The imperial consort could not only bestow rewards, but also offer love and care. Today, one personally brewed ginger tea to ward off the cold; tomorrow, another had the imperial kitchen prepare traditional pastries.

You could say they really love him. It’s just that their love is a bit overwhelming.

Little Seal Wen Maomao patted his round, well-fed belly and, for the first time, understood what Grandma used to say: “You really need to move around after meals; otherwise, your food won’t digest properly.”

He then scaled the wall between the Third and Second Quarters, his feet braced against the rickety ladder, his hands clinging to the blue-gray bricks and black tiles. After picking his spot, he called out to his friend: “Guan Guan, Guan Guan, wanna go out and play?”

His distant cousin and close friend, Wen Guan, was standing with a slight stoop beneath the small window, practicing calligraphy. His brushstrokes were as fluid as dancing dragons and snakes, executed in one fluid motion, exuding the grace of a true gentleman—it would have been even better if he hadn’t been writing, “Did Wen Cheng’an die today?”

Wen Cheng’an was his father.

Hearing the familiar voice, Wen Guan’s brush tip paused. He looked up toward the window and saw his only friend peering over the palace wall alongside the last spring willow branch of the year.

The young gentleman with his bright, lively eyes was the polar opposite of him—not because he resembled his birth mother and bore no resemblance to the other members of the Wen clan, but because the other was always radiant and dazzling, bursting into his life like a robber with a head full of such youthful vigor, asking him, “Aren’t you curious about what the Wuwei Hall looks like?” 

The Wuwei Hall had been the place where the emperors of the previous generations of the Great Qi Dynasty conducted their official business and lived; it was only during the current reign that the superstitious Emperor, who believed in feng shui, had moved the imperial residence to the Palace of Everlasting Joy.

“I hear the painting of the Face-Tearing Wisdom King—the one that appeared in the Taizu’s prophetic dream the night before he launched his rebellion and later came true—is still hanging there.” 

Naturally reserved, Wen Guan wouldn’t say, “I see it every year”; he’d simply ask, “Really? Is it there now?” 

“Have you seen it?” 

“Yes, I have.”

“Is it scary?”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Is there anything supernatural about it?”

The Prince of Qin paused in the corner, staring intently at his friend on horseback atop the wall. “I’m sure there must be one,” he thought, “because just this year I made a sincere prayer to the Taizu: if my father isn’t going to die just yet, then I hope to have a friend.” 

Zichen Palace.

Consort Huo Hanguang finally decided to turn to her second older brother for help, because he had always been the most carefree member of the family. He wouldn’t ask her why, nor would he ask how she planned to clean up the mess afterward; he would simply agree to her half-baked idea of pressuring the Emperor—simply because he was the one who could make it happen. 

This second son of the Huo family was named Huo Jintuo, holding the rank of grand general of agile cavalry. He was at the very peak of his life’s glory and freedom. He had made a name for himself in a single battle at Langjuxu, forcing the royal court of the northern nomadic tribes to retreat several hundred li. Ever since returning to the capital, he had carried himself with a wind-like stride, and the Emperor had granted him special permission to come and go from the palace as freely as if it were his own home.

As he lifted his long legs and strode directly into his younger sister’s main hall, he held a handful of osmanthus blossoms in his arms, as if cradling a handful of glittering gold.

His sister, the Imperial Consort, was slumped carelessly on one end of the soft couch in the warm chamber, one hand flipping through a storybook to pass the time, letting her thoughts wander amidst the scent of incense and the taste of tea, while the other hand propped up her cheek as she moaned, “Ouch, ouch”—she’d been suffering from a toothache lately. 

Upon seeing her brother enter, Imperial Consort Huo merely muttered listlessly, “You’re here.”

Young General Huo showed not the slightest bit of deference; it was as if he were back at his own home. To him, the woman before him wasn’t the second most noble woman in the entire empire after the Empress—she was simply his usually lazy little sister. He pushed off with one hand and leaped to sit on the other side of the small table, then began slurping his tea, pouring and refilling his own cup, and—like an ox chewing on a peony—drank an entire pot of Consort Huo’s most cherished tea in one go.

Enraged, the already impatient Huo Hanguang immediately hurled a book at him.

Huo Jintuo, thick-skinned as ever, remained completely unfazed, casually tossing the flowers back at his exasperated younger sister. The only hint of sibling affection was that he controlled his strength, precisely placing the handful of osmanthus blossoms right at her fingertips rather than on her body.

“For me?” Imperial Consort Huo looked at the golden autumn osmanthus before her, slightly suspicious, and quickly narrowed her eyes, asking warily, “What have you done?”

Huo Er was never one to do things halfway—when had he ever brought her a gift during any of his visits to the palace? This could only mean he’d gotten himself into serious trouble and needed her to plead his case before their father and older brother.

She’d invited him to help her—not to cause her trouble.

Young General Huo curled his lips in disdain, his every feature radiating arrogance: “Do you think I need you right now? Do you know that thanks to my military exploits, Father’s already on his thirtieth round of praise before Mother’s memorial altar?” This talkative, utterly reckless new War God of Great Qi, as he spoke, suddenly veered off-topic and began rambling about the child he’d encountered outside the Wuwei Hall.

Two of them—one tall, one short—were bickering with another who was quite a bit taller. Standing together, the three of them looked like a crookedly written “凹” character.

The taller one, the “fulcrum,” was decked out in jewels and finery. He huffed at the shorter one, who was at the “bottom” of the “concave” shape, saying, “‘You’d better think this through. Once this opportunity passes, it’s gone for good…’ Guess how the shorter one responded?”

“How did he reply?” Consort Huo didn’t even bother to lift her eyelids; she simply tucked the remaining one liang of gold and one liang of “dragon cake tea” into the corner of the table.

“He said, ‘Then let’s head into the county town!’ Hahahahahahaha—seems he’s quite the seasoned traveler.” Young General Huo, who, like his younger sister, had a rather low laugh threshold, was so amused by the comical scene he’d just described that he fell backward onto the soft cushion, laughing heartily. 

Although Huo Jintuo hadn’t mentioned a name, Huo Hanguang instantly and accurately guessed who the protagonist of the story was, and thus understood where the flower had come from: “Did Maomao ask you to give this to me?”

That guess was spot-on.

Originally, it was just Wen Maomao and Wen Guan who had run off to the Wuwei Hall to see the Face-Tearing Wisdom King, but somehow Wen Mengzheng ended up joining them. While the three were arguing, they happened to run into the “Little General” Huo Jintuo, who had come to the palace to “discuss important matters” with his younger sister.

The child wasn’t afraid of him. Only after the other child quietly revealed his identity did he ask if he was heading to Zichen Palace. If so, he wanted to ask him to bring along a bouquet—the very first one of osmanthus blossoms to bloom in front of Wuwei Hall.

The system explained that the osmanthus is a somewhat clumsy plant—it blooms the moment the temperature rises slightly, regardless of whether it’s the right season. It often blooms today and withers tomorrow. In the northern climate, which is even more capricious than the emperor himself, it shivers and shivers as it blooms, then grumbles and grumbles as it withers—just like a lunatic. 

“But its clumsiness is quite endearing,” Wen Maomao said exactly that. “It’s also very fragrant—it’ll definitely make delicious osmanthus pastries.”

Consort Huo lowered her head and took a light sniff. The Golden Ball Osmanthus in front of the Wuwei Hall was the most expensive variety of golden osmanthus; its flower buds were densely clustered, and the fragrance was indeed intense. She found it hard not to brag to her second brother about Wen Maomao—talking about his little boat, his hometown, and the promise they’d made to “hook and hang” together for a hundred years without ever changing their minds.

Huo Jintuo shrugged. Since he wasn’t allowed to drink tea, he turned to cracking walnuts instead. Without any tools, he’d crack one open with a simple squeeze of his bare hands. Even in the midst of stacking a mountain of walnut kernels, he didn’t forget to suggest to his sister, “Since you like him so much, why don’t you take him in? It’s not like our family can’t afford it.”

“I just feel a bit embarrassed that I couldn’t pull this off for the child,” Imperial Consort Huo rolled her eyes—not very gracefully. “Do you think this is like raising a kitten or a puppy? The child isn’t without parents of their own.” Even though his own parents had long since passed away.

“Oh, come on, it’s no big deal. You can be the ‘Auntie,’ and let His Majesty be the ‘Great, great…’” 

Huo Hanguang was so furious she wanted to hurl the osmanthus blossoms in her hand at her nonsensical older brother. “You’re the one who’s ‘Auntie’—your whole family is ‘Auntie’!” But she simply couldn’t bear to reject the child’s well-meaning gesture, so she forced herself to hold back, muttering through gritted teeth, “He still wants to go back to his own home.”

“Besides,” Consort Huo said, lowering her eyes—though it was unclear who she was actually speaking to—“I’ve only ever been a daughter and a younger sister; how could I possibly know how to be a mother?”

Young General Huo didn’t try to persuade her any further. After all, this was his sister’s own life, and he was used to doing as he pleased—unlike his older brother, who had a controlling nature when it came to other people’s lives. He simply began eating the impressive mountain of walnut kernels he’d piled up in no time, and casually asked his sister why she’d called him over in the first place. 

Consort Huo’s toothache was excruciating—the kind that made even a deep breath of cool air sting—so she spoke slowly. It took her a long while to finally finish her loud, secret plot with her second brother, outlining her plan to force the emperor to abandon Wen Maomao entirely.

Just as Huo Hanguang had expected, Huo Jintuo didn’t ask why at all; he was only concerned with what he was supposed to do in this plan.

He was ready to commit the second the fight started.

After finishing a plate of walnuts and agreeing to grant his younger sister’s wish, the busy general clapped his hands and briskly prepared to take his leave. His soft armor clattered and clanked—it looked so cumbersome that one could hardly imagine sleeping or moving in it. God only knows how he managed to endure wearing it every day, yet still held himself so tall and proud.

Before leaving, the rough-around-the-edges-yet thoughtful Young General Huo cast one last glance at his distracted younger sister and, in a rare moment of candor, added, “Father is a man who values his pride above all else, so he certainly never told you this. Do you know when he first truly began to feel like a father?”

Huo Hanguang, puzzled, looked up at her brother standing beneath the beaded curtain. “When?”

“When my older brother and I were born, Grandma and Mom were still with us, and the house was full of maids and old servants. Dad himself was just a young man of eighteen or nineteen; rather than being a father, he’d much rather have been out with his friends, raising a cup to the wind. Then you were born—you were a crybaby from the start, unable to do without this or that, with demands so high it was unbelievable. But Father discovered that not only was he willing to put your needs before his own, he actually found it a joy.”

This is probably the moment of initial transformation that every person who truly becomes a parent experiences.

It’s not that he feels he’s no longer important; it’s just that it’s truly hard for him to stop himself from feeling that his child is more important than he is.

“You’ve been spoiled rotten by Mom and Dad—I’ve never seen you put anyone else’s needs before your own.” Except for today, except for Wen Maomao.

“What do you mean?” Huo Hanguang frowned.

Huo Jintuo felt his foolish younger sister was beyond help: “I mean, once this opportunity passes, he’ll just go back to Ming County.” 

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

On his way out of the palace, Huo Jintuo ran into Wen Maomao again. 

After all, the Wuwei Hall was situated right on the central axis of the entire imperial palace—the hub connecting the front court and the inner palace—so it was nearly impossible not to pass by it. Wen Maomao and his two companions hadn’t left yet either; though just moments ago they’d looked as if they were about to have a massive fight, now, for some reason, they were playing together again. The loves and hates of children are just like their fleeting enthusiasm—truly gone in the blink of an eye.

Actually, when he’d come by earlier, Huo Jintuo had been curious about what the three of them were doing here. Now, the mystery was finally solved.

The General of Martial Virtue, appointed by His Majesty, is leading two Generals of Martial Strategy in preparation to attack the dragon-headed spout in front of the Wuwei Hall. To put it simply, it’s the imperial palace’s drainage system—a real water spout carved in the shape of a dragon’s head. It’s been raining a lot in the capital lately—not heavy, but a steady drizzle—which has caused the Thousand Dragons’ water spouts to flow on and off. One of them just drenched a little kitten passing by, and the poor thing was meowing pitifully.

Wen Maomao, who had come to see the “Face-Tearing Wisdom King,” had no interest in looking at the paintings or entering the hall anymore. All he wanted to do was grab his slingshot, stick his butt out, and help the little cat get even with the drainage beast.

Huo Jintuo scooped the child up and, out of habit, launched into the same lecture he’d use on his own grunts: “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

The Drainage Beast was made of greenish-white stone and was exceptionally sturdy; it certainly wasn’t afraid of General Wen’s little slingshot. In fact, it was highly likely that the stone would bounce right back, smashing it straight into Wen Maomao’s fair, smooth forehead. 

However, as soon as the words left his mouth, Huo Jintuo regretted them—not that he shouldn’t have said them, but that he’d been so harsh. This wasn’t one of his soldiers; it was just a child as soft as if he had no bones in his body.

Huo Jintuo’s entire impression of children came from that little pest at his cousin’s house—the one who loved to scream and fake-cry, causing the whole family no peace whenever she felt the slightest discomfort. She was truly someone best left alone. 

He wanted to smile a little to ease the tension in the room. But then again…

Huo Jintuo was truly tall—a typical Northern Frontier man. Or rather, the entire Huo family was tall; even Imperial Consort Huo stood over five feet tall, with fair skin, striking features, and long legs. Not to mention her second older brother—when he stood up, he looked like an iron tower. He was intimidating enough when he wasn’t smiling, but when he did, it was as if he were about to devour a child. 

Just as Huo Jintuo was thinking that her younger sister would probably hunt him down that very night for making her favorite child cry, Wen Maomao—whom he had grabbed by the collar and lifted off the ground—already asked him with a smile, “Uncle! Did you give the flowers to Auntie? Did she eat them? Did they work?”

Huo Jintuo paused for a moment before it dawned on him: in traditional Chinese medicine, osmanthus flowers are also used as a remedy, effective for dispelling cold, relieving pain, and treating dental ailments. He never would have imagined that this General of Martial Virtue was also a military doctor.

— Author’s Note —

Nonsense Mini-Drama:

Huo Lao’er: Hey, sis, take a word of advice from your big brother—raising a kid is just like adopting a cat or a dog: if you don’t act fast, you’ll miss out! If you don’t take him in, I might just have to consider it myself.