Chapter 5: Chapter 834: Aren't You Taking Your Royal Father Traveling?

"Mm!"

The little prince felt that what Mu Qingge said made perfect sense, but, "Are we not taking Father on our travels?"

Father has always missed Mother very much; if he doesn't come along this time, won't Father be sad?

"Father still has matters to attend to." When Mu Qingge spoke to her son, her tone was always light and soft, carrying that cute, melodic lilt reserved for talking to children. "Father is a man of stature; he must prioritize the world and his duties, so he cannot always be out traveling."

"Zhan'er understands."

Although the little prince said this, his lowered face still held a trace of disappointment.

Mu Qingge kissed her son, hugging his fragrant, soft little body, and coaxed him: "Of course, it’s not that we can never take Father along. After Father finishes his work, and after we return to the capital, we can certainly take Father with us to play."

"Really?"

"I promise!" Mu Qingge raised three fingers on her right hand, solemnly pointing to the sky to swear: "Mother keeps her word!"

"Mm!"

The light returned to the little prince's eyes. "I will listen to Mother."

And so, after buying a large pile of things, the two rented a carriage. With two guards sent by Ji Ziyan acting as coachmen, the four of them headed north.

They traveled while sightseeing.

Everywhere they went, she would take her son to see the most unique local spots, eat the local specialties, and if they happened upon an interesting local festival, she would take him to participate.

Of course, a child's studies could not be neglected.

Actually, Mu Qingge felt it didn't matter much, but the little prince was unwilling to fall behind.

He always insisted on reading a certain amount and practicing his calligraphy for a certain number of pages every day.

Mu Qingge couldn't win against her son, so she let him be.

However, she felt that her son’s academic studies could be put aside for a bit. She had him write down what he ate every day and where he went, essentially keeping a record of what he saw and thought throughout the day.

Mu Qingge felt that this would help deepen his memory, and at the same time, when the child grew up, looking back on it would bring a special kind of feeling.

The little prince had read quite a few books, though they were relatively simple, and he had practiced writing many characters, but his literacy was still limited, and he had never written prose before.

Writing these things was actually still quite strenuous for him.

However, although he was as quiet as snow, he was someone who was not ashamed to ask questions. When recording, if there were characters he didn't know, he would ask Mu Qingge; if he didn't know how to describe a scene, he would also ask for advice. In this stumbling manner, he managed to write a rough account.

While her son was writing, Mu Qingge would sit to the side and draw his portrait.

When her son finished, she took it, looked it over, and smiled, commenting: "Not bad, this is at the level of a third or fourth-grade essay."

"Third or fourth grade?"

The little prince knew it was a compliment, but hearing a term he didn't understand, he asked curiously: "Mother, what is that?"

"Hmm..."

Mu Qingge rubbed her chin, pondering before giving an answer: "For example, if a person starts attending a school at six or seven years old, third or fourth grade means they have been attending school for about three or four years."

The little prince understood, his small face flushing red. "Mother overpraises me. Zhan'er has only just begun to write narratives; it is not written well."

"It is already very good. Zhan'er is only six years old."

Moreover, the characters her son wrote were much neater and more beautiful than those of elementary school students.

Thinking of this, she asked: "Zhan'er, when did you start your enlightenment?"

The little prince thought for a moment and answered earnestly: "Father started teaching me to recognize characters when I was four. When I was even younger, the nannies and wet nurses said that Father would hold me every day while reading various books and ledgers, and he would also show me picture books. They said Zhan'er must have been influenced by hearing and seeing it, but I have no memory of it."

Listening to this, Mu Qingge’s mind conjured an image of Rong Jue holding the child and coaxing him gently while handling official business. Her heart warmed, and suddenly, she missed Rong Jue very much.

Over these years, she had truly missed so much.

In that picture, she should have been there too.

If she had been there all these years, while Rong Zhan was handling affairs in the West Wing, she would have had someone cover the entire floor with soft rugs. She would have been the one to carry and play with Zhan'er; when he was a few months old, she would hold him, and when she got tired, she would pass him to Rong Jue.

When he was a little older, she and Rong Zhan would have personally held him on either side, teaching him to walk step by step, from stumbling to walking firmly; they would have taught him to speak word by word, witnessing him go from babbling to speaking clearly, from soft whimpers to tender, milky sounds, listening to him call out "Father" and "Mother" at various stages.

When he was older, Rong Jue would teach his son arithmetic and martial arts, and she would teach him reading and painting, perhaps even medicine.

She could even tell him about astronomy and geography, about the vast universe, and about the four seasons of all things.

She would use the most interesting ways he could understand to tell him these things, and she could even draw children's picture books for him personally. If he were interested in something, she would tell him even more.

It was a pity that she had missed the six years of his growth.

Six years, over seventy months, more than two thousand days and nights.

"Mother, are you crying?"

Seeing Mu Qingge’s eyes redden as she held the essay he had written, the little prince grew anxious. "Why are you crying? Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"

"No."

Mu Qingge wiped her eyes. Seeing that he had also turned red-eyed because of her, her heart felt both sour and soft. She reached out and pulled her son into her arms. "Mother knows medicine; if I were unwell, I would know it myself. Mother is just feeling emotional, thankful that I was able to return in time."

In time to come back.

"Mm?"

The little prince slowly buried his slightly stiff little body into his mother's arms, then solemnly patted her back with his small hands. "Mother doesn't need to be emotional about things. If there is anything, just tell Father and Zhan'er. Father and Zhan'er will work hard to do it well for Mother."

Mother's embrace was different from Father's. Father's embrace was broad and firm, while Mother's was warm and soft. For some reason, in Mother's arms, he wanted to rely on her just as he did with Father, but compared to when he was with Father, he felt an extra sense of mission.

Mother should be smiling, not crying.

Whenever she cried, he felt sad.

Hearing his serious, caring, milky voice, Mu Qingge’s tears and laughter came out at the same time. "Pfft!"

She laughed while wiping her tears. Once finished, she held the child’s arms and looked him in the eye, saying: "Zhan'er, Mother wants to tell you that whatever you want to do, or whatever thoughts you have, you can tell Mother and Father. You must not keep them hidden in your heart; you must speak them out, do you understand?"

"Okay."

The little prince nodded obediently.

"My Zhan'er is so good." Looking at her son's face, Mu Qingge didn't know why, but the tears flowed out again.

The little prince furrowed his small brows and reached out to wipe her tears.

"Don't frown."

Mu Qingge said softly: "Mother is crying tears of joy, not sadness. Zhan'er doesn't need to worry, okay?"

"Okay."