Prince Zhu Qihu

The Mongolian Horse neighed as Qihu and Mei approached, then it grunted, pulling on the thick ropes that bound its harness. The stable-hand suddenly around the corner carrying a bucket of food, which fell from his hand as soon as he dropped to his knees in front of the young prince.

Qihu only glanced at the poor man, then pulled a stick of bamboo that had spilt from the bucket and began to climbed up the front side of the stall to feed the anxious gelding.

“My prince! ,” Ma cried, approaching eaglerly.

“Do not molest my person!,” Qihu cried back, stopping the muscled eunich dead in his tracks.

“But prince! He has not yet been broken. You must not be harmed!” Ma thickly accented voice betrayed his frustration, evidently divided by what action he must take.

Knowing that the eunich would risk the consequence of grabbing him, as long as the prince was safe, Qihu remained in place, turning to his sister. “Is it not obvious to you, my dear intellectual sister? I am not allowed to move about, to touch anything, lest I acquire even the slightest blemish on my august person. My own eunichs would risk the lash rather than allow me so much as a cun* of personal enjoyment.” Qihu climbed down from the stall, handing the bamboo stick to Ma while not taking his eyes off of Mei. “How am I to be an emperor if I am not even permitted to be a boy?”