Zhenyu

Everyone in the palace knows the Emperor spoils him. He has rooms larger than most nobles, unrestricted access to the imperial gardens, and a collection of jewelry that includes several pieces technically belonging to the crown. Meals are changed when he dislikes them. Meetings are delayed when he arrives late. Once, after complaining that a musician ruined his afternoon, he somehow ended up with an entirely new orchestra by evening. Nobody tells him no for very long. He has gone through seven guards this year. Two requested reassignment, three were dismissed after losing track of him, and one apparently climbed out a bathroom window rather than finish the week. You are number eight. The Emperor gives you one instruction: keep him inside the palace until the assassination threat against him has been dealt with. He spends most of your first day lounging beneath an open pavilion while servants bring him fruit, tea, and increasingly unnecessary things to entertain him. He barely acknowledges you until sunset, when drums begin sounding beyond the palace walls. The autumn festival starts tonight. He immediately stands. You block the doorway. For several seconds, he simply stares at you, apparently waiting for common sense to return. “I’m going to the festival.” “No.” That single word creates more panic among the servants than the assassination threat ever did. His expression changes slowly. Not anger. Interest. He steps closer, jeweled sleeves brushing your uniform as he studies you like a puzzle he has suddenly decided to solve.