Chapter 251 A Gift Across Time

Hongzhao ignored the palace servant holding the dog's repeated pleas for forgiveness, waved away Xiao Dezi who was about to go and clean up the mess, and moved his stiff legs straight toward the box.

He was familiar with every plant and tree in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, but he had never seen this box before, even with its exquisite packaging.

His intuition told him to open the box.

The table wasn't far from where he reviewed memorials every day; it was only two steps away. In the blink of an eye, he picked up the box.

The box was covered in embroidery, and even before you got close, a unique woody fragrance wafted into your nose. Hongzhao held the heavy box with one hand, opened the metal clasp, and the contents were slowly revealed to him.

Inside, quietly placed, was a picture book.

He eagerly turned to the first page, and the ancient and rustic atmosphere that greeted him immediately caught his eye.

This is a snow-viewing painting with a large area of ​​white as the background. The painter has captured the spirit of Yinzhen in the painting. At that time, he was still in his prime, and his hair and beard were not yet gray. He was wearing Han Chinese clothes and sitting by the stove, holding a red swaddled baby in his arms, with a small head peeking out from inside.

Yinzhen stared with a smile at the baby peeking out from inside the swaddling clothes, the book beside him already having several pages blown over by the wind, but he didn't care.

The ease and comfort of the people in the painting are obvious. The contrast between the snow-white background, the orange-yellow stove, and the fiery red swaddling clothes in Yinzhen's arms makes Hongzhao frown slightly and squint his eyes.

He didn't remember his father holding him and asking an artist to paint his portrait; he had a photographic memory from a young age. If such an amusing incident had occurred, he naturally wouldn't forget it.

He stretched out his cool fingertips and gently stroked the painting. The painting looked antique, but it was deliberately aged and could not have been completed in more than a year.

He felt his breathing quicken involuntarily, and his hands couldn't help but continue to roll backward.

As expected, every subsequent painting depicted the father and son. There was a scholar playing the zither with a curious child haphazardly plucking the strings beside him, and an old fisherman fishing alone on a cold river with a child beside him holding a fish bigger than his own face and laughing unrestrainedly.

There was a Taoist priest in a Taoist robe with an otherworldly air, accompanied by a young Taoist boy who had grown quite a bit taller; there was an old farmer in a straw raincoat in the field, with a boy beside him wielding a hoe with great enthusiasm.

There are sixteen paintings in total, each with different scenery, clothing, and social status. However, without exception, the faces in each painting depict the aging Yinzhen, but the bells or jade buckles are clearly tied to their braids, making each painting a different age of Hongzhao.

These sixteen paintings seem to record these sixteen years of his life.

The Emperor is always busy with state affairs and has to do everything personally. They simply don't have time to go to these places, let alone have the leisure to wear Han Chinese clothes and steal a half-day of peace.

Then it can only be...

Before Hongzhao could react, the last page of the picture book was turned, and a note with writing on it fluttered out and landed on Hongzhao's shoe.

He crouched down, holding his breath, and picked up the thin piece of paper.

"Like orchids and jade trees reflecting in the hall, your beauty shines through the seasons. On this auspicious day of my son's birth, I hope you will be as luxuriant as pine and cypress, undaunted by the cold of winter."

The calligraphy, described as "silver hooks and iron strokes," is the result of my own practice of copying it hundreds of times.

This is a birthday gift that Ama prepared for himself on his sixteenth birthday.

Hongzhao wore a bitter smile, though his lips were upturned. His beautiful eyes, however, were clearly filled with sorrow.

"It's true that people get forgetful as they get older. I've been reminding you for so many months, but you still forgot to tell me about this gift."

Did he really forget? Or did Yinzhen always feel that he could personally deliver this gift to Hongzhao?

As Hongzhao prepared this long-awaited gift and personally wrote the elegantly written note, he imagined his father smiling, and how surprised he would be. He thought he couldn't help but smile.

Everyone in the hall had left at some point, and even Xiao Dezi shrank back and stood in the corner to minimize his presence.

With no one else around to see, Hongzhao allowed himself to be vulnerable for a moment.

He then half-squatted down and wiped his red eyes, but the sour feeling in his heart was something he couldn't shake off.

This forgotten gift, by sheer chance, finally crossed the chasm of life and death and was delivered to Hongzhao at the most opportune time.

Father is gone, but his love remains. Just like every ordinary scene in the story, it will continue to stir up ripples in his heart on every ordinary day to come.

"Xiao Dezi, go and set this picture album up, just put it in..."

Hongzhao, supporting himself on the table and holding the picture book, slowly stood up, frowned slightly, looked around the room, and finally his gaze fell on the most obvious open space.

That's where the calligraphy he wrote used to hang.

He pointed, and Xiao Dezi looked in the direction he was looking, understanding dawning on him.

"Just leave it there; it's definitely a good spot where you can see it as soon as you look up."

People frequently come and go in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, whether they are ministers or concubines. The first thing they see upon entering is the album of paintings.

Anyone who heard this couldn't help but sigh and say, "Such filial piety between father and son is rare even in ordinary families, let alone in the imperial family. It's truly a cruel twist of fate."

Otherwise, they would really like to see if the late emperor had lived another twenty years, would this album have twenty more pages, or would it have ended up like the Holy Ancestor and the deposed crown prince, a tragic end?

Even the Empress Dowager remained silent for a long time upon hearing this. Then, looking at Hongzhou and Hongyan reciting their lessons and making merry in the courtyard, a trace of nostalgia, perhaps tinged with guilt, appeared in her beautiful eyes. But more than anything, a profound meaning surged within her for a moment before gradually subsiding.

She sighed softly, her voice low and hoarse, as if speaking to Xuexin beside her, or perhaps to someone in the distance: "I have always been reluctant to admit it, but compared to the late Emperor, I am far inferior to Hongzhao."

Even Xuexin, who was most loyal to his empress, fell silent upon hearing these words, a rare occurrence for him.

The Empress naturally has her own difficulties; all four children are equally dear to her. However, the Emperor truly has no complaints about the Crown Prince.

But it must be said that the happiest person was the palace servant who was holding the dog. Not only was he spared punishment, but the meritorious little dog also received a lot more food, and he strolled around the palace with his head held high, displaying the "big red flower" bestowed by the emperor.