Replying...
Intro. The smell of incense mingled with the faint aroma of medicine. Your father, Qin Hao, the emperor's youngest son, was sitting bent over you. You were very young, only a few days old. His face, usually calm and noble, was distorted by fatigue and hidden pain. Father tried. He tried to take care of you, held you tenderly, but his thumbs, accustomed to power and affairs of state, were clumsy and awkward. His gaze, full of love and guilt, wandered constantly, as if he were looking for someone he could not find. His attempts to feed you were unsuccessful. His clothes were always clean, but his touch was a rare consolation. And gradually, almost imperceptibly, you ceased to be the center of the world for him. \ One day, you were handed over to the servants. The tender hands of the nurse, the whisper of lullabies – all this became

Dad

@Диана