“Just make it through the day. I just have to make it through the day,” Zhu Biao told himself over and over, repeating it as if this mantra would somehow speed the passage of time and free him from his abysmal prison.

Biao looked out the chamber window. He could see the sun rising into the clear blue skies; puffy little wisps of clouds speckled here and there.

“Zhu Biao!” snapped his teacher. Biao whipped his head back to his parchments. His teacher was looking at him sternly.

‘This is ridiculous,’ he thought to himself, ‘I could be relaxing in the gardens right now.’

“You cannot go to play in the gardens until you are done with your days studies, now, in the campaign against the northern province, what strategy did Emperor Wu employ?”

How Biao’s teacher managed to always know what he was thinking amazed Biao. In any case, Biao did not want to learn of war. He hated war, and all things related to it. But his teacher loved it so much, Biao sometimes wondered if his teacher had been in love with a soldier.

At the thought of this Biao snickered. His teacher snapped down his wand on Biao’s desk, and Biao sat bolt upright.

Biao looked at his teacher. His teacher glared at him.

“Do you know the answer Zhu Biao?”

“No teacher,” he said softly.

“Misdirection, Zhu Biao, that is what he used. By sending a battalion of soldiers through the eastern corridor, he was able to fool the enemy into concentrating their forces there to defend from his army, all while leading his men from the western mountains to attack them from the rear. You are already 12 years of age, Zhu Biao, you must learn these things soon if you are to lead the empire.” Biao hung his head in his hands, sticking his elbows up on the table, but still being careful to not be spotted by his evil teacher.

Biao sat later that night in his finest robes, his father at the end of the table. He was sitting closest to his father, his younger brother Zhu Di sitting across the table from him. Biao watched as their meals arrived, tasters testing every meal for poison. They then placed the plates of tasty delicacies in front of the Emperor, then in front of Biao, then Di. Di was only fourth son, while Biao was first son. That made Biao the crown prince, and thus successor to the throne, and of higher rank than his brother.

The Emperor took his first bite of the meal, then waved permission for the others to begin. Biao took up his chopsticks and began shoveling his chow-mien down, then, seeing his younger brothers disgust, he slowed, sitting up straight in his chair and trying to look as elegant as possible. Di was only two years younger than Biao, but he was far more mature. He followed the rules of conduct to the letter. Biao was pretty sure he did this in hopes of some day stealing the title of Crown Prince.

“Biao, how are your studies?” Asked the Emperor, pausing in his meal. Biao quickly stopped eating and swallowed, turning to his father.

“We studied the northern campaign of Emperor Wu of the Hang Dynasty today, as well as recent events in the empire,” said Biao, his words as clear and crisp as possible.

“Ah, yes, Wu was a clever strategist, you can learn much from him,” said the Emperor with a grin, “And what of you, Di? Do your studies go well?”

“Today I discussed with my teacher the formation of the empire, and your involvement in the Red Turban Movement that lead to the defeat of the Mongols,” Di tried to sound more mature than Biao when he said it. Biao rolled his eyes, but was careful not to let this be seen by the Emperor.

The Emperor nodded, and then continued eating.

“And what do you think of my rise to power, Di?” Di hesitated, not knowing how to respond. He tread on a thin line. One false step and he could lose face with the Emperor.

“Your military command was key in the defeat of the Mongols, it was clear from the texts that without you the Ming armies would undoubtedly never have succeeded.” The Emperor nodded slightly, as if acknowledging Di’s attempt, but showing that he was aware of his true motives.

“Father did indeed lead a strong campaign,” said Biao, then turning to his father, “But why have you been banishing or killing many of your past allies that helped you unite the empire? Surely they deserve your thanks.”

“Ah Biao,” said the Emperor, smiling. The Emperor liked Biao for questions like this, “Those men are fighters, not leaders. We have no reason to fight now. This empire has blossomed and now I am simply cutting the thorns from the stem.”

Biao did not fully understand what his father meant. He did not see why men had to die or be banished, especially if they had helped the Emperor. If these were their countrymen, how could they treat them in ways they reserved for Mongols and traitors?

Biao sat on his small raft, floating in the middle of the large pond inside the palace gardens. Two other boats flanked him, each carrying one of his personal guard. They followed him everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Biao could never escape them, and most likely never would, at least until he became emperor.

“Ling Cheung, Fang Zi, leave my presence,” Biao would snap, like he had heard his father snap to his servants, but they would only move further away, like shadows streaking away in the evening sun, hidden, but ever present.

He had done just that when he boarded his raft, but they had simply gotten into two other boats and followed him.

“Will you ever leave me alone?” muttered Biao. The peace and tranquility he had hoped to attain was ruined by the wakes of their boats.

They said nothing in reply. They never did. Biao liked to taunt them by suddenly addressing paintings or statues as if they were the two guards, hoping to get a rise out of them, but he never succeeded.

Then Biao had an idea. He stood up on his raft, the bamboo poles that compiled it creaking under him. He tore off his heavy silk robes, leaving only his light cotton undergarments on, then dove away from the two men, swimming as hard as he could.

The two men leaped into the water behind them. And as Biao expected, their dark robes turned to lead in the water. They tried to catch him, shouting “Prince Zhu Biao, Prince Zhu Biao!” fruitlessly. Biao reached the shore and tore off his undershirt and leggings, leaving only a small cloth over his genitals. As mad as father would be, Biao had the chance to escape the guards and he wasn’t going to let a trail of water lead them right to him.

Biao ran through the gardens, darting over bushes and under branches; through the rock garden, over boulders and through tunnels; into the water garden, across streams and around gullies. He hadn’t lost them though. He had other guards, and they had started after him when he reached shore. They had managed to keep up with him. Being skilled soldiers, their agility was immense. But Biao was still a small boy, and he could run through places they could not without difficulty.

Then he remembered his lesson from the day before.

“Misdirection,” he murmured to himself. Perhaps his teacher had managed to somehow teach him something useful.

Biao changed his course, running towards the living quarters. The space would be more open, and it would be difficult to avoid detection, but he might make it. He dashed full speed across the marching grounds, a few servants quickly dropping what they were doing to join the chase. But Biao knew the rules. He quickly exposed a sliver of his buttocks, and they, by law, were forced to turn away. The fact that they had even started to chase him in his current state had already been breaking some rules.

Biao made it to the servant’s quarters. He raised his arms as he barged in the doors, and silenced them all.

“Find me four boys my size, and dress us all in identical clothing!” He ordered, while the servants had no obligation to obey Biao’s every word, the sight of the Crown Prince nearly naked and shouting angrily would get any of them go to hell and back without a second thought. They all scrambled about their cramped little room, hurrying to complete their job. Within seconds Biao was being dressed to look like the four boys that had been brought forth. He tucked his queue into his shirt like they had, then had them all follow him into the hallway outside the quarters. Guards were just reaching the hall. But there were exits everywhere.

“Now, each of you, run in different directions. Try to make it to any exit of the palace. If you are caught, tell them you had my consent to do so, and that you are not to be harmed or punished in any way by order of the Crown Prince. Now go!” He shouted, then, mixing their paths, they ran together. It became impossible to tell them apart. Then, they split up.

Biao made it all the way back to the gardens without being caught. He had lost the guards when he ran through a group of servants that were cleaning the quarters of one of his fathers concubines. The tussle that resulted in the guards colliding with the servants gave him enough time to grab some of their cleaning equipment and sneak out looking like a servant. He made his way through the palace like this until reaching the gardens, then stripped once more and swam out to his raft. Once there he redressed back into his golden silk robes. Their soft texture was welcoming after the itchy cotton robes of the servants.

Biao sighed with contentment, and then lay down on his raft. He stretched out his limbs happily, proud of his cunning, and overjoyed to finally be free.

The guards looked everywhere for Biao for hours, never thinking to look on the raft, and never noticing him when they passed by, his body lying flat on the raft and concealed by the two abandoned rafts floating on either side of it. It took them until dusk to spot him.

Upon capture Biao was taken to face the Emperor.

“Zhu Biao, first son of Emperor Hang and Crown Prince of the Empire,” announced the doorman, as the doors to the Grand Chamber were opened. This was the place where all of the Empires chief decisions were made. This was its core, and Biao was walking right into it for having run nearly naked through the royal gardens.

“Zhu Biao!” roared his father. Biao quickly dropped to the floor, forehead pressed to the ground as hard as he could. He prayed that those four hours of peace would be worth the coming punishment. “How dare you defile the palace grounds with your childish immaturity! What were you thinking?”

“I simply wished to be alone, Father, I am sorry,” Biao said quickly, not daring to look up.

“If you wish for solitude then go visit the Temple! Not run from your guards!”

“I am sorry Father.” The Emperor, standing above Biao, his face red with anger, let his shoulders sink and sighed. He took a seat in his throne.

“How you managed to evade the guard is an entirely different matter,” he muttered, just loud enough for the Chief of Security, who was standing nearby, to hear. The Chief shifted his weight slightly, a nervous look crossing his bearded face.

“I used misdirection, like Emperor Wu during the northern campaign,” said Biao, fearing that any omitted information in this first testimony would later come back to haunt him.

“What was that?” said the Emperor, leaning forwards, waving for him to stand. Biao stood nervously.

He glanced around at the group of advisers that filled the room. They each sat in their own chairs, much like his fathers but smaller and less ornate, “I dressed like a servant then had four other boys my size run with me, then made them split up so that I could escape,” he said, “The guards were unable to determine which was me, so had to split up and thin their numbers. It was easy to get away after that.” He looked nervously at his father, and watched for his reaction.

Then something strange happened, his fathers frown disappeared, slowly changing. His cheeks dimpled as a smile creased his face. Then he started to laugh. He laughed, and kept laughing for some time. Biao said nothing, remaining as still and white as the marble statues that decorated the hall.

Eventually the Emperor stopped and looked back at Biao.

“Very good, Biao, very good. For that you shall not face punishment this day, but get caught again, and I shall not be so forgiving,” said the Emperor, walking over to Biao and embracing him like any other proud father would, then, leaning down to Biao’s ear so that none else could hear, “So next time don’t get caught.”

The Emperor went back to his throne, waving Biao away. Biao bowed deep and quickly shuffled out the door. It boomed shut behind him.

Biao stood, looking out across the promenade before him.

“You always get away with everything,” said Di, almost growling. He stood by the door with his two guards behind him. Biao’s guards appeared out of nowhere, taking up places beside him. They were going to be pretty careful about watching him now. Likely those few hours of freedom cost him a few years. Biao sighed.

“Things are not always as simple as they appear, brother,” he said softly, walking down the gray marble steps to the promenade, careful not to tread on the shining white jade path reserved for his father that ran down the staircase next to him. Someday that path would be his, and only his. Someday it would be the only place his shadows would not follow him.