Making up

Qi Yu had not been to Xuanzheng Hall for seven days. On the third day, when he carried tea into the West Warm Pavilion, he habitually set out an extra cup. It was a celadon cup, slightly smaller than the imperial one, prepared especially for the Fourth Prince. Qi Xiao looked up from reviewing memorials, glanced at the empty cup, and said nothing. De'an quietly removed it again. On the fifth day, the Almond Cream sent over by the Imperial Kitchen was carried back untouched. The imperial cook was so frightened that he knelt on the floor, puzzling for ages over what he had done wrong. By the seventh day, even the young eunuchs sweeping beneath the covered walkway sensed something was amiss. They whispered among themselves, wondering why they had not seen the Fourth Prince running along this path for so many days.

Qi Yu went about his days as usual. He rose early, went to lessons in the Imperial Study, finished lessons, and returned to Yuning Hall. Back and forth between two places, perfectly well behaved.

In the Imperial Study, Grand Tutor Sun had reached the Great Plan Chapter in the Book of Documents. Qi Yu sat by the window, a book spread before him and a brush in his hand. Qin Wei glanced at him several times. Usually, whenever the tutor reached the passage on the Five Phases, Qi Yu was bound to chime in from his seat, saying something about metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, and how Qin Wei belonged to earth-hard and dull. Today, he listened quietly and even wrote down the order of the Five Phases Generative Cycle in his notebook. His handwriting was not particularly good, but every line was correct.

During the break, the Second Prince, Qi Ming, walked past his desk, and his sleeve knocked Qi Yu's brush off it. The brush rolled across the desktop and fell to the floor with a clack. Qi Ming looked down at the brush, then at Qi Yu. Usually, Qi Yu would have exploded by now; even if he did not say, "Second Brother, you did that on purpose," he would at least glare at him. Today, Qi Yu bent down, picked up the brush, wiped the dust off on his sleeve, set it back on the desk, and opened his book to keep reading. Standing there, Qi Ming was the one who did not know what to say. He lingered a moment, then turned and left.

After lessons, Qin Wei packed Qi Yu's book bag for him and handed it over. Qi Yu took it and thanked him. Qin Wei waited a moment, expecting Qi Yu to say, "Come on, let's go to the Imperial Garden," or, "Come on, let's go to Xuanzheng Hall." Qi Yu said nothing. Carrying his book bag, he left the Imperial Study and headed toward Yuning Hall. Qin Wei stood beneath the covered walkway, watching that pale-yellow figure disappear around a bend in the palace path. The collar of his robe was edged with white rabbit fur; it was an autumn outfit he had only changed into a few days ago. Whenever Qi Yu wore new clothes, the first thing he did was run to Xuanzheng Hall to show them off. Today, he wore his new clothes back to Yuning Hall, as though they were merely clothes.

In Yuning Hall, Chun He brought in a plate of washed grapes. They were tribute from the south, gleaming purple, their skins thin enough for light to shine through. Qi Yu put one in his mouth, chewed, and spat the skin into his palm. Watching from beside him, A Ping did a little reckoning. In the past, his prince could eat more than half a plate of grapes, then claim he was saving the remaining few for the rabbits, though he actually ate those himself too. Today, he had touched only two.

The rabbits, however, were not neglected. Qi Yu visited the Side Hall every morning and evening, breaking a carrot into three pieces and feeding them one piece at a time. Today, the gray rabbit snatched the carrot from his hand and crunched away at it. The light gray rabbit lay nearby, nudging his palm with its head. He stroked the light gray rabbit's ears, and the corners of his mouth lifted briefly. Only briefly, then the smile was gone. A Ping saw it from beside him and felt that fleeting smile hurt more than seeing his prince not smile at all.

Chun He pulled A Ping out beneath the covered walkway and asked in a hushed voice, "What's wrong with His Highness? Has he had a falling-out with His Majesty?" A Ping shook his head. This was not a falling-out; he would not be so quiet if it were. After a quarrel with the Second Prince, he could fume all day, and even after a scolding from His Majesty, he could pout and drink all the tea in Xuanzheng Hall. This silence was more like something weighing on his heart, pressing down so heavily that even he could not explain it.

At dusk on the seventh day, Qi Xiao finished reviewing the last memorial and laid the Vermilion Brush on the Brush Rest. De'an stepped forward to collect the memorials and discovered that the cup of tea on the imperial desk was still full, not a sip taken. Qi Xiao leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. Beyond it lay Xuanzheng Hall's rear covered walkway, where bamboo rustled in the wind. It was almost dark, and the palace lanterns beneath the eaves had not yet been lit.

"How many days?"

De'an's hands paused. He knew what His Majesty was asking. It was not how many days remained until the Autumn Examination. He turned, bowed, and lowered his voice a little more than usual. "Your Majesty, seven days."

Qi Xiao said nothing. After a moment, he lifted the thoroughly cold tea and took a sip. De'an tried to stop him but was too late. The cold tea went down Qi Xiao's throat. He set down the cup, rose, and walked out. De'an hurried after him.

"Your Majesty, will you be going to Jiaofang Hall tonight, or..."

"To Yuning Hall."

The corners of De'an's mouth twitched, and he trotted to keep up. He had known it. Seven days was already the limit. The last time the Fourth Prince had quarreled with the Second Prince in the Imperial Study, he had only managed to stay away for two days before squeezing into the West Warm Pavilion on the third, using the delivery of osmanthus cakes as an excuse. Seven days this time-De'an knew without having to think. He had no children, but he had spent nearly thirty years in this palace. He had watched the Fourth Prince grow from a swaddled infant into a youth, from a little ball of flesh crawling all over the imperial desk into a half-grown boy who could struggle with himself. Silently, he had counted the days. One day, two days, three days. When he reached the seventh, he knew it was time for His Majesty to go.

Dinner had not yet been cleared away in Yuning Hall. Four dishes and a soup stood on the table. Qi Yu sat with chopsticks in hand, having placed a piece of steamed fish in his bowl without eating it. Chun He ladled out soup beside him and placed the bowl within his reach. It was Pork Rib and Chinese Yam Soup, from the same batch as the pot taken to Xuanzheng Hall last time. The yam had simmered until soft, and the meat on the ribs was so tender it fell apart at a touch of the chopsticks. Qi Yu prodded a rib with the tips of his chopsticks but did not pick it up.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the hall. Qi Yu's chopsticks stopped. The door was pushed open, and Chun He turned, nearly dropping the ladle into the pot. She quickly set it down, dipped into a curtsy, and withdrew to one side. Qi Xiao stood in the doorway, still wearing the Black Everyday Robe he had worn to morning court, the silver patterns on its cuffs gleaming faintly in the candlelight. He stepped inside, swept his gaze over the table, and finally settled it on Qi Yu's face.

Qi Yu rose, his movements half a beat slower than usual. He approached his father, lifted the hem of his robe, and knelt. "Greetings, Father." His voice was level, his eyes fixed on a seam between the floor tiles.

Qi Xiao looked down at him. On previous visits to Yuning Hall, Qi Yu would come charging over before he was even through the door. Sometimes he collided with his waist; sometimes he leaped onto him from behind and hung around his neck. Today, he knelt here properly, just like the other princes. Qi Xiao gave a single command: "Rise."

Qi Yu stood, his hands hanging at his sides, still looking at the floor. Qi Xiao went to the table and sat down. Chun He hurried to add a bowl and chopsticks. Qi Xiao picked up his chopsticks and placed a rib in Qi Yu's bowl. "Sit down and eat."

Qi Yu sat, picked up the rib in his bowl with his chopsticks, and took a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then took another bite. The two ate quietly. The only sounds at the table were chopsticks touching bowls and the occasional faint clink of a spoon against a bowl's rim as it stirred the soup. Chun He and A Ping withdrew outside the door. Chun He mouthed a question to A Ping about what was going on, and he shook his head lightly. He did not know either. Once this meal was over, some things ought to be put behind them.

After the meal, Chun He cleared the dishes and brought freshly brewed tea. Qi Xiao sat on the couch, holding a teacup. Qi Yu stood beside him with a cup of his own, his head lowered as he watched the tea stem floating in it. The stem stood upright in the middle of the tea, supposedly a good omen. Qi Yu watched it and touched his lips to the rim without drinking.

"What have you been studying in the Imperial Study these past few days?" Qi Xiao asked.

A question, an answer. Today, Qi Yu was not chattering, making jokes, or seizing the chance to steer the conversation toward the Ministry of Revenue's inability to save money. His answers were very proper, so proper that he scarcely seemed himself. Qi Xiao set his cup on the table. It made little noise against the tabletop, but Qi Yu's shoulders moved slightly. Qi Xiao leaned back against the couch and watched the youth standing before him. Qi Yu lowered his head again and stared at the toes of his boots. There was a patch of dust on one toe, probably picked up while feeding the rabbits today. His lashes hung low, casting a small shadow over his eyelids.

"Look up."

Qi Yu lifted his head and looked at his father, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away. Qi Xiao watched him like this and remained silent for a long while. He had not come for seven days. He still attended lessons, ate his meals, and fed the rabbits. Nothing had been neglected. He simply stopped coming. He did not come to Xuanzheng Hall, did not come to cadge tea, did not bring pastries, did not sprawl over the imperial desk and chatter about whatever interesting thing the tutor had taught that day. No fuss, no tantrums, no slammed doors or talking back. He had simply withdrawn himself quietly from his father's life. This move was harsher than any crying fit.

"Come here," Qi Xiao said.

Qi Yu cried for a little under half the time it took to drink a cup of tea, then gradually stopped. He lifted his face from his father's shoulder, the tip of his nose red and droplets of tears still clinging to his lashes. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, rubbing it over his face several times until his cheeks reddened. Seeing his disheveled state, Qi Xiao took a handkerchief from his sleeve and handed it over. Qi Yu accepted it, pressed it to his nose, and blew hard. The loud sound echoed once in the quiet bedchamber. Afterward, he handed the handkerchief back to his father. Qi Xiao looked at the crumpled cloth and set it on the table.

Outside the window, the night was already deep. The palace lanterns went out one by one, until only one remained lit beneath the covered walkway. The persimmon tree in the courtyard swayed gently in the night breeze, its yellow leaves falling one by one onto the blue-gray flagstones.

At last, Qi Yu smiled. It was the first time in seven days that Chun He and A Ping had seen their prince smile. Qi Xiao looked down at that little smile and patted his back. "Have A Ping fetch water. Wash your feet."

Qi Yu sprang out of his arms and called toward the door. His voice still carried a tearful rasp, but some of its usual clarity had returned. A Ping answered from outside, and his footsteps pattered away. Chun He peeked through the gap in the door and saw her prince taking that cotton pillow from the cupboard. She also saw the emperor sitting on the edge of the couch, with the cotton pillow and the brocade pillow placed side by side.

The wind outside had died, and the persimmon tree stood quietly in the moonlight. Beneath the covered walkway, De'an tucked his hands into his sleeves, leaned against a pillar, and glanced toward the bedchamber. It was quiet inside, and the light had gone out too. The wrinkles at the corners of his mouth eased slightly in the moonlight, and he turned toward the tea room. After a few steps, he stopped and instructed a young eunuch nearby, "Tomorrow morning, the Imperial Kitchen's Almond Cream should still have half the sugar. Don't forget." The young eunuch understood and darted away. De'an gathered his sleeves and walked slowly along the covered walkway. The moonlight stretched his shadow long over the blue-gray flagstones, his steps light.