The number one sycophant of the Ming Dynasty

The handwriting is not good.

The characters are crooked and uneven, with varying stroke thickness, and some even have ink bleed-through.

He disliked writing from a young age, but when Consort Du was alive, she would urge him to practice.

After Consort Du passed away, the Emperor neglected him, and the teachers dared not be too strict with him, so his calligraphy skills were neglected.

Later, Gao Gong became a lecturer and forced him to practice for two years, but his foundation was already weak, and he could no longer practice to achieve the proper and neat posture of the Taige style.

Looking at his ugly handwriting, he suddenly thought of his mother, Consort Du.

Consort Du's handwriting was also not good.

He remembered that when he was a child, his mother would sit by the window and teach him to write, holding his hand and writing each stroke carefully.

His mother's hands were always cold, as cold as ice in winter, but when she held his hand, she always held it very gently, afraid of hurting his little hand.

His mother would write the character "永" (yong), and he would write the same character after her.

After he finished writing, his mother tilted her head and looked at it for a long time, then smiled and coaxed him, "Your handwriting is much better than mine."

He was young then and genuinely thought he wrote well.

Later, after his mother passed away, he sat alone in the empty palace practicing calligraphy for many years before he realized that his mother had only been trying to make him happy.

Prince Yu picked up his pen again, dipped it in ink, and added another paragraph to the paper.

"While bathing today, I thought of my mother."

"When my mother was alive, she would fast for three days before the winter solstice every year to pray for my father's well-being."

"My mother said that the winter solstice is the day when Yin reaches its extreme and Yang begins to emerge. On this day, the heavens are most likely to hear our prayers."

"I was young then and did not understand why my mother fasted. I only remember that she ate only vegetarian porridge and her face became thin and pale during her fast."

"Now that I am also fasting like my mother, I understand the intentions she had back then."

As he wrote this, his eyes welled up with tears.

He stopped writing and looked up out the window.

The sky outside the window was gray and hazy. The old locust tree in the yard had lost all its leaves, and its bare branches stretched towards the sky like hands that could not grasp anything.

The winter my mother passed away was just like this, bitterly cold.

He lowered his head and continued writing.

"Your subject ate only a bowl of vegetarian porridge this morning and did not eat anything at noon."

"It's not that I'm deliberately avoiding food, it's just that I really can't eat anymore."

"I remember that when my mother fasted, she only ate vegetarian porridge, so I followed her example."

"But I am not as good as Mother. When Mother fasts, her face is thin and her eyes are bright."

"When I looked in the mirror today, I saw only a face full of sorrow, not even remotely comparable to my mother's."

After writing this section, he stopped writing.

These words are not in Chen Han's outline, not in Xu Jie's model essay, not in Gao Gong's teachings, and certainly not in Zhang Juzheng's guidance.

These were his own words, words he had kept hidden in his heart for many years and had never told anyone.

He didn't know if it was appropriate to write this, he didn't know if his father would think he was long-winded or weak, and he didn't even know if his father would see this passage.

But he just wanted to write; he had been holding back his words for so many years, and he had to get them out of his chest.

Should I tell the gentlemen?

Xu Jie always wore that gentle smile, Gao Gong always patted his chest and said, "Your Highness need not worry," and Zhang Juzheng always watched him silently, his eyes filled with expectation and scrutiny.

They were all good people who genuinely cared for him, but they were his subjects, and he was his ruler.

Between a ruler and his subject, there are some things that can never be said.

Should we tell Consort Li?

Consort Li was strong-willed and could not tolerate the slightest weakness in him.

If he were to tell Consort Li that he was suffering, Consort Li would only say with red eyes, "Your Highness is the future crown prince, how can you say such discouraging things?"

He never said it again.

Who should I tell?

nobody.

He could only write it on paper, to his father whom he saw less than twice a year.

Prince Yu dipped his brush in ink again, and suddenly his writing speed increased, as if the emotions accumulated over twenty-two years were surging out all at once, unstoppable.

"Your subject sat in the study all afternoon today, doing nothing but sitting."

"The gentlemen all say that the winter solstice ceremony to worship Heaven is a major event, and that I should prepare well."

"Your subject knows this is a major matter, but your mind is in turmoil."

"It's not because of the sacrificial ceremony to Heaven, but because your son misses Father Emperor."

When he wrote the words "I miss my father," his nose tingled, and tears fell unexpectedly.

He is twenty-two years old this year. He is the Prince Yu of the Ming Dynasty and the crown prince in the eyes of the entire court of upright officials.

He was the future emperor whom Mr. Xu Jie, Mr. Gao Gong, Mr. Zhang Juzheng, and Mr. Chen Yiqin had painstakingly cultivated.

But ever since his mother died when he was sixteen, he has never said "I miss you" to anyone.

Did he say that to his father?

No.

He dare not.

His father disliked him.

I've disliked it since I was little.

He doesn't resemble his father in appearance, temperament, or handwriting; he can't even utter a pleasing word.

Prince Jing is like his father: intelligent, quick-witted, and sweet-talking, always saying what his father wants to hear.

He knew nothing, only how to live cautiously, avoid trouble, make mistakes, and cause no trouble for his father.

Even so, his father still didn't like him.

As he wrote this, his hand trembled slightly, but he didn't stop writing. The words hidden in his heart flowed from the tip of his pen, line by line, onto the paper.

"Your subject knows that I am not as clever as Prince Jing, nor as eloquent as Prince Jing, nor as good at pleasing Father Emperor as Prince Jing."

"I have known this since I was a child. When my mother was alive, she often told me that I didn't need to compare myself with my brother, Prince Jing, and that I should just do my own job well."

"Your subject has always remembered Mother's words, to do his duty, not to cause trouble, and not to make mistakes."

"But in my heart, I still want Father to look at me more."

"It's not for the position of Crown Prince. I swear to Heaven, I have never fought for the position of Crown Prince."

"Your Majesty, I only wish that you would look at me the way you looked at my brother, Prince Jing. Just once."

His eyes were red-rimmed, and his handwriting trembled.

Some of his strokes were terribly crooked, and the ink had smudged into a mess, but he didn't care about that.

He just wanted to write down everything he had kept in his heart all these years, even if his father didn't read it after he finished writing it, even if his father thought he was weak and incompetent after he read it, he would accept it.

"When I was fasting today, I suddenly remembered my childhood."

"Back then, my mother was still alive, and my father would occasionally come to visit her palace."

"Father, don't you remember? Once when Father came, I was reciting the Thousand Character Classic."

"Father asked me to recite it once, but I got stuck when I got to 'Filial piety should be exerted to the utmost, loyalty should be given to the death,' and I couldn't recite it anymore."

"Father did not scold me, he only said to memorize it slowly."

"That's the one sentence that Father Emperor said to me, and it's the one I remember most clearly out of the few words he spoke to me."

As I write this, tears fall again, landing on the paper and soaking the words "slowly memorize".

He hurriedly tried to wipe it with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the more the ink smudged. In the end, he simply ignored it, his eyes reddening, and continued writing with his pen in hand.

"Father, I am twenty-two years old this year. I have long since memorized the Thousand Character Classic."

"But all these years, I have always remembered what Father Emperor said: 'Memorize it slowly.'"

"Your Majesty knows that you are disappointed in me."

"Your Majesty, I know that I am not as good as you have hoped."

"Ke'erchen is learning slowly."

"Learn how to be a prince, learn how to be a son who will not bring shame to his father."

"Your subject learns very slowly, but your subject has never stopped."

At this point, he finally put down his pen, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders trembled slightly.

The warm room was quiet, with only the sound of the copper kettle dripping, drop by drop, striking the silent air.

The wind outside the window howled through the eaves, like someone crying softly in the distance...