Yuanyou first year, the thirtieth day of the twelfth month.
Before the sky had even darkened, the palace was already bustling.
Not the usual careful, cautious bustle, but a lively, festive one. Eunuchs carried peachwood talismans to paste upon doors; palace maids bustled back and forth bearing freshly lacquered fruit trays. The air was thick with the scents of incense, candles, and firecrackers. I was helping in the Inner Kitchen making dumplings—Eunuch Li had arranged this, saying the Imperial Kitchen was overwhelmed today and needed extra hands.
"Can you make dumplings?" he asked.
"Yes. But mine aren't pretty."
"As long as they hold together. You're not eating them anyway."
I smiled, lowering my head to fold dumplings. Suzhou people don't eat dumplings for New Year; they eat rice cakes. Every year on the twenty-eighth of the twelfth month, Grandmother would begin steaming rice cakes—osmanthus-flavored, brown sugar-flavored, plump and white, arranged on the windowsill to cool. I would stand on a small stool, unable to reach the windowsill, so Grandmother would cut the rice cakes into small pieces and stuff them into my mouth. "Little one, eat rice cakes, grow taller every year."
And Emily. In New York, every New Year's Eve she would bring back bags of frozen dumplings from Chinatown, boiling them until the skins burst open. We would sit on the windowsill, watching the Manhattan nightscape. She would say: "Ivy, you Chinese really make a fuss over New Year—dumplings, Spring Festival Gala, everything." I would say: "You don't understand. It's about reunion." She thought about it. "Then I'll have reunion with you."
Eunuch Li handed me a dumpling wrapper. "What are you thinking about? You've broken it."
I looked down—the dumpling in my hands was indeed broken, filling spilling out, like a grinning smiley face.
"Nothing. Just distracted."
He looked at me, said nothing more.
Halfway through the dumplings, firecrackers sounded outside. Not the usual scattered pops, but overwhelming, surging from all directions of the palace, crackling and popping, as if to blast the entire winter apart. I paused my work, listening for a while.
"What is this for?"
"Driving away evil spirits." Eunuch Li didn't look up. "Firecrackers on New Year's Eve drive away evil spirits, ensuring peace and safety for the coming year."
Peace and safety. I lowered my head and continued folding dumplings.
Darkness fell completely. Dishes from the Imperial Kitchen were sent one after another to Funing Hall. Tonight was New Year's Eve; the Empress Dowager had arranged a family banquet there, only imperial family permitted to attend. Zhao Xu was there too. I looked toward the direction of Funing Hall, saw nothing but distant palace lanterns glowing orange-red, swaying in the night wind.
"Don't look." Eunuch Li placed the last plate of dumplings into the steamer, "Not your turn today. His Majesty has the Empress Dowager's company."
I knew. But I still wanted to look.
The dumplings finished steaming; Eunuch Li had me carry a plate to Funing Hall. Not for Zhao Xu, but for the nurse by the Empress Dowager's side. I carried the plate, walking through corridors, through palace paths. Two rows of guards stood at Funing Hall's entrance, armor gleaming coldly in the lantern light. The hall doors were closed, faint sounds of stringed instruments and laughter drifting from within. I stood at the entrance, waiting a while. The door opened; the nurse emerged from inside. Seeing me, she paused.
"Why have you come?"
"Eunuch Li sent me with dumplings."
She took the plate, looked at me. "Want to go in and look?"
I shook my head. "No. This servant should not enter."
She said nothing, carried the dumplings inside. When the door opened, I saw the hall brightly lit, table laden with dishes, people coming and going, laughter spilling out. Zhao Xu sat beside the Empress Dowager, wearing new clothes, hair combed neatly, head tilted listening to someone speak, mouth corners slightly raised.
The door closed.
I stood at the entrance, stood a while. More laughter drifted out from within. I turned and left.
Returning to the Inner Kitchen, Eunuch Li had already left. Several steamed dumplings remained on the stove, covered with a bowl, a dish of vinegar beside it. Beneath the bowl was a note—Zhao Xu's handwriting, ink still fresh, probably brought by the young eunuch at dusk.
I picked it up to read. His characters were much neater than months before, each stroke steady:
"A Heng, cannot come to the Imperial Garden today. The Empress Dowager has me keep vigil. Sleep early. Tomorrow I'll bring you something good."
I folded the note, tucked it into my sleeve. Sat before the stove, ate that plate of dumplings. They were pork and cabbage filling, thick skins with little filling, folded crookedly. One was especially ugly, filling spilling out, like a grinning smiley face. I picked it up, looked at it for a long time. Then stuffed it into my mouth.
After finishing the dumplings, I didn't return to sleep. Moved a small stool, sat at the Inner Kitchen entrance, watching the sky. Tonight there was no moon, but many stars, densely packed like scattered silver fragments. Distant firecrackers still sounded, wave after wave, drifting in from outside the palace.
I smiled at the stars.
Don't know how long I sat there before footsteps approached from the distance. Not patrolling guards, but light, careful footsteps. I turned my head and saw Zhao Xu walking from the end of the palace path. He wore those new clothes, but the collar was already crooked, several strands of hair loose. No eunuchs followed behind; alone, walking quickly through the night.
"How did you come?" I stood up, "Didn't the Empress Dowager have you keep vigil?"
"I snuck out." He ran to me, panting, nose tip red from cold.
"Ran out for what?"
"To find you." He grasped my sleeve, "And—to take you somewhere."
"Where?"
He leaned closer, voice lowered: "Outside the palace."
I froze. "What?"
"Outside. Out there. Tonight is New Year's Eve, the streets are very lively. I want to see." He looked at me, "You want to see too, right?"
I opened my mouth, couldn't speak. Yes. Of course I wanted to. I wanted to see what Song Dynasty New Year's Eve was like. I wanted to walk Song Dynasty streets, see how Song Dynasty people celebrated. But he was the emperor. Nine-year-old emperor. Sneaking out of the palace, if something happened...
"Won't be discovered." He seemed to read my thoughts, "Every New Year's Eve, the palace is too busy to notice. No one will notice one person missing. I've had Zhang Maocai waiting at the side gate. He brought casual clothes from home."
"Zhang Maocai?"
"The one who brings you the food box every day."
I hesitated. Three seconds. Then I said: "Wait for me."
I ran back to the Inner Kitchen, grabbed two osmanthus cakes, wrapped them in cloth, stuffed them into my sleeve. Also grabbed a handful of copper coins—Eunuch Li's New Year's bonus given today. Then ran out, took his hand.
"Let's go."
He smiled. Smiled until his eyes curved, exactly like when he first ate egg-fried rice.
We followed Zhang Maocai, circling from behind Funing Hall along a small path, passing several small gates. Each had guards, but Zhang Maocai seemed to have arranged everything; the guards looked at us, said nothing, stepping aside. The final gate was a small side gate of the palace, narrow, only wide enough for two to walk abreast. Outside was a narrow alley, pitch black. Zhang Maocai pulled two sets of casual clothes from a crevice in the wall corner—coarse cotton padded jackets, the kind ordinary commoners wore. After Zhao Xu put his on, he was entirely wrapped in thick cotton, collar standing up, covering half his face, revealing only his eyes.
"Do I look like one?" he asked me.
"Yes. Like a country child."
He frowned slightly, but didn't argue. We followed Zhang Maocai out of the narrow alley, turned two corners, and suddenly—lantern light surged toward us.
I stood at the alley entrance, stunned.
The entire street was red. Red lanterns, red couplets, red window decorations. Every shop entrance hung lanterns, large and small, illuminating from street beginning to end. The air was thick with the scents of fried meatballs, sugar-roasted chestnuts, burning wine, and the sulfur smell after firecrackers burned, all mixed together, hot and enveloping, wrapping people from head to toe.
The street was full of people. Adults holding children's hands, elderly leaning on canes, young men and women in groups of three or five, all wearing new clothes, faces rosy, smiling. Some held candied hawthorn skewers, some carried paper lanterns, some queued before roadside stalls buying wontons. A child ran past us, holding a string of firecrackers, crackling and popping. Zhao Xu startled, hiding behind me.
"What are you afraid of?"
"Not afraid. Just... never heard firecrackers this close."
I suppressed a smile, pulled him forward.
He looked everywhere, at everything. At the peachwood talismans on people's doors, at the sugar figurines on stalls, at the fire-breathing street performers. When he saw the sugar figurines, he stopped. The vendor was an old man, holding a lump of hot sugar syrup in his hands, pinching, pulling, blowing, cutting—in moments shaping a small rabbit. Zhao Xu watched, entranced.
"Want one?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Have money?"
He felt his sleeve, pulled out a small piece of silver—smaller than yesterday's, crooked, also polished by himself. I pressed his hand down.
"Put it away. Use this."
I pulled several copper coins from my sleeve, handed them to the vendor. The old man took the money, handed over the sugar rabbit. Zhao Xu took it, held it in his palm, looked at it for a long time, couldn't bear to eat it.
"What money did you use just now?"
"Copper coins. Eunuch Li's New Year's bonus."
"Then what about my silver?"
"Save it. For when it's needed later."
He nodded, tucked the silver back into his sleeve, continued holding the sugar rabbit forward. After walking a while, he suddenly asked: "When you were in New York, was New Year this lively too?"
I thought. "Different. New York celebrates New Year. The Gregorian calendar. People gather too, but not so many on the streets. Most stay home, or go to Times Square to watch the countdown. There's a crystal ball there; when it nears midnight, it drops from high up. Everyone counts together—five, four, three, two, one."
"Then what?"
"Then the new year arrives."
He thought. "No firecrackers?"
"No."
"No sugar figurines?"
"No."
"No dumplings?"
"...There are dumplings. But not homemade. Bought frozen from supermarkets."
He didn't understand "supermarket" or "frozen," but he understood dumplings. "Then ours is better."
"Mm. Ours is better."
He smiled. We continued walking. More and more people on the street, afraid of being separated, he gripped my sleeve tightly. At one intersection, a crowd had gathered ahead, drum sounds coming from within. We squeezed in to look—it was a lion dance. Two people draped in colorful lion skin, one lifting the head, one bending low, leaping and jumping with the drumbeats. The lion blinked its large eyes, mouth opening and closing, delighting the watching children into laughter and shouts. Zhao Xu stood on tiptoe watching, neck stretched long, but still couldn't see clearly. I bent down and lifted him up—heavier than months before, but still light. He startled, instinctively grabbing my shoulders.
"What are you doing?"
"Letting you see. You couldn't see."
He said nothing. I felt his fingers tighten slightly on my shoulders. After a while, he said softly: "A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Have you held others like this before?"
I thought. "Held my grandmother's cat."
"Cat?"
"Mm. Orange cat. Very fat."
He smiled. When he laughed, his chin rested on top of my head, gently vibrating. I suddenly noticed—he really had grown taller. Months ago, when I held him, his head was at my neck. Now, his chin could rest on my head.
The lion dance ended, the crowd dispersed. I set him down. His face was a bit red, whether from cold or something else.
"What else do you want to see?"
He thought. "What else is there to see?"
"I don't know either. It's my first time here too."
He took my hand. "Then let's look together."
We continued walking. Past the wonton stall, past the New Year painting shop, past the lantern riddle tea house. Before the tea house, he stopped, watching others guess lantern riddles. The riddle was written on red paper, pasted beneath a lantern: "A knife, floating downstream. Has eyes, no eyebrows." He thought, said softly: "Fish."
Someone nearby heard, turned to look at him. "Child, you guessed?"
He nodded.
That person took down the lantern, handed it to him. "For you."
He took the lantern, held it up to look. The lantern was red, round, with a fish painted on it. He held the lantern, turned to look at me, eyes bright.
"I guessed right."
"Mm. You're clever."
He smiled. Held the lantern, continued walking. The lantern light reflected on his face, rosy, stretching his lash shadows long.
At the end of the street, an old man had a wonton stall by the roadside. Big pot of water bubbling and boiling, steaming hot. He stopped, sniffed.
"Hungry?"
"Mm."
We sat down before the stall. The old man brought two bowls of wontons, clear soup floating with a few scallion pieces and dried shrimp. Zhao Xu picked up his spoon, ate one. Chewed, frowned slightly.
"What is it?"
"Not as good as yours."
I smiled. "Of course. I'm a professional."
He ate another, brow still furrowed, but said nothing more. Finished one bowl, drank all the soup. He set down the bowl, wiped his mouth.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Can we come again next New Year's Eve?"
"You want to come?"
"Mm. Want to see lion dances, guess lantern riddles, eat wontons. And also..." he paused, "also want to be with you."
"Good. We'll come again next year."
"The year after?"
"The year after too."
"The year after that?"
I didn't answer immediately. He looked at me, lantern light reflecting in his eyes, bright.
"The year after that too," I said. "Always."
He smiled. Pulled that crooked piece of silver from his sleeve, placed it on the table. The old man paused. "Child, too much. Don't need this much."
"The extra is for you. As a deposit for next year."
The old man looked at the silver, then at him, smiled. "Good. Next year I'll make you wontons again. Extra dried shrimp."
"No dried shrimp. Want osmanthus."
"Osmanthus?" The old man paused, "Osmanthus in wontons?"
"Mm. My sister's osmanthus sugar porridge is delicious. Osmanthus in wontons must be delicious too."
The old man laughed, I laughed too. He laughed loudly, startling the people nearby.
We stood, walked back. Fewer people on the street now, lanterns still lit, red and bright, illuminating the entire street like daytime. He walked beside me, holding that fish lantern in one hand, gripping my sleeve with the other.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Were you happy today?"
"Happy."
"Me too." He paused, "Happier than in the palace."
I said nothing. His hand gripping my sleeve tightened slightly.
"After returning, still can't tell others."
"I know."
"This is our secret. Just the two of us."
"Mm. Just the two of us."
He was satisfied. Continued walking.
When we returned to the side gate, Zhang Maocai was already waiting. He took the lantern from Zhao Xu's hand, helped him remove the casual clothes, change back into his original garments. I changed too, folding the coarse cotton jacket and stuffing it back into the wall crevice. Zhao Xu stood at the gate, looking back one last time. Scattered firecracker sounds still came from the street, distant, as if seeing us off.
"Next year," he said.
"Mm. Next year."
We walked back into the palace. The palace path was quiet, only our two footsteps. He walked beside me, hand somehow slipping from his sleeve to grasp my fingers. Small, cold, but gripping tightly.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Next year, will I be taller than you?"
I paused. "Probably. You're growing, I'm not."
"The year after?"
"The year after you'll be taller than me."
"The year after that?"
"The year after that you'll have to look down at me."
He thought. "Then when the time comes, I'll look down at you."
I smiled. "Good. You look down at me."
He nodded satisfied, released my hand, ran a few steps, then turned back.
"Happy New Year, A Heng."
"Happy New Year, Zhao Xu."
He smiled. Turned and ran. Coat hem trampling stone pavement, crookedly, just like when we first met. But this time, he ran a few steps then stopped, turned to look at me, then ran again. Ran a few steps, turned back again. Until he turned past the palace wall, out of sight.
I stood on the palace path, stood a long time. Wind poured in from the end of the path, cool, but my face was warm. I felt my sleeve—inside were still two osmanthus cakes, meant to give him but forgotten. And that handful of copper coins, half spent, half remaining. And that crooked piece of silver, the one he gave the old man, which the old man didn't take, secretly slipping back into his sleeve. He probably didn't know yet.
I smiled. Turned and walked back.
Returning to the Inner Kitchen, Eunuch Li wasn't asleep yet. He sat before the stove, a plate of dumplings and a dish of vinegar before him. Seeing me enter, he said nothing, pointed at the stool opposite. I sat down.
"Where did you go?"
"Went out for a walk."
"With whom?"
"Alone."
He looked at me, asked no more. Pushed the dumplings toward me. "Eat. They're not good when cold."
I picked up a dumpling, bit into it. Pork and cabbage filling, thick skins with little filling, folded crookedly. One was especially ugly, filling spilling out, like a grinning smiley face. I picked it up, looked at it for a long time.
"This one I made." Eunuch Li said.
"Made it well."
"What well? The filling's spilling out."
"Spilling out is good. Like a smiley face."
He said nothing. After a while, he smiled too.
I finished the dumplings, returned to my sleeping place. Pulled the osmanthus cakes from my sleeve, placed them beside my pillow. And that fish lantern—Zhang Maocai had kept it for me, said it could be used next year. I pulled the red paper packet from my sleeve, inside was that piece of silver engraved with the character "An." Placed it together with the previous one. Two pieces. Next year, save another one.
I stuffed them beneath my pillow. With those notes. With that jade. With Grandfather's paper.
Scattered firecracker sounds still came from outside the window. A new year. The reign title had changed. Yuanyou first year. Zhao Xu was ten.
He said next year he wanted to see lion dances again, guess lantern riddles, eat wontons. Said next year he wanted to be taller than me. Said next year he wanted to be with me again. I closed my eyes, remembering him standing at the alley entrance, eyes bright with the lantern light of the entire street. Remembering him holding the fish lantern, turning to look at me, saying "this is our secret, just the two of us." Remembering him holding my fingers, small, cold, gripping tightly.
Next year. The year after. The year after that. Always.
Grandfather, this New Year, I'm not in Suzhou, nor in New York. I'm in a Song Dynasty palace, with a nine-year-old emperor, eating a bowl of wontons, watching a lion dance, guessing a lantern riddle, winning a fish lantern. He said he wants to come again next year. I said good.
He said this was his happiest New Year's Eve. Mine too.
[End of Chapter 12]