NOVEL NEXT Chapter 64 - Proud Children
A cup of wine under the peach and plum blossoms in spring—another year, and the flowers bloom once more.
The roses in the backyard of the Yuqing Palace had blossomed and faded again. The little turtle woke from its winter hibernation, and the blue paint on the elephant slide had faded under the sun. Not long ago, Cheng Wanyun enthusiastically led her four “gourd brothers” of varying sizes—”extra large, large, medium, and small”—to paint the slide. Armed with brushes and small buckets, they made a chaotic attempt at repainting it.
When Yinreng returned from the “cowpox laboratory” at the Imperial Academy of Medicine, bathed in the sunset glow, he found the household in disarray. Faces were smeared with various colors as though someone had overturned a palette, and even the slide had turned into a pitifully colorful elephant.
Yinreng looked at the four children standing in a line from tallest to shortest, feeling a headache coming on.
The tallest was Harinahui, who often came over for meals. At eight years old, he was tall and upright—not like the typical Mongolian Khans or princes with their massive, mountain-like builds. Having grown up in the Forbidden City, his figure resembled that of the Manchus, slender and strong like a young bamboo shoot, almost as tall as Yinreng’s shoulder.
His wheat-colored face bore a yellow streak under his left eye, a red streak on his right cheek, and his jingling braids made him look more like someone from the Yunnan borderlands than a Mongolian.
The second tallest was E Linzhu, four and a half years old. Yinreng had kept his promise, teaching her and Akedun to ride horses when she turned two. As he had seen in his dreams, she wasn’t a quiet or demure child. Gifted at horseback riding and archery, she even learned wrestling from Harinahui and became quite proficient. Her strength was formidable, and her height rivaled Hongxuan’s, perhaps even a little taller.
This made Yinreng worry about her future marriage prospects in the capital—who would dare to marry her?
She resembled A Wan closely, but her features carried more boldness and spirit. Compared to the daughters of the eldest prince, her skin was tanned from the sun, though it would regain its fairness after a winter indoors. During the New Year, dressed in a Manchu robe with her glossy black braids, she exuded an icy elegance that could intimidate others. However, Yinreng knew the truth—her silence at banquets was simply because she found them tedious. In fact, last year, she had managed to throw Hongxuan, who was a year older, over her shoulder!
Today, her face was the most colorful of all. Both cheeks, her forehead, and even her hair were streaked with red, yellow, blue, and green. Despite Yinreng’s dark expression, she boldly met his gaze, grinning to reveal her bright white teeth.
Yinreng suppressed his frustration and turned his gaze to Hongxuan, who stood beside her.
As for Hongxuan—he had a gentle and quiet disposition that became more evident as he grew older. Much like his mother, Wang Gege, he was on the shorter side. Nearly six years old, his height had already been overtaken by E Linzhu. Unlike the first two children, he only had paint on his hands, with his face still relatively clean. However, he seemed even more fearful. The moment he noticed Yinreng’s eyes on him, he lowered his head nervously, guilt written all over his small face.
Yinreng felt his headache worsen. His eldest son had a temperament more suited to a girl, while his eldest daughter had grown into a personality akin to a man. He didn’t know how to address it!
After all, A Wan had clearly raised these children with fairness and equality, never excessively curbing their personalities, allowing them to grow naturally according to their innate traits. Particularly with E Linzhu—knowing that this child’s life might be short, and recalling the painful memory of her passing from smallpox in a previous life—it was hard for Yinreng not to show her extra indulgence.
Although cowpox vaccination had proven to hold great promise, and the Emperor had ordered the Imperial Academy of Medicine to establish a specialized team for research, Yinreng couldn’t help but be even more lenient toward her.
Hongxuan now spent most of his time living alone in Chunben Hall. He had already started learning characters and would begin attending the study hall next year. Yinreng had already assigned him a tutor—a “Haha zhuzi”—and had arranged for a scholar from the Hanlin Academy to teach him at the beginning of the year. The boy now had daily lessons and only came to the backyard to join them for dinner after finishing his studies.
With A Wan’s care and the guidance of his tutor, Yinreng couldn’t understand why Hongxuan had developed such a meek personality.
‘Each child has their own temperament,’ Yinreng sighed. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. If only Hongxuan’s personality could balance out with E Linzhu’s, things would be ideal. Right now, Hongxuan couldn’t even match his younger sister in archery or horseback riding.
As for the last one…
Yinreng’s gaze shifted downward to little Hongxi, who only came up to his thigh. The boy looked as though he had been dunked in a barrel of paint, covered head to toe in a kaleidoscope of colors. If he were tossed into a flowerbed, he would have been nearly impossible to find.
This little one had just turned two years old, and his personality was still hard to pin down. Yinreng had seen him sit quietly on a small stool in the courtyard, staring at ants for an entire day. But he had also seen him running around, hollering after E Linzhu.
One standout trait of his, however, was an exceptional memory—something unmatched by anyone else. If he heard something once or visited a place just one time, he could immediately recognize it the next time and describe it in detail. He could even identify and remember the names of all the staff in the backyard, including the most inconspicuous eunuchs and maids.
Hongxi also had a knack for arithmetic. A Wan often taught the children to recite multiplication tables, such as “one times one is one, one times two is two.” So far, only Hongxuan and Hongxi could recite them perfectly. While Hongxuan was diligent and older, it was remarkable for Hongxi, given his young age. As for E Linzhu and Harinahui, Yinreng didn’t even bother to comment. The two were hopeless—forgetting the next line as soon as they learned the first or muddling the tables into nonsense like “three times seven is twenty-eight” or “four times seven is twenty-one.” Midway through, their eyes would glaze over, leaving A Wan sighing, “Hopeless, these two are destined to be academic disasters.”
“Academic disasters” was a new term, but Yinreng found it quite apt—like crumbling tofu when it came to studies.
As Yinreng exchanged glances with the children, Cheng Wanyun returned from her bath. Her hair was half-dry and draped over her shoulders. Thankfully, she had anticipated the mess and had diluted the paint with water beforehand, making it easier to wash off.
“All right, all of you, go take a bath quickly! If the paint dries, it won’t come off!” Cheng Wanyun ushered the children out, pushing them along before Yinreng could start a long lecture. “Go on now, hot water is ready!”
Yinreng glared at her helplessly. “I haven’t even started talking to them yet! And you—you’re not much better. Look at the mess you’ve made, letting them run wild like this! Completely undignified!”
Cheng Wanyun laughed, sidling up to him and wrapping her arms around his. She pouted playfully, “Second Master, are you saying I’m getting old? Surely I’m not losing my looks already? Let me count—I’m only 19 this year! If I were a man, I wouldn’t even be of age yet.”
“Nonsense! That’s not what I meant.” Her damp hair brushed against his shoulder as Yinreng grumbled, “Why are you out here before your hair is even dry? Do you think I’m going to eat the children or something?”
After saying this, Yinreng called for a towel, motioned for Cheng Wanyun to lie down on the couch, and, abandoning concerns about decorum, sat on a small stool to dry her hair himself. As he worked, he couldn’t help but grumble about E Linzhu’s “exploits.”
“In the future, you’d better keep an eye on E Linzhu. Last time, when she was with Hongxi at the Emperor’s residence, she actually dared to play with His Majesty’s musket! Luckily, it wasn’t loaded. And that wasn’t even the worst of it—Hongxi asked her, ‘Sister, what’s inside?’ and she was about to dismantle it to show him!”
“Was His Majesty angry?” Cheng Wanyun chuckled at the thought. Hongxi was such a curious child. There was a period when he was fascinated by ants, squatting in the courtyard every day to watch them. He even had the eunuchs catch a few to keep in a box so he could observe them. After about half a month of studying them, he said something startling: “Mother, look! All these ants were born from one mother! They have a giant mother!”
When she had first learned that her child was named “Hongxi,” she had been so worried that she couldn’t eat or sleep well. She didn’t know if it was because her presence had altered history. In the original timeline, Hongxi’s biological mother should have been Lady Li, who came from the Han Army’s Plain White Banner. However, Yinreng didn’t treat Lady Li as warmly as he did to Tang Gege and seemed to deliberately avoid favoring her.
Without favor, it was unlikely for her to have borne a child. Thus, it had fallen to Cheng Wanyun to give birth to the second son. Yet history seemed to loop back to its original course. No matter who gave birth to the second son, Emperor Kangxi had still named him “Hongxi,” just as in the original timeline.
What worried Cheng Wanyun even more was that, in history, after Yinreng’s tragic downfall and eventual death, it was Hongxi who inherited the title of “Prince of Li.” But Hongxi wasn’t the eldest or legitimate son. That it fell to him meant two things: First, Yinreng’s legitimate sons had not survived to adulthood. Second… Hongxuan must have died young, leaving the title to this second son of concubine birth.
The thought of Hongxuan’s early death horrified her. Having lived with the child for many years, though not her biological son, she cherished him as though he were her own. Cheng Wanyun wanted to warn Yinreng about this possibility, but she didn’t know how to broach the subject.
Besides, Hongxuan was currently healthy and showed no signs of an early death. In this era without vaccines, even a mild illness could claim a life, let alone a child’s. It was impossible to guard against every potential danger.
Thankfully, Yinreng had begun researching cowpox vaccination. Perhaps in the next year or two, there would be hope. If so, the children could be safely vaccinated before starting their education, at least protecting them from the deadly threat of smallpox.
“His Majesty? He likes E Linzhu’s boldness. How could he be angry? He even praised her courage,” Yinreng sighed.
Cheng Wanyun and Yinreng exchanged a glance, their thoughts naturally drifting back to the events of last year—autumn of the 33rd year of Kangxi’s reign at the Mulan Hunting Grounds.
Who could have imagined that four years after her marriage, the Heshuo Princess Duanjing had been mistreated by her Mongolian husband? The prince consort had a violent temper, often insulting her and, when drunk, resorting to physical abuse.
When this news reached the palace, it left Emperor Kangxi so furious that he couldn’t eat for two days. He sent officials from the Ministry of Rites multiple times to visit the princess in the Kharachin Mongol territory, showering her with gifts to express imperial favor. Yet Princess Duanjing remained miserable, weeping daily. To make matters worse, the guards assigned to her were dismissed by the prince consort and sent to perform agricultural duties far away.
Even Emperor Kangxi was deeply frustrated, lamenting that if Princess Duanjing couldn’t stand up for herself, how could her family continue to support her? Ultimately, her life was hers to live—he couldn’t constantly watch over her.
Although disappointed, Kangxi still took special care of her during last year’s autumn hunt at Mulan. He summoned Princess Duanjing to accompany the hunt and sternly reprimanded her husband, ordering him to return the dismissed guards to the princess. However, Garzang publicly scoffed, saying, “Your Majesty, please understand clearly! The princess is overly familiar with these guards, making me, her husband, feel worthless. I had no choice but to act!”
Such words utterly humiliated the princess.
Devastated, Princess Duanjing attempted to hang herself on the spot, but her servants intervened just in time. The next day, while left unsupervised, she tried to throw herself into a lake. In desperation, Kangxi urgently summoned Lady Bu from the capital. Lady Bu arrived in disarray, her hair bun loosened and her clothes unkempt from travel. Tears streaming, she slapped her daughter fiercely and scolded her in sorrow and anger: “Do you want your mother to die with you?”
Princess Duanjing collapsed into Lady Bu’s arms, wailing bitterly, and finally abandoned her thoughts of suicide. The drama during that autumn hunt left an ugly stain on the event.
Kangxi was left both furious and exasperated.
He came to realize that the princesses raised in the palace were too delicate and fragile, lacking the spirited grit of their Manchu foremothers. He recalled the Empress Dowager, who had been a paragon of strength and resolve. In her time, she had supported a young emperor, opposed Dorgon’s regency, expanded the empire, and played a critical role in crushing the rebellions of the Four Regents, the Three Feudatories, and the Chahar rebellion.
In Kangxi’s heart, he owed his success in consolidating the empire to his grandmother’s guidance and leadership.
After seeing too many daughters who were gentle to the point of fragility—refined and poised yet somehow missing an essential spark—Kangxi began to reflect on what he felt was lacking.
He didn’t fully understand the nature of this inadequacy until the autumn hunt. During a horse-riding competition featuring Mongolian princes and princesses, his nearly four-year-old granddaughter, E Linzhu, took the field.
That day, after the day’s hunt, the usual grand banquet was held for the Mongol leaders, accompanied by wrestling and horse-riding performances. When it came time for the horse races, several Mongolian nobles brought their grandchildren, suggesting that the children of similar ages also participate in a friendly competition.
Having watched countless “adult races” in previous years, Kangxi found them predictable and dull. Smiling, he agreed to the suggestion.
Last year, Cheng Wanyun took Hongxuan and E Linzhu to the hunt, while the young Hongxi, deemed too small to stay alone in the Palace of Yuqing, was sent to the Palace of Ning Shou to be cared for by the Empress Dowager at the Crown Prince’s request.
The horse race that year divided the children into age groups: 4–6 years, 7–10 years, 10–13 years, and 15–17 years. The competition pitted the Qing team against the Mongol team, boys racing boys and girls racing girls.
In E Linzhu’s group, she was the youngest. Originally, the first prince’s third and fourth daughters, who were 5 and 6 years old—matching the age of the Mongol princes’ granddaughters—were supposed to participate. That would have made the race more fair.
E Linzhu was more than two years younger than the others, and she had only been learning to ride for a year and a half. Meanwhile, the two daughters of the first prince turned pale, hiding behind the first princess consort, unwilling to take the field. They knew how to ride, but only side-saddle, with eunuchs leading the horses slowly.
Riding astride? How improper!
Kangxi’s expression darkened. Apart from the first prince’s daughters, only the Crown Prince’s eldest daughter was eligible to compete. The third prince’s daughter was even younger, still an infant held in her nursemaid’s arms and left in the palace.
The fifth prince had twin sons two years prior, but one had passed away during the postpartum period. Today, he brought only his surviving two-year-old, who was so frail that he vomited several times during the journey in the carriage and had to rest at the Rehe Palace. He didn’t have any daughters yet.
Cheng Wanyun hadn’t planned to let E Linzhu compete either—her young age was evident. She was barely over four years old, even by nominal age standards. But E Linzhu, tall for her age and bold, refused to be held back. Brimming with excitement, she called out loudly to Kangxi, “Huang Mafaa (Grandpa Emperor)! Huang Mafaa! E Linzhu wants to compete!”
Afraid Kangxi might overlook her, she even jumped up and waved her hand energetically.
Kangxi laughed, stroking his large hand over his beard. “Good! As expected of my granddaughter! Such courage! I approve!”
On the other hand, the first prince’s daughters were still unmoved despite all the persuasion they received. Why not just get out there and trot a few laps? Their refusal only gave the Crown Prince’s family more favor in Kangxi’s eyes. With E Linzhu so young, even if she finished last, she would still earn praise.
The first prince’s gaze darkened with jealousy, as if ink could drip from his eyes.
E Linzhu, meanwhile, led her small pony proudly into the spacious arena, where obstacles like steep slopes, dirt mounds, and muddy patches had been set up. The competition wasn’t just about speed.
The Mongol princesses, tall and strong, towered over E Linzhu. She looked small and frail among them, but sitting upright on her pony with reins in hand, the confident posture her father had taught her made her no less imposing than the others.
Cheng Wanyun was filled with both pride and worry.
As soon as the whistle blew, eight small horses dashed forward to the rapid beat of the drums. For the young girls from the Mongol tribes, whipping their horses to gallop was as natural as drinking water. Predictably, E Linzhu quickly fell to the back of the pack.
Earlier, Harinauhai had easily won the race for boys aged 7–10, representing the Zunghar tribe. He even lapped the last-place Hongxuan twice, leaving Kangxi and the Crown Prince with mixed feelings. Now, seeing E Linzhu trailing behind, neither of them could muster any disappointment. For a child so young, simply having the courage to compete was already remarkable.
Unexpectedly, Harinauhai suddenly rushed to the edge of the arena. Ignoring the fact that his younger sister, also from the Zunghar tribe, was still racing, he sprinted alongside E Linzhu’s horse along the fence, cheering her on in Mongolian.
“E Linzhu! Faster! Squeeze your calves tight! Yes, just like that! Leave them in the dust! Go, go, go!”
Tserenbaljab, Harinauhai’s father, was baffled. “That’s my son, isn’t it? It has to be, right? Why is he cheering for someone else?”
His sister, Ulan, who was leading the race, also heard her brother’s enthusiastic shouts carried on the wind. She grew equally bewildered: “That’s my brother’s voice, right? I think so? But why… why does it sound like he’s not calling my name?”
E Linzhu, however, was fiercely determined. “I don’t need your advice! I can ride on my own!” she declared stubbornly, her gaze full of confidence and unshakable resolve. “I can ride! I’ll catch up to them!”
The horses’ hooves kicked up clouds of yellow dust, and E Linzhu tenaciously stayed on the heels of the horse ahead of her. She leaned low over her horse, urging it to gallop even faster.
When crossing the waterlogged ground, her horse stumbled, nearly throwing her off, but she clung tightly to the stirrups and steadied herself. She fell behind again while climbing the steep slope, but as she reached the final lap, the path was flat and obstacle-free. Everyone began accelerating, and despite the challenges, E Linzhu refused to give up.
It was then that Kangxi finally realized what had been missing all along—the quality he hadn’t been able to pinpoint.
Banners fluttered in the sky, and the sound of thundering hooves filled the air.
What was it? Kangxi rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the small, fiery red figure. That child pushed forward against every challenge, cutting through obstacles like a blade.
It was ‘grit’—a courage that refused to yield, even in the worst of circumstances. It was the resilience to stand firm and fight against all odds, to never admit defeat.
This, Kangxi realized, was the true spirit of a Manchu daughter!
In the final few hundred meters, as the horses ahead began to slow from exhaustion, E Linzhu seized her chance. From the outer track, starting from the very back, she overtook one horse after another. Through sheer determination and an unwillingness to quit, she caught up! Kangxi couldn’t help but cheer loudly from the stands.
Though she didn’t win first place, she still outperformed several strong competitors and took third. In modern times, she would’ve earned a bronze medal for her efforts!
When she dismounted, Kangxi immediately embraced her, showering her with praise. He even removed the jade thumb ring he wore and gifted it to her on the spot. E Linzhu, unfazed, accepted it without hesitation and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Grandpa Emperor, I also want a beautiful horn bow.”
Prince Yinreng overheard this and thought, “…This child really knows how to push her luck!”
Kangxi was stunned for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter, agreeing to her request without hesitation. He then declared that all the girls in the palace must learn to ride: “We Manchus conquered the world from horseback. It’s not just a man’s skill!”
From that moment on, E Linzhu ignited a trend among the palace’s princesses and granddaughters, inspiring them to take up martial arts. Who cared about being perfectly demure and gentle? What good were embroidery and ladylike manners when life itself was at stake?
Even the concubines with daughters started to change their views, abandoning their obsession with domestic virtues.
E Linzhu’s presence beside Kangxi during his travels soon surpassed that of Hongxuan, making her the favored grandchild of her generation.
Cheng Wanyun had occasionally worried that E Linzhu might draw too much attention. What if someone saw her as a threat and tried to harm her? This was a typical bout of maternal paranoia.
When the Crown Prince heard about her concerns, he replied calmly, “The recognition she has earned is hers by right. She deserves it. In this world, the strong are not meant to bow to others because their brilliance cannot be overshadowed by mediocrity.”
Cheng Wanyun found this reasoning convincing. You wouldn’t ask a child who scored 100 on a test to hide their talent and only score 60, would you? E Linzhu wasn’t like the Crown Prince, who needed to quietly gather strength for inheriting the throne.
Of course, a child’s brilliance was a source of pride for any parent, but their mischief could also drive parents to despair—
Back to the present, while Yinreng was carefully drying Cheng Wanyun’s long hair, the faint scent of her bath lingered in the air. Watching her long lashes tremble slightly as she rested, he couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her softly. But before he could deepen the moment, their children burst into the room like a cannonball.
The paint on the outdoor play area wasn’t dry, and the “wild monkeys” had lost their playground. They had no choice but to cause trouble at home with their parents instead.
E Linzhu led the charge, yelling, “Father! Father! Come ride horses with us!”
She ran so fast that before anyone could react, she had already burst through the door with a loud “bang.” Seeing the scene inside, she asked innocently but loudly, “Father, why are you biting Mother’s lips?”
Yinreng shot upright, his face flushing red as he rubbed his forehead, gritting his teeth. “Wanyun, E Linzhu is getting older. We should move her to the courtyard by the main hall. Father has already approved expanding it by two rooms…”
“You were the one who insisted on keeping E Linzhu close because you didn’t trust the servants to care for her,” Cheng Wanyun replied, pulling the blanket over her face to hide her laughter. Only her eyes, sparkling with mischief, were visible as she swiftly passed the blame back to him. “And now you’ve changed your mind?”
Yinreng felt a bit awkward. The truth was, he wouldn’t feel comfortable moving E Linzhu until she safely received her smallpox inoculation. But this child was truly a source of both joy and frustration.
For years, it had been nearly impossible to enjoy any private moments with Cheng Wanyun because E Linzhu slept in the curtained partition of their room. Worse, she had sharp ears and refused to move out!
Even their time as a couple was stolen in secrecy. Yinreng could barely sneak in moments, and every opportunity had to be carefully timed when E Linzhu wasn’t around. It was stifling beyond words!
Cheng Wanyun knew well how exasperated he was and couldn’t help but laugh behind her hand. It was true—people often said mischievous children were nature’s best contraceptives!
She herself had no plans to conceive again anytime soon. That was why she deliberately kept E Linzhu and Hongxi sharing the same room.
With a son and daughter already, her status and affection were secure. It wasn’t necessary to have more children, especially with the Crown Prince’s wedding approaching.
Indeed, preparations for the grand wedding were in full swing. The main hall had been lavishly decorated, with red silk draped along the corridors of Yuqing Palace, windows covered in red “double happiness” paper cuttings, and every lantern replaced with crimson ones.
On the eighth day of the fifth month, during the late spring blossoms of Kangxi’s 34th year, Crown Prince Yinreng and Princess Consort Shi celebrated their marriage with a grand ceremony.