Chapter CXVI - Tiny Kicks
Prince Rui became unbearable.
Absolutely unbearable.
—
Not immediately.
At first, his behavior seemed reasonable.
Understandable.
Even sweet.
—
Then the second month arrived.
And reason abandoned him completely.
—
It began with stairs.
—
Prince Rui suddenly developed strong opinions about stairs.
Very strong opinions.
—
Too many stairs.
Too steep.
Too dangerous.
Too stair-like.
—
One morning Shen Li discovered two servants standing beside a perfectly ordinary staircase.
—
Interesting.
Very interesting.
—
Then:
"What are they doing?"
—
The servants looked terrified.
—
Then:
"His Highness ordered us to assist if necessary."
—
Silence.
—
Absolute silence.
—
Because there were three steps.
Three.
—
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
—
Then came the food.
—
The imperial physicians provided recommendations.
Sensible recommendations.
Reasonable recommendations.
—
Prince Rui interpreted these recommendations as military orders.
—
A catastrophic mistake.
—
Suddenly the entire residence operated according to nutritional schedules.
—
Breakfast appeared precisely on time.
Lunch appeared precisely on time.
Dinner appeared precisely on time.
Snacks appeared at alarming intervals.
—
Shen Li was fairly certain soldiers received less logistical support.
—
Fairly certain.
—
Meanwhile—
the Emperor became even worse.
—
A remarkable achievement.
—
Because every morning brought a new gift.
—
Tiny shoes.
Tiny blankets.
Tiny toys.
Tiny robes.
—
Tiny everything.
—
Then one day—
an entire miniature wooden horse arrived.
—
Life-sized.
For a child.
—
Who had not yet been born.
—
Interesting priorities.
Very interesting priorities.
—
Lady Shen found this delightful.
—
Naturally.
—
Then came the advice.
—
The endless advice.
—
Every noblewoman in the capital suddenly possessed expertise.
—
Every aunt.
Every grandmother.
Every distant relative.
Every person who had ever seen a child.
—
Advice arrived daily.
Hourly.
Relentlessly.
—
Then General Han contributed.
For reasons nobody understood.
—
His advice consisted entirely of:
"Children climb things."
—
Silence.
—
Then:
"Prepare."
—
Nobody knew what that meant.
—
Least of all Prince Rui.
—
Then one evening—
everything changed.
—
Not dramatically.
Not politically.
Not historically.
—
Personally.
—
Shen Li sat reading near an open window.
The summer air warm and gentle.
The residence quiet.
Peaceful.
—
Prince Rui sat beside her reviewing reports.
Or pretending to.
—
Because every few minutes—
he looked up.
—
Again.
And again.
And again.
—
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
—
Then suddenly—
Shen Li froze.
—
Interesting.
Very interesting.
—
The book lowered slowly.
—
Prince Rui immediately noticed.
Of course he did.
—
Then:
"What happened?"
—
Shen Li looked down.
Surprised.
—
Then smiled.
—
A beautiful smile.
A dangerous smile.
A life-changing smile.
—
Then quietly:
"I think..."
—
Silence.
—
Then:
"Your child disagrees with something."
—
Prince Rui blinked.
—
Once.
Twice.
—
Then completely forgot how language worked.
—
A historic event.
—
Then:
"...what?"
—
Shen Li laughed softly.
—
Then took his hand.
Placed it gently against her stomach.
—
Silence.
—
Nothing happened.
—
Then—
a tiny movement.
—
Small.
Brief.
Impossible.
—
The faintest kick.
—
Prince Rui froze.
—
Completely.
—
The Winter General.
The Hero of the North.
The Terror of Battlefields.
The Man Who Faced Armies.
—
Defeated.
Entirely defeated.
By a kick.
—
Silence filled the room.
Warm silence.
Precious silence.
—
Then another tiny movement.
—
And Prince Rui smiled.
—
Not the smile seen in court.
Not the smile seen during celebrations.
—
Something softer.
Something deeper.
—
Something only family ever witnessed.
—
Then quietly—
almost reverently—
he whispered:
"Hello."
—
Shen Li's eyes immediately filled with tears.
—
Because somehow—
that single word contained everything.
Wonder.
Love.
Hope.
Home.
—
Then Prince Rui looked up.
Still overwhelmed.
Still astonished.
Still hopeless.
—
Then:
"This prince has been kicked."
—
Silence.
—
Then Shen Li laughed.
—
And the sound carried through the summer evening.
Through the open window.
Through the peaceful residence.
—
Because after all the years of war and survival—
the smallest victory felt like the greatest one.