question him under the pretense of scholarship, and lose interest after the novelty faded.

I refuse to subject Hou Zhi to that treatment. He has already spent too much of his life being observed without being understood.

Hou Zhi watches everything around him with quiet intelligence. He records details with remarkable precision, while his controlled movements reveal that he learned long ago that attracting attention often led to cruelty. Turning him into a court spectacle could destroy the trust he has only begun to extend toward me.

Ai remains unusually silent. I sense his familiar awareness within my thoughts, but he offers no instruction and no clear division of the problem into manageable parts.

He must be calculating the effects Hou Zhi’s presence could have on our broader plans. His silence means the consequences are complex enough to demand his full attention. For the moment, the responsibility of dealing with Hou Zhi rests entirely with me.

I sit across from Hou Zhi in the small study adjoining my sleeping quarters. Charcoal burns inside a bronze brazier near the eastern wall, while sandalwood incense rises from a ceramic holder beside my writing desk.

Hou Zhi sits on a cushion with his legs folded beneath him and his tail curled around one ankle. He has been fed and dressed in a dark blue robe altered from one of my spare garments by a seamstress whom I trust not to ask questions.

The fur along Hou Zhi’s arms and legs is clean but still tangled from his confinement. His human face remains hairless and finely formed, and his dark eyes watch me with the same grave attention he has shown since leaving the cage.

“People will ask where you came from,” I tell Hou Zhi. “We need an explanation that will survive careful examination.”

Hou Zhi nods with a precise movement. He does not waste motion any more than he wastes words.

I begin with the explanation I prepared without Ai’s assistance. “Every educated reader in the empire knows Journey to the West. The novel mentions the descendants of Sun Wukong who remained at the Water Curtain Cave on Flower Fruit Mountain, but it does not describe what later became of them.”

I study Hou Zhi’s face as I continue. “We could claim that you are one of those descendants, a young monkey spirit.”

Hou Zhi’s expression remains unchanged, although his tail briefly tightens around his ankle. He considers the proposal before answering in his usual calm voice.

“Your Highness is generous, but that explanation would not survive scrutiny from anyone who examined me closely.” Hou Zhi uncurls his tail and extends it across the cushion beside him so I can see it clearly.

The fur is darker near the base and lighter toward the tip. Hou Zhi controls every movement of the tail with the same care he gives to his hands.

“My face is too human, and my posture is too upright,” Hou Zhi explains. “A monkey spirit in human form would be expected to possess fur across the face and torso. I have fur only on my head, arms, and legs, while my face and chest remain bare. Anyone familiar with the illustrations in Journey to the West would notice the difference.”

Hou Zhi pauses, and I realize that he must have considered this problem many times before meeting me. His next words confirm that the disciples at Mount Longhu had already prepared another answer.

“Celestial Master Zhang used a different explanation,” Hou Zhi says. “He has already survived questioning from outsiders.”

I lean forward and give Hou Zhi my full attention. “Tell me what he said.”

“Celestial Master Zhang at Mount Longhu claimed that I was born from a monkey spirit of the Water Curtain Cave on Flower Fruit Mountain and a human woman.” Hou Zhi’s expression remains composed, although the corner of his mouth tightens. “My fellow disciples and visitors called me a half-blood in deference to my master, but there are other names.”

Hou Zhi looks down at the dark fur covering his hands. “The mixed inheritance explains my human features, my tail, the fur on my limbs, and my ability to sense changes in the weather. Those traits can be presented as a spiritual inheritance rather than evidence that I am dangerous.”

“And did the disciples accept that explanation?” I ask. Hou Zhi considers the distinction before responding.

“They accepted the label, but they continued to avoid me,” Hou Zhi says. “My ability to judge soil conditions and the accuracy of my observations unsettled them more than my appearance. The explanation still prevented them from openly challenging my presence because it allowed them to classify me without deciding whether I was sacred or monstrous.”

Hou Zhi’s version is stronger than mine. It is specific, has survived previous scrutiny, and provides an explanation for both his appearance and his unusual abilities.

More importantly, it presents those abilities as an inherited spiritual gift rather than demonic influence. That distinction could determine whether the court protects Hou Zhi or orders an investigation that ends in his execution.

Ai suddenly returns to the surface of my thoughts with his usual clarity. “Accept Hou Zhi’s explanation. It accounts for the physical anomalies without requiring additional supernatural claims that would attract excessive attention.”

Ai’s assessment continues without emotion. “The half-blood explanation accounts for the partial distribution of fur, the human facial structure, and the tail without contradicting the features that others can directly observe.”

Ai pauses before giving his final instruction. “Tomorrow, examine Hou Zhi’s abilities across several areas. We must understand what he knows and what he can do before deciding how he can contribute to our plans. I have some theories concerning his unusual weather pattern sensor details related to his atavism, and likely genetic mutation.”

Ai then withdraws, leaving me alone with Hou Zhi once more. The warmth of the brazier and the quiet sound of Hou Zhi’s breathing fill the room.

I consider Ai’s use of the word examine. Ai intends no cruelty, but his methodical reasoning sometimes reduces people to collections of abilities, limitations, and measurable traits.

Hou Zhi is not merely a subject to be evaluated. He sits only a few feet away with his tail resting against the cushion and his dark eyes fixed patiently on my face.

I set Ai’s instruction aside until morning. For the remainder of the evening, I intend to treat Hou Zhi as a person rather than a problem requiring an immediate solution.

“Your explanation is better,” I tell Hou Zhi. “We will use it.”

Hou Zhi inclines his head in a formal gesture. The movement resembles the bow of a disciple acknowledging an instruction from a master, and I make note of the habit.

“The bathhouse is prepared,” I say as I rise. “You need a proper washing before tomorrow, and the quiet may help me think of who to approach to dispel issues.”

The bathhouse in the Eastern Palace is one of the private comforts made possible by my recent innovations. Steel pipes run beneath the stone floor and carry heated water from a coal furnace in the adjoining service room.

The chamber lacks the scale and decoration of the bathing complexes used by earlier emperors. It is still warm, private, and entirely under my control.

I fill the stone pool myself. Heated water flows steadily from the steel pipes, and steam rises toward the wooden ceiling.

A container of liquid body wash rests on a shelf beside the pool. It is one of the first products manufactured by the soap works that Li Tianjing oversees in my name, and it carries the scent of cedar mixed with a sharper resinous fragrance.

Hou Zhi stands at the edge of the water without removing his altered robe. His tail hangs straight behind him, with the tip barely touching the stone floor.

His shoulders are drawn upward, and his arms remain close to his sides. The rigid posture reveals that he is preparing himself for an experience whose risks he does not understand.

“Have you ever shared a bath with another person?” I ask. Hou Zhi keeps his attention on the water as he answers.

“No, Your Highness,” Hou Zhi says. His voice remains calm despite the tension in his body.

I remove my outer garments and step into the pool wearing only my undergarments. The heat rises along my legs and torso until I lower myself far enough for the water to reach my collarbones.

“Come into the water,” I tell Hou Zhi. “It will not harm you.”

Hou Zhi does not move. His eyes follow the steam and the movement of the water around my body as he calculates the depth, temperature, and possible meaning of my invitation.

I do not repeat myself or pressure him. Instead, I rest against the stone edge, keep my breathing even, and allow him to make the decision without interference.

After approximately twenty breaths, I hear the robe fall onto the stone floor. Hou Zhi then places one bare foot in the pool and tests the temperature before shifting his weight forward.

The water rises past Hou Zhi’s ankles, knees, and thighs. When it reaches his waist, he stops and stands motionless while his tail floats behind him on the surface.

“Lower yourself farther,” I instruct him. “The deeper water is warmer.”

Hou Zhi slowly sinks until the water reaches his chest and shoulders. His expression changes once the heat surrounds him.

The tension in Hou Zhi’s jaw eases, and the line between his brows disappears. His tail releases its defensive curl and drifts freely through the water.

I reach for the body wash and pour a small amount into my palm. After working it into a lather, I turn toward Hou Zhi.

“Your hair first,” I tell him. “Then we will clean the fur.”

Hou Zhi does not resist. He turns with deliberate care and presents the back of his head to me.

I place my hands against his scalp and begin washing his hair. The strands are thick where they grow from his skull and gradually merge with the softer fur covering his neck and shoulders.

I work the soap through both textures, paying close attention to the transition between human hair and animal fur. There is no obvious division between them, and both appear to be natural parts of the same body.

The soap becomes trapped in the dense fur covering Hou Zhi’s arms. I rinse each section several times with a wooden cup until the water runs clear.

Hou Zhi remains still through most of the process. His breathing stays steady, his eyes remain closed, and only the occasional movement of his tail reveals his awareness of my touch.

After I finish washing his back, Hou Zhi turns to face me. His eyes now contain an unfamiliar combination of gratitude and uncertainty.

“Your turn,” Hou Zhi says. His tone is quiet, but the statement carries the weight of a formal obligation.

I stare at him for a moment before answering. “My turn?”

“You washed me, Your Highness, so I should wash you.” Hou Zhi speaks with the same seriousness he displayed when asking to enter my service.

My first instinct is to refuse. I am the crown prince, Hou Zhi is a newly arrived foundling, and the hierarchy of the palace does not encourage reciprocity between us.

The refusal fades when I see the importance Hou Zhi places on the exchange. He is not attempting to flatter me or demonstrate obedience. He considers my assistance a kindness that must be acknowledged and returned.

“Very well,” I say before turning my back to him. “You may wash my hair.”

Hou Zhi’s hands are smaller than mine, with slender fingers extending from the dark fur around his wrists. He carefully measures the body wash and begins working it through my hair.

His touch is methodical at first. He separates the strands, applies the soap, and rinses each section with exact care.

Hou Zhi gradually becomes more confident. He finds the tension at the base of my skull and presses the muscles with his thumbs until the stiffness caused by weeks of bending over workbenches begins to ease.

When Hou Zhi moves to my shoulders, his tail drifts through the water and brushes the sole of my foot. The unexpected sensation causes me to smile before I can control my expression.

It is not the reserved smile I display during court audiences or the carefully measured warmth I offer officials whose support I require. The reaction is genuine and entirely unplanned.

Hou Zhi’s hands stop against my shoulders. His breathing changes slightly as he studies my expression.

“Your Highness smiled,” Hou Zhi says. He sounds uncertain about whether he should mention it.

“I did,” I confirm. The admission causes Hou Zhi’s tail to become still beneath the water.

“Was it because of my tail?” Hou Zhi asks. His solemn expression remains unchanged.

“It tickled the bottom of my foot,” I explain. “I was not expecting it.”

Hou Zhi falls silent as he considers this new information. His tail then moves deliberately across the arch of my foot in several light strokes.

Laughter escapes me before I can suppress it. I turn toward Hou Zhi and narrow my eyes.

“That was deliberate,” I tell him. Hou Zhi maintains his grave expression, but a faint brightness appears in his eyes.

“Your Highness said the sensation caused laughter,” Hou Zhi replies. “I wished to confirm the observation.”

“You decided to confirm it by tickling me again?” I ask. Hou Zhi answers without any visible sign that he understands the accusation.

“Observation requires repetition to establish validity,” Hou Zhi says. His perfect seriousness makes it impossible to determine whether he is teasing me.

His tail begins moving again, but this time I am prepared. I catch Hou Zhi’s wrist beneath the water and guide him back against the stone edge of the pool.

The movement is playful rather than forceful. I remain careful of his smaller body and of the uncertainty he still feels in the water.

Hou Zhi’s eyes widen in surprise. For the first time, I see the child beneath his controlled intelligence and constant vigilance.

I find the unprotected area beneath Hou Zhi’s arm where the fur meets bare skin. When I press my fingers against it, his composure immediately breaks.

Hou Zhi jerks away, his tail striking the water as a high and startled laugh escapes him. The sound bears no resemblance to his calm and measured speech.

Hou Zhi tries to pull free, but I hold him lightly against the stone and reach beneath his other arm. His laughter fills the bathhouse, and the tension I have carried for several weeks finally begins to release.

“Your Highness,” Hou Zhi gasps between bursts of laughter. “This is entirely undignified.”

“Nothing inside this room requires dignity,” I tell him. My own laughter comes more easily than I expected. “This room belongs to me, and what happens here remains between us.”

Hou Zhi looks at me with open amazement. The possibility of a place without performance, punishment, or constant judgment appears to be entirely new to him.

I see Hou Zhi considering whether my promise can be trusted. Before he reaches a conclusion, his tail curls around my side and finds my ribs.

The sudden sensation forces me backward, and I release his wrists. Hou Zhi immediately advances through the water and places his hands beneath my arms.

“Observation confirms that Your Highness is also vulnerable to this method,” Hou Zhi declares. His voice now contains a playful energy that was absent only moments earlier.

I answer by splashing water directly into his face. Hou Zhi sputters and recoils, while his tail curls tightly in surprise.

We stare at each other across the disturbed surface of the pool. Both of us are dripping, breathless, and struggling to maintain serious expressions.

Hou Zhi splashes me before I can speak. The retaliation removes the final restraint between us.

The water fight that follows is neither elegant nor dignified. We are two boys laughing, splashing, and attempting to outmaneuver one another inside the confined pool.

Hou Zhi’s tail gives him a considerable advantage. He can strike the surface with enough force to throw water while keeping both hands free, and I cannot defend myself against all three limbs at once.

I possess greater strength, however, and eventually catch Hou Zhi around the waist. When I lift him out of the water, his laughter rises through the steam-filled chamber with an openness I have never heard from him before.

The sound affects me more deeply than I expect. Hou Zhi has spent years suppressing every natural response that might attract unwanted attention, yet he now laughs without considering who might hear him.

I return Hou Zhi carefully to the water. We then rest beside each other against the stone edge, breathing heavily while the disturbed surface gradually becomes still.

Hou Zhi’s wet fur lies flat against his body, and his human face is flushed from exertion. His expression contains something that may be happiness, although he seems uncertain how to identify it.

“Your Highness, I have never experienced—” Hou Zhi begins, but the sentence remains unfinished. He searches for words capable of describing an experience for which he has no previous reference.

“I understand,” I tell him. My own childhood, in both this life and the previous one, allowed very little time for play.

There was always something important to learn, some danger to anticipate, or some observer waiting for weakness. Hou Zhi and I understand the cost of that childhood without requiring further explanation.

Hou Zhi’s tail moves through the water until the tip rests against my palm. He does not grip my hand or demand a response.

The gesture is quiet, but its meaning is clear. I close my fingers around his tail and feel the warmth of his skin beneath the wet fur.

We remain together in silence while the steam rises and the water slowly cools. Neither of us speaks, because nothing further needs to be explained.

The following morning, Hou Zhi’s official standing remains unresolved. Gray light filters through the paper windows, and I hear him moving carefully in the adjoining room before I rise.

When I finish dressing, I find Hou Zhi seated on the same cushion he occupied the previous evening. His fur is dry and brushed, his robe is arranged neatly, and his tail is coiled beside him with deliberate care.

Hou Zhi has prepared tea. The pot rests on the low table between us, with steam rising from the spout and two ceramic cups waiting nearby.

He has not poured the tea because doing so might exceed the authority of a guest whose position remains uncertain. He has still measured the leaves, heated the water, and found a quiet way to make himself useful.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Hou Zhi says. His posture remains formal, but there is less tension in his expression than there was yesterday.

“Good morning, Hou Zhi,” I reply before taking my place across from him. I pour the tea and pass the first cup into his hands.

Hou Zhi accepts it with both palms in the manner of a disciple receiving instruction from a master. We drink together in a silence that no longer feels cautious or burdened.

His position still requires a formal decision. Rumors travel rapidly through the palace, and Zheng Zhihui’s informants have already reported that an unusual child entered the Eastern Palace.

Whispers have begun in the servants’ corridors, while eunuchs exchange questioning looks whenever Hou Zhi passes. Those questions will soon reach officials who measure their influence by the secrets they possess.

The safest response is to present the matter directly to my imperial mother before gossip determines her opinion. Empress Zhou possesses the authority to grant Hou Zhi formal standing within my household.

Her approval would carry enough weight to discourage most courtiers from questioning his presence. Any official who openly objected would risk appearing to challenge the judgment of the empress.

I instruct Hou Zhi in the proper forms of address and the posture required when greeting Empress Zhou. He absorbs each detail with his usual precision.

Every bow reaches the correct depth, every honorific appears in the proper place, and every pause follows the rhythm of formal court speech. By the time we finish, Hou Zhi could be mistaken for a child raised within the inner court rather than a foundling delivered from a mountain sect.

“Remember that Empress Zhou will recognize any false performance,” I tell Hou Zhi. “Remain calm and allow her to see what you truly are.”

Hou Zhi nods without hesitation. “I understand, Your Highness. I will be exactly what I am.”

We arrive at Empress Zhou’s receiving hall late in the morning. The air is cold and clear, while frost remains within the shaded sections of the courtyard.

Hou Zhi walks beside me with his tail held close to his body. He does not hide it, but he prevents it from moving freely enough to attract unnecessary attention.

A small bundle wrapped in silk rests in Hou Zhi’s hands. He gathered the flowers from the Eastern Palace garden before dawn without receiving any instruction from me.

I did not suggest that Hou Zhi bring a gift or provide any hint that might have led him toward the garden. He selected and arranged every stem by himself.

The bundle contains chrysanthemums for longevity, white peonies for a new beginning, and a single sprig of winter plum whose blossoms remain closed. The arrangement is modest enough to fit within Hou Zhi’s small hands, but the selection of each flower is deliberate.

The receiving hall is warm when we enter. Empress Zhou sits upon a raised platform covered in yellow silk, with her posture upright and her hands resting calmly in her lap.

She has spent many years learning how to project authority without visible effort. In my memories of the previous life, grief had already changed her appearance, but the Empress Zhou before me remains young, clear-eyed, and observant.

When Empress Zhou looks at me, I see the same maternal warmth Emperor Chongzhen displayed after the race. Her affection is tempered by the caution of a woman who has raised children in a palace where family bonds can be used for political manipulation.

“Mother,” I say as I bow to the proper depth. “This son presents himself and requests Your Majesty’s blessing.”

“Rise, Zhu Cilang,” Empress Zhou replies. Her voice combines maternal affection with unquestioned authority. “You have been absent from the morning audiences for several days, and the court has noticed.”

“The workshop required my attention, Mother,” I explain. “The chariots intended for Fengyang City are nearly complete.”

Empress Zhou studies my face for several moments before directing her attention toward Hou Zhi. He stands three paces behind me and to my left, exactly where I instructed him to remain.

Hou Zhi’s eyes are lowered, and he holds the flowers against his chest with both hands. His tail rests motionless against his leg, while the dark blue robe falls in clean lines from his shoulders.

Empress Zhou’s expression remains composed, but her attention sharpens. A slight narrowing of her eyes tells me that she has already noticed every unusual detail.

“Who is this child?” Empress Zhou asks. The question is directed toward me, although her gaze remains fixed on Hou Zhi.

“This son requests permission to present Hou Zhi, Mother,” I say. “Celestial Master Zhang Xianyong recommended him for service within my household, and I seek Your Majesty’s formal approval for him to remain at my side.”

Empress Zhou raises her eyebrows slightly. “Celestial Master Zhang Xianyong does not often recommend children for service in the Eastern Palace.”

“The circumstances are unusual,” I acknowledge. “Hou Zhi is the child of a monkey spirit from the Water Curtain Cave on Flower Fruit Mountain and a human woman. His mixed inheritance accounts for his unusual appearance and abilities.”

I deliver Hou Zhi’s explanation without embellishment. Each word is presented as a straightforward statement rather than an invitation to treat him as a spectacle.

Empress Zhou does not display surprise. Court astrologers, ambitious eunuchs, and provincial officials have presented her with many claims involving omens, prophecies, foreign creatures, and miraculous births.

The strangeness of the explanation matters less than the manner in which it is offered. I have presented Hou Zhi as a person requesting recognition rather than an object intended for entertainment.

“Come forward, child,” Empress Zhou commands. Her voice remains firm but not hostile.

Hou Zhi steps forward with controlled confidence. When he reaches the proper distance from the platform, he lowers himself onto one knee and adjusts his tail so it does not interfere with the movement.

He then extends the flowers in both hands. His palms face upward in the proper position of formal presentation.

“Your Majesty,” Hou Zhi begins in his calm and deliberate voice, “this unworthy one is Hou Zhi, the son of a monkey spirit from the Water Curtain Cave on Flower Fruit Mountain and a human woman of the eastern plains.”

Hou Zhi keeps his eyes lowered as he continues. “I offer these flowers in gratitude for Your Majesty’s attention, and I request permission to serve beside Crown Prince Zhu Cilang.”

The introduction contains no excessive praise and no attempt to gain favor through performance. Hou Zhi states his identity and request with direct honesty.

Empress Zhou examines the bundle in his hands. Her gaze moves across the chrysanthemums, white peonies, and closed blossoms of the winter plum.

“Who taught you to select these flowers?” Empress Zhou asks. Hou Zhi answers without raising his head.

“No one taught me, Your Majesty,” Hou Zhi says. “I observed the garden and selected the flowers that appeared appropriate.”

“Appropriate for what purpose?” Empress Zhou asks. Her attention remains fixed on him.

“For a meeting with the mother of Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Hou Zhi replies. “The chrysanthemums represent longevity because Your Majesty sustains the imperial household.”

Hou Zhi shifts the bundle slightly so Empress Zhou can see the other flowers. “The white peonies represent a new beginning because this day may mark my beginning in the palace. The winter plum represents resilience because Your Majesty has endured the difficult seasons of court life without surrendering your responsibilities.”

Silence fills the hall after Hou Zhi finishes speaking. Empress Zhou has spent years watching courtiers imitate sincerity for political advantage, but Hou Zhi shows no sign of performing for her approval.

Empress Zhou reaches forward and accepts the flowers. She turns the bundle in her hands and examines the arrangement from several angles.

The controlled line of her shoulders gradually relaxes. A trace of warmth enters her expression without weakening the authority of her position.

“Rise, Hou Zhi,” Empress Zhou says. Hou Zhi obeys immediately and returns to his feet.

His tail uncoils from his leg and settles into a natural position. He neither hides it nor displays it for attention.

Empress Zhou studies his human face, the fur covering his limbs, and the tail moving quietly behind him. Her examination gradually shifts from his physical appearance to his behavior.

Then Empress Zhou smiles. It is a restrained and genuine expression without any visible political calculation.

“You may remain beside Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Empress Zhou tells Hou Zhi. “You will accompany Crown Prince Zhu Cilang to Fengyang City and serve him with the loyalty and discretion required by your position.”

Her declaration resolves the question of Hou Zhi’s standing. Empress Zhou’s approval changes him from a concealed liability into an acknowledged member of my household.

The distinction matters more than a written order. Any challenge to Hou Zhi’s presence will now require an official to challenge Empress Zhou’s judgment directly.

Hou Zhi bows again, lowering his forehead almost to the stone floor. His voice is steady when he answers.

“This unworthy one thanks Your Majesty for your generosity,” Hou Zhi says. “I will not betray the trust Your Majesty has placed in me.”

“See that you do not,” Empress Zhou replies. Her tone remains formal, but its warmth provides Hou Zhi with protection against future accusations.

Empress Zhou turns the flowers in her hands once more before placing them carefully beside her. “The winter plum should bloom within three days. I will watch for it.”

We take our leave with the proper bows and formal phrases. As we pass through the outer doors of the receiving hall, I immediately notice a change among the eunuchs and attendants lining the corridor.

They have heard enough of the conversation to understand Empress Zhou’s decision. Their curiosity remains, but the suspicion in their expressions has diminished.

Hou Zhi walks beside me in silence as we cross the courtyard. His tail moves in time with his measured steps, and the cold air touches the exposed skin of my face and hands.

The pressure that has remained in my chest since Zhang Xianyong delivered the cage finally begins to recede. The danger has not disappeared, but Hou Zhi now possesses a recognized place within the Eastern Palace, and for the first time since his arrival, I can breathe without wondering whether the next opened door will expose him.