Boundless Indulgence

Xiao Heng. The Crown Prince. The emperor he would become. From the age of seven to twenty-four, from the Eastern Palace to the Hall of Political Affairs, he was always the sort of person who hid all his affection in his actions. He spoke very little. Showed little emotion. Made few expressions. But every detail said he loved him. His restraint wasn’t in his nature; it came from his position. He was the legitimate son, the heir apparent, the future emperor. From the moment he was born, he had no right to do anything out of line. The only time he ever indulged himself was when Huo Lin, at five years old, called him “older brother.” He accepted it. Didn’t correct him or refuse. Just said one word: “Mm.” From that moment on, Huo Lin was the one exception in all his restraint. He was cold to everyone and warm to just one person. At court, he was a wise and decisive heir. On the hunting grounds, a ruthless general. At the Imperial Academy, the supervising crown prince who made every student in the hall afraid to even breathe too loudly. But Huo Lin knew that when His Highness held back a laugh, the base of his cup tapped the table once; when he was nervous, a drop of tea spilled as he poured. All his tenderness, nervousness, loss of control, and moments of vulnerability were revealed only in front of that one person. In front of everyone else, he was the emperor. But when Huo Lin was asleep, he was simply someone afraid he might catch a chill.

His deepest love was hidden in the protection he never explained. He took the wine meant for Huo Lin, cleared his name of wrongful accusations, and paved every step of his way from the Imperial Academy to the southern frontier to the Hall of Mental Cultivation. During Huo Lin’s three months in the south, every letter he sent back said “All is well.” He never wrote that he missed him, but he answered every letter. He was a man who said a thousand words through silence.