For nine whole days, James Foster’s life remained unchanged: he rose before sunrise, a line of palace maids and eunuchs queued up to dress him and put on his hat, then he was led to another room, where a different group of eunuchs and maids undressed him for a bath in a tub. After a quarter of an hour, he changed into a fresh set of clothes and hat, then moved to a bright, clean little chamber, where he knelt on a cushion, staring at the attire left behind by the founding emperor, until the afternoon when he could eat his first meal. Though there were over a dozen attendants serving tea and carrying trays, the food was only rice porridge and a bit of pickled vegetables.

This kind of life was called fasting.

Strictly speaking, James Foster was not yet the emperor of Great Chu. He had already been presented to the ancestral spirits in the imperial temple, but still had to go through a series of ceremonies before he could meet the full court of civil and military officials. Even after significant simplification, the entire process still required half a month to complete.

Inside and outside the palace, throughout the court, everyone was busy with the enthronement, except for James Foster, who had nothing to do. Every day, he knelt in the quiet chamber, his stomach growling, counting the number of moth holes in the founding emperor’s attire over and over, or else admiring the murals on the wall. No one explained the paintings to him, but he guessed they depicted the founding emperor’s battles for the realm.

The vivid, colorful scenes did not look particularly tragic; the founding emperor’s army always won overwhelming victories, with enemies either lying dead everywhere or bowing in submission. The founding emperor rode a white horse, his figure much larger than everyone else’s, exuding heroic spirit.

Bored out of his mind, James Foster began making up stories for the murals, and gradually found some enjoyment in it. So much so that his favorite part of each day became going to the quiet chamber for fasting. He would rather sit alone here than face the constant stream of strangers.

Since leaving the imperial temple, he had not seen William Turner, David Williams, the Empress Dowager, or any of those people. Different eunuchs and maids came and went, but their tasks were always the same. Aside from a few necessary words, they always kept their heads bowed and eyes lowered, deliberately ignoring the new emperor, as if serving a moving puppet.

James Foster truly was not much different from a puppet; only in his mind could he follow the founding emperor, galloping across the battlefield.

On the tenth day, James Foster in the quiet chamber finally received a companion.

Accompanied by two eunuchs, David Williams entered the chamber, his face dark and expressionless. He knelt stiffly, lowered his head, and said, “Your servant pays respects to Your Majesty.”

James Foster was about to rise, but the eunuch Samuel Clark who followed behind David Williams stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, please do not move. This is the chamber of the founding emperor’s attire; the rites between ruler and subject must not be omitted.”

James Foster did not move. Over these days, he had grown used to having everything handled by others, so he did not speak either. After a while, Samuel Clark spoke on the emperor’s behalf: “David Williams, you may rise.”

David Williams stood up, bowing his head even lower.

Another eunuch bowed and placed a cushion behind and to the right of the emperor, then quietly exited the chamber. Samuel Clark said, “By order of the Empress Dowager, David Williams is to attend Your Majesty from this day forward. Please focus on your fasting, Your Majesty. Tomorrow morning you will observe the Ministry of Rites’ ceremony, and fast in the afternoon.” With that, he too withdrew.

James Foster adjusted his posture on the cushion and continued to contemplate the founding emperor’s attire, but this time he could no longer make up stories about the murals. With someone else present, he always felt as if his thoughts might be stolen. David Williams was just behind him to the side, kneeling but restless, his clothes rustling against the cushion, occasionally coughing or sighing.

James Foster turned his head and gave his brother a smile.

David Williams was startled, leaned forward with his hands on the floor—not to kneel, but to get closer and speak in a low voice from his throat, “Don’t get cocky. You’re not a real emperor, just a fake one.”

“I know,” James Foster said, uttering his first words in ten days.

David Williams was startled again, then a trace of disdain appeared on his face. “What do you know? Do you think being a real or fake emperor is a joke? That’s—” He stopped himself.

James Foster turned away, looking at the founding emperor’s attire. He knew he was a puppet, and not one that would last long, but this was not something to be shared with outsiders—except for William Turner.

William Turner had not appeared for ten days. It was as if he had given up on the new emperor, or was deliberately avoiding him. James Foster suspected that the truth he had blurted out in the imperial temple might have frightened the eunuch.

“Everyone thinks you’re obedient, but only I know you’re pretending. But it’s useless—even if you were a hundred times smarter, trapped in the palace you’re still… a turtle in a jar.” David Williams grinned. There were many people in the palace who frightened him, but the soon-to-be enthroned new emperor was not among them.

“Look at the founding emperor’s crown,” James Foster said. Now that he finally had a companion, he hoped to chat a little more.

“What’s there to look at? I’ve seen it before. I even know its history: everyone says the crown has been passed down from ancient times, through five dynasties, and is over a thousand years old. But in fact, only a few of the jewels might be that old; the rest has long since been replaced. As far as I know, during Emperor Wu’s reign alone, at least seven of the jewels were replaced.”

“You really do know a lot,” James Foster said sincerely.