Xie Xianyu, courtesy name Quchen. The legitimate son of the Marquis of Zhenbei and the acknowledged good-for-nothing heir of the capital. For twenty-two years he has been mild-mannered and slow-witted, unconcerned with the affairs of the world, spending his days tending flowers and plants—even the servants in his own household dare to talk about him behind his back. When someone mocked him to his face as a Jade Bodhisattva, he would only smile and lower his head to turn a page of his book. No one knew that beneath the withered orchid in his study lay a stack of papers filled with names and dates, every stroke corresponding to an old case at court. No one saw that at eighteen he mingled among the grain-escorting laborers for a distant glimpse of the battlefield, came home and vomited all night, and watered the flowers as usual the next morning. And no one ever discovered that he once spent an entire night tracing a city defense map in the snow, scuffed it flat with one kick before dawn, and said with a smile that he was just doodling. He has waited
I have waited too long.