ITIEQ C99

Chapter 99 (Extra) — IF Route

At the Side of the Son of Heaven

On a black‑lacquered rosewood carriage, a hand lifted the curtain with a folding fan, revealing a powdered, pale face.

“How many years since I’ve returned to the capital—it’s utterly changed.”

“Hmph. Sealed away in the countryside all this time, of course your eyes find novelty everywhere,” sneered the one reclining beside him in his ox‑drawn cart with parasol above. “Never thought our chance to set foot again on home soil would come not at the time of enthronement, when we were forgotten entirely, but now—suddenly recalled in the name of fraternal duty.”

The powdered youth cast him a sidelong glance. “What, you dissatisfied?”

“Wouldn’t dare. But being herded back into the capital, chambers arranged, quarters restricted—best not repeat the fate of Prince Ying, eh? Heh, Yuanxi, perhaps your future…” His voice trailed, bitterly amused.

The three speaking were all imperial clansmen summoned together for the Lantern Festival banquet, journeying side by side.

Xiao Yuanxi, who had been silent, only smiled faintly. “We are already within the capital walls. Brothers, mind your tongues. If you are dissatisfied, why not let me carry your complaints directly before His Majesty?”

At the weight of his tone the others dared not prattle more. Lady Xiao Yuji, who accompanied the carriage, found her “brothers” tiresome—bullies only in their own hall. She swung her sleeves and leapt down. “I’ll walk.”

The powdered youth meanwhile leaned halfway out, fanning himself, scanning the street. Bustling crowds, voices and hawkers filled the air—like a marketplace, vulgar in his eyes.

“We are at least princes of commanderies,” he complained. “No retinues, no guard, and housed in this noisy place?”

“Greetings, sirs?” A round‑faced youth stepped up, smile shy, dimples deep at his lips. The powdered noble nearly let his fan fall in shock—was this an emissary from the Emperor himself? Someone recognizing their august status?

But the youth only pointed politely to a board hung over the street: a painted wagon, cart, and ox‑carriage, splashed through with a giant red cross. The youth explained with cheerful bow: “No parking at this gate, I’m afraid. Would gracious masters please move your carriage?”

Prince Xiao Yuanxiu nearly fainted with rage. In broad daylight—this was a slap to the face!

“So you mean to take possession of the street? What arrogance!” He started to step down, but thought better of it, sat back and hissed, “We’ll see who dares bar our way. Call your master here at once!”

The brothers’ faces soured. To slight one was to slight all.

“This street is not ours,” the boy replied simply, “and usually one may stop. But today is an exception—there is an exhibition of Master Hu‑Huang’s paintings. The whole street must be cleared.”

“Master Hu‑Huang?” Xiao Yuanji asked at once. “The famed elder?”

The round youth bobbed his head. “The very one.”

All were startled. Hu‑Huang Elder was a reclusive grandmaster of landscape painting, revered by scholars across the realm. For years he had vanished; many presumed him deceased. That he should appear now, in the capital!

The quarrel seemed trivial by contrast. Yuanji, known for love of paintings, hid his irritation, eyes alight.

But the guide shook his head. “This is an exhibition only. Visits by appointment. And—by the looks of you gentlemen—likely without a booking?”

“Appointment?” the princes scoffed—they had never heard of such.

“This boy taunts us,” sneered Yuanxiu. “Here in the capital, yet he dares. We’ll lodge a case with the Court of Imperial Clans!”

The boy only gave them a strange look—and darted off.

Yuanxiu smirked. “See? He knows fear.”

But Yuanji frowned. “Strange. Hu‑Huang Elder never sought fame or profit. Why suddenly host a grand exhibition?”

Yuanxiu waved it aside. “People change.”

Xiao Yuanxi said nothing. He looked up instead—at the high tower looming ahead, its tiers of sharp eaves climbing skyward. He caught sight of the characters across its plaque—Youth Palace (少年宫). Something about that calligraphy pricked his memory.

…Surely not?

Inside, the tower hollowed up to the heavens, galleries circling every level. Elder Hu‑Huang remained unseen; the round‑faced youth did the guiding.

Yuanji soon forgot his pique, enthralled by paintings. Yuanxiu only sulked—art meant nothing to him, these daubs no different than blank paper.

At last Yuanji tugged the guide’s sleeve. “There’s a work here I love. I’ll pay a thousand gold if you’ll sell it, or at least tell your master.”

The boy recoiled as from filth, letting the golden leaf fall with clink that drew gazes. “Sir! Do you insult me?”

Insult? Yuanji’s face darkened. Never had his courtesy been repaid so. His patience, already fraying, snapped.

“All these paintings, we buy. If you refuse, we’ll smash this place today—!”

“Who is making such noise?”

A voice, lazy, playful, drifted from above. A figure leaned on a third‑floor balustrade.

Everyone looked up. Yuanxi blinked.

It was Shen Qinghe. Taller now, grown well on the capital’s rich air; even with wine glow on his cheek, he smiled with rebel grace, careless and fearless.

The crowd below whispered his name. Murmurs grew into a buzz. Clearly not an ordinary youth.

Fearing a crush, Shen tilted his chin upward, motioning the princes to come upstairs.

They entered a hall of spare elegance—one table, a few stools, a vase of tall green willow. Severely simple, quietly refined.

Yuanji measured him coolly. “You are master of this tower?”

“Both yes and no,” Shen drawled. One leg perched upon the chair, one hand swinging a slim porcelain flask. “The Youth Palace is state property. I’m one steward only.” He tipped the bottle to his lips, sweet scent of wine rising.

He explained: “Times can’t be filled only by swords and rice. Children must be caught young, minds cultivated. Thus, today’s exhibition—Elder Hu‑Huang’s works. Open to the public, free of charge—so long as each visitor brings a child under fifteen. Hence a ‘public education hall.’”

The princes barely followed this new jargon—appointment, public hall…

“Name your price for the paintings,” Yuanji snapped regardless.

“Paintings won’t be sold. But you, honored guests, I can host.” Shen lazily pushed forward cups of tea. His eyes swept them with amusement. “After all, hosting you—also a courtesy on behalf of His Majesty.”

“…On behalf of His Majesty?” the brothers stiffened.

Shen smirked. “Don’t pretend. Prince of Guantao—you act like you don’t know me?”

Yuanxi stared, then gave a bitter laugh. “So you do remember.”

Shen only shrugged, half‑joking. “If not for your rejection then, how could I have today’s fortune? In a way, I should thank you.”

They traded lines. The others, baffled, finally caught up. “What—wait, you two know each other?”

“Yes,” Yuanxi admitted with mixed feeling.

“Allow me to introduce: gentlemen, this is the newly‑enfeoffed Marquis, concurrently Director of Learning. The very youth raised to high station at His Majesty’s side.”

The two other princes gawped as Shen waved cheekily, “Good day, cousins.”

Recognition dawned. A new marquis—the very same whose merit in the White Lotus war had earned the Emperor’s golden words, name exempt from protocol, open palace, own residence. His rise a blaze brighter than theirs.

Yuanxiu was quick to change face. Pasting on a spring‑breeze smile, he poured himself tea. “No need to make things awkward, cousin.”

The earlier quarrel smoothed over; after some time, they made excuses to depart. Shen only waved them out.

But Yuanxi lingered a step. He glanced back. The youth was slouched in his chair again, flask drained, popping candied fruit into his mouth with airy indifference.

Shen caught him staring, grinned. “Advice?”

Yuanxi shook his head with a rueful smile. “Tomorrow—I’ll report in person before His Majesty.”

Shen only shrugged, not taking the cryptic remark to heart. His mind was already elsewhere: the exhibition had gone splendidly. Even the great clans showed their faces. His reputation spread; from now on, all things would be easier.

He licked a last sweet, patted his sleeves, stood.

“Time to enter the Palace!”

Footnotes

1. Prince of Guantao (馆陶殿下) — Xiao Yuanxi, one of the imperial clan, once crossed paths with Shen in earlier lowlier days. 
2. Youth Palace (少年宫) — modern‑style “youth public education and culture center,” here imagined retrofitted into an imperial fiction context; explanation of free exhibitions with “child under 15” requirement parodies modern museum rules. 
3. Hu‑Huang Elder (惚恍老人) — legendary reclusive painter, fictional but standing for the kind of revered cultural sage literati prized.