The low-key prince summons trainees from the Imperial Household Department at the start of the game.

The 6th day of the fourth month in the 24th year of Yonghe.

Consort Rong's residence, Ningcui Pavilion, was located in the northwest corner of the inner palace. It was secluded and quiet, far from the Imperial Garden and even further from Qianyuan Hall. Apart from the eunuchs who swept and cleaned and the palace maids who delivered meals, few people ever set foot there.

Zhou Qian did not have anyone inform him in advance.

He alighted from the imperial carriage, accompanied only by Zhao Gao, and walked slowly along the passageway toward Ningcui Pavilion.

The candlelight flickered in the stone lanterns on both sides of the passageway, casting his ochre-red dragon robe in an intermittent glow.

He looked up at the window of Ningcui Pavilion, which was emitting a dim yellow light, and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Zhao Gao, how many years has it been since I last visited Ningcui Pavilion?" His voice was very soft, as if he were asking himself.

"Your Majesty, it has been about eight years since Consort Rong moved here."

Zhao Gao answered in a low voice.

He had organized the archives of various palaces in the Directorate of Ceremonial, and could readily recall these figures, but he did not utter a single extra word.

He knew that His Majesty had not come here tonight to listen to other people's chatter.

Zhou Qian did not ask any further questions.

He stood in the passageway, gazing at the window emitting a dim yellow light, and remained silent for a long time.

The imperial harem was filled with beauties, but she was the only one who, after falling out of favor, remained quiet and peaceful, living a simple life in her own courtyard.

He no longer brought a large entourage, but only Zhao Gao, and walked to the door of Ningcui Pavilion and knocked on the door.

An old woman opened the door; her face was full of wrinkles and her hair was white.

She had guarded the gate of Ningcui Pavilion for many years and was used to her master's aloofness. When she suddenly looked up and saw the person standing outside the door, she was so frightened that she trembled all over and her knees went weak, and she was about to kneel down to pay her respects.

Zhou Qian raised his hand to support her, indicating that she didn't need to speak, and then stepped straight into the courtyard.

In the main hall, Consort Rong and the Third Prince Zhou Ying were having dinner around a small round table.

Three small dishes were placed on the table.

A plate of stir-fried lettuce, a plate of braised tofu, a plate of braised crucian carp, and a bowl of egg drop soup.

The mother and son sat facing each other, chatting about everyday things, with a slight smile on Consort Rong's lips.

She looked up when she heard footsteps, and her expression froze for a moment.

A piece of tofu held on chopsticks fell back into the bowl, splashing a few drops of soup.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty."

She hurriedly put down her chopsticks and stood up to bow. Her movements were a little flustered, and her knee hit the table leg. She winced slightly in pain but didn't utter a sound.

Zhou Ying also stood up, bowed, and said calmly, "Father Emperor," without any surprise or joy on her face.

Zhou Qian's gaze lingered on Zhou Ying's face for a moment.

Every time his son saw him, he remained calm and composed, neither flattering nor fearful, nor deliberately trying to get close.

This perfectly balanced sense of distance actually made him feel a rare sense of goodwill towards it.

He waved his hand to indicate that the mother and son should not stand on ceremony, then walked to the table, looked down at the few dishes of simple food, and frowned almost imperceptibly.

"Is this all for dinner?" He turned to look at Zhao Gao, his eyes filled with reproach.

Zhao Gao lowered his head and remained silent. Consort Rong quickly explained that these were home-style dishes she had ordered the imperial kitchen to prepare, not rations that had been withheld.

She lowered her voice halfway through her sentence and didn't continue. She simply pulled out a chair, wiped the surface with her sleeve, and invited His Majesty to take his seat.

After Zhou Qian sat down, he picked up a pair of unused bamboo chopsticks, took a piece of braised tofu, put it in his mouth, chewed it, and nodded slightly: "The cooking is quite good. I eat delicacies every day in the Qian Yuan Palace, but nothing beats this dish of tofu."

"I suddenly remembered that when I was still a prince, I also enjoyed eating this kind of homemade tofu."

"My mother was still alive then, and the braised tofu she made was much tastier than what the imperial kitchen made."

"After my mother passed away, I could no longer taste that flavor. Today, in Ningcui Pavilion, I tasted a bit of the flavor from back then."

He put down his chopsticks and turned his gaze to Zhou Ying: "I heard that you visit your mother every three days, rain or shine?"

"Your Majesty, my mother is not in good health. She is more prone to fatigue when the weather is cold. Although the medicine prescribed by the Imperial Hospital is effective, my mother always says that the medicine is too bitter and refuses to drink it. So I bring some candied fruit with me each time and watch her drink the medicine."

Consort Rong quickly chimed in, saying he was wasting money and that she wasn't that spoiled.

Her tone was reproachful, but her eyes were a little red.

This brief conversation between the mother and son, however, was like a pebble thrown into the stagnant pool of Zhou Qian's heart.

He thought of his mother, the woman who had spent her whole life in the cold palace.

After he ascended the throne, he posthumously honored her as Empress Dowager, but that bowl of braised tofu, which he could never eat again, remained an irreparable regret.

He picked up the tea that Consort Rong had personally poured for him, took a sip, and as he put down the teacup, suddenly asked, "What books has Ying'er been reading lately?"

"Your Majesty, I have recently been reading the 'Geography of the Great Zhou Dynasty'."

"Last time, Ninth Brother said that some places on the map of the Northern Territory were marked incorrectly. I looked through several books and found that what Ninth Brother said was indeed true."

Zhou Ying replied in a plain tone, without deliberately showing off or being perfunctory.

Zhou Qian raised an eyebrow slightly.

Everyone else forgot what Zhou Xing said at the family dinner, but this third brother secretly read it in a book.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked, "What do you think is currently troubling me in court?"

Zhou Ying paused for a moment, put down his chopsticks, and said with a more solemn tone than before: "Your Majesty, I am neither an official in the Cabinet nor hold a position in the Ministry of War, so I dare not make any rash comments on important matters of the court."

"However, since Father has asked, I will humbly mention a small matter. Tongzhou Wharf is the throat of the Grand Canal, and every day there are often frictions between the large and small gangs at the wharf over the competition for berths."

"I heard that last year a small gang called the Bamboo Gang was wiped out overnight. The workers who took over afterward were much more disciplined and stopped fighting for berths, only accepting loading and unloading."

"Now even the Hai Sha Gang has begun to cooperate with them. I believe that the safety of food and supplies in the capital is of utmost importance. No matter which gang it is, as long as it does not delay the imperial canal transport, it is a good thing."

These words, though seemingly casual, conveyed several layers of information.

He was aware of the power shifts at Tongzhou Wharf and the cooperation between the Hai Sha Gang and the Workers' Association.

More importantly, he did not use this to boast about his achievements; he simply stated that "not delaying the canal transport is a good thing."

This sense of proportion is just right.

Zhou Qian picked up a piece of stir-fried lettuce, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly without saying a word.

This son was much more composed than he remembered.

Over the years, he had always thought that Ying'er was mediocre, not as talented as Cong'er, nor as brave as Xun'er.

But sitting at this simple dining table today, he suddenly discovered that his son possessed something that the other princes did not.

Without being ostentatious, without complaining, without taking sides, just quietly doing what you're supposed to do.

"Ying'er, I remember you're fifteen this year?"

"Your Majesty, the first month of the lunar calendar has passed, and I am now sixteen years old (by the traditional Chinese age reckoning)."

"Sixteen years old, not young anymore." Zhou Qian put down his chopsticks, picked up his teacup and took a sip, then looked up at him. "When I was fourteen, I left the palace to establish my own residence. I only had a few old eunuchs by my side. At that time, the Grand Tutor had not yet entered the court, and the Grand Commandant was still fighting in the northern border."

"My mother passed away early, and I am the eighth among all the princes. Everyone in the court feels that the throne has nothing to do with me."

"I don't blame them. They can't see me because I'm not strong enough. I got to where I am today step by step, not because anyone gave me the opportunity, but because of myself."

As he said this, his gaze lingered on Zhou Ying's face, as if waiting for her reaction.

Zhou Ying lowered her eyes, remained silent for a few moments, then raised her head to look directly into Zhou Qian's eyes, her voice steady and sincere: "Your subject will remember your teachings, Father."

"Your subject dares not compare himself to Father Emperor in his prime, but I have never thought that it is a bad thing that no one has any faith in him."

"If no one has faith in me, then no one will hinder me. I will just do my job well. As for the outcome, I dare to say that destiny is in the hands of Father Emperor, but also under my own feet."

"Your subject does not compete or fight, but if Your Majesty commands, your subject will never back down."

The dinner table fell silent for a moment.

Consort Rong was so nervous that her palms were sweaty. She looked at her husband and then at her son, wanting to speak up to smooth things over but not daring to.

Zhou Qian looked at Zhou Ying, remained silent for a long time, and then suddenly smiled.

That smile was fleeting, yet more genuine than any other that night.

He saw a reflection of himself in his son.

That shadow was hidden beneath a docile and silent exterior, uttering no words yet possessing its own opinions.

He put down his teacup, stood up, and said it was getting late. As he walked to the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Consort Rong.

It is said that Consort Rong has worked hard all these years. Tomorrow, the Imperial Kitchen will send over a few more dishes, and the allowances for Ningcui Pavilion will be replenished according to the rank of Consort.

In addition, he was told to prepare well, as the Ministry of Personnel would arrange practical work for him in a few days.

Zhou Ying bowed in agreement. Consort Rong knelt to see Zhou Qian off at the door, and when she raised her head, her face was already covered in tears.

She wasn't after the allowance; she wanted the words "Thank you for your hard work."

She waited ten years, not for the emperor's favor, but for these words.

Zhou Qian walked silently along the passageway back to the Qianyuan Hall.

The night breeze, carrying the moisture from Taiye Pond, swept over me, bringing a touch of coolness.

He suddenly stopped at the corner of the passageway, looked at the layers of palaces in the distance, and said something in a low voice.

It was as if he were asking Zhao Gao, or talking to himself: "Did I realize that I met this son too late?"

Zhao Gao followed behind, whisk in hand. He remained silent for a moment, then replied softly, "Your Majesty, the best time to plant a tree was ten years ago, the second best time is now."

"The Third Prince has always been well-behaved and obedient over the years, never failing His Majesty's expectations or causing him any trouble. He is a promising talent."

Zhou Qian remained silent for a long time, then nodded slightly, said nothing more, and turned to continue walking towards the Qian Yuan Hall.

The dragon robe fluttered gently in the night breeze, casting a long, long shadow under the palace lanterns.