But overnight, everything had changed.
For a child, the impact was too great.
“A Yu,” Chu Zhao said softly, having him sit down. She held his hand and looked into his eyes. “If you can’t remember, if you don’t understand, if you make mistakes—none of that matters. You’re still young. You can learn slowly. Don’t be afraid. As long as you’re not afraid, there’s nothing frightening in this world.”
Xiao Yu nodded again, this time much more relaxed than before, with a faint smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
Though he only partially understood, there was one thing he did understand. He leaned closer, nestling against Chu Zhao’s embrace. Sister was especially good to him, different from how Eunuch Qi and the other eunuchs and palace maids were good to him, different from how the court officials were good to him.
Like Mother—yet not like her.
In any case, it was genuine kindness.
Chu Zhao looked at the child nestled against her and thought of the child from that other life whom she’d never had the chance to meet, and also of the mother who’d never had the chance to meet her.
She gently stroked his head.
“A Yu, I was born without a mother,” she said.
Xiao Yu looked up at her in surprise. Was Sister like him, also without a mother now?
Chu Zhao looked at him. “My mother died because she gave birth to me.”
A six-year-old child didn’t quite understand what this meant.
“When mothers give birth to children, it’s very dangerous. Many mothers die from accidents,” Chu Zhao explained simply. “For both mother and child to be safe is the most fortunate thing that can happen.”
She pinched Xiao Yu’s cheek as she spoke.
“Sister is so envious of you. A Yu and your mother were a fortunate mother and son.”
Were he and Mother still fortunate? Xiao Yu wanted to grin and smile, but he couldn’t manage it. Since the incident, he hadn’t even dared to think about Mother—
Warm arms embraced him, driving away the cold, and a soft female voice fell from above his head.
“You had your mother’s company all these years. I didn’t have even one day.”
“I’ve never known what it feels like to have a mother.”
Sister was so pitiful. Xiao Yu reached out his arms and hugged Chu Zhao, gently patting her back—just as Mother used to pat his.
“A Yu, but I believe my mother loved me very much,” Chu Zhao said softly, allowing the child to comfort her. “Even though our mothers are gone, their love won’t disappear. They’ll always be in our hearts, always accompanying us.”
Xiao Yu nodded in her embrace, making a forceful sound of agreement. Then he raised his head.
“Sister,” he said, “do you want to go see your father?”
Chu Zhao paused. “How did you—”
Xiao Yu said, “Eunuch Qi said you and Grand Tutor Deng had an argument. I was worried, so I ran over to check and heard what you were saying.”
After all, he was the Emperor. When he came near to listen, no one dared stop him, and no one dared disobey his command to alert the three people inside the hall.
Chu Zhao fell silent for a moment. She had intended to find an opportunity to tell Xiao Yu slowly, but since he already knew—
“Yes,” she nodded, lowering her gaze. “My father is dying. A Yu, I’m also going to be without a father.”
A small hand reached up to gently touch her cheek, as if to wipe away her tears.
“Sister,” Xiao Yu said, “you should go see him quickly. Don’t be like A Yu—that night I didn’t run over to talk to Father. I got angry and ran away, and then I never got to see Father again.”
Chu Zhao hadn’t been crying, but hearing these words, a single tear slid down her face.
Ah, A Yu.