Concern

Dinner was served in Yuning Hall.

The bowls and plates filled the space in front of Qi Yu. When Chun He brought out the last dish, the yam and pork rib soup, he was poking at the rice in his bowl with his chopsticks. After two pokes, he looked up at the seat opposite him. It was empty. Qi Xiao had not come tonight. De'an had brought word that afternoon that His Majesty would be reviewing memorials in Xuanzheng Hall tonight. There were several errors in the autumn tax summary submitted by the Ministry of Revenue, and the figures needed to be recalculated. Qi Yu had said, "Oh," and put the plate of osmanthus cakes De'an had brought in the most conspicuous spot on the table, leaving two pieces.

After dinner, Chun He attended him as he bathed. The water in the tub was just the right temperature, and mugwort leaves drifted gently on the surface. He leaned against the rim and let Chun He wash his hair. As her fingers worked through it, he closed his eyes and suddenly said, "Chun He, what do you think Father is doing now?" Chun He said His Majesty was naturally reviewing memorials. Qi Yu murmured an acknowledgment and said nothing more.

After he bathed and changed into his nightclothes, A Ping came in to dim the corner lamp, and Chun He lowered the bed curtains halfway. Qi Yu lay in bed, rolled over, then rolled back. The pillow smelled faintly of soapberry, not ambergris. He hugged the cotton-covered pillow to his chest and stared blankly at the lamp in the corner.

"A Ping."

A Ping poked his head in through the doorway. "Your Highness."

"Have the sedan chair prepared. We're going to Xuanzheng Hall."

A Ping opened his mouth. He wanted to say that His Highness's hair was not completely dry yet, that the wind had picked up outside, that His Majesty might already have retired. But when he saw Qi Yu's expression, he swallowed it all back and merely answered in acknowledgment.

When the sedan chair reached the entrance to Xuanzheng Hall, De'an was on night duty beneath the covered walkway. With his hands tucked into his sleeves, he leaned against a pillar. Spotting a small sedan chair approaching in the distance, its lantern bearing the character "Yu," he hurriedly straightened. The curtain lifted, and Qi Yu emerged wearing a thin, moon-white cloak loosely tied at the neck. His hair hung loose and was not quite dry.

"Your Highness, His Majesty is still reviewing memorials inside," De'an said as he went to meet him.

Qi Yu murmured an acknowledgment, pushed the door open himself, and went in.

The West Warm Pavilion was brightly lit with candles. Qi Xiao sat behind the imperial desk, the Ministry of Revenue's erroneous autumn tax memorial spread out before him. He looked up at the sound of the door. Qi Yu stood in the doorway, a thin layer of night dew clinging to his cloak, his hair loose over his shoulders and casual shoes on his feet.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Qi Xiao set down his brush.

"I couldn't sleep." Qi Yu came in and sat in his usual chair, crossed his legs, and drew his cloak closer. Tilting his head, he studied the memorial spread across the imperial desk for a while. Those densely packed figures had been written by the vice minister of revenue, then circled and marked one by one with his father's vermilion brush. He recognized the format of this kind of memorial-the Grand Tutor had taught him. Collecting the autumn taxes was the Ministry of Revenue's most important task each year. Whether they collected a tenth more or a tenth less affected repairs to the dikes the following spring and military pay at the border.

"The Ministry of Revenue got its accounts wrong again," he suddenly said.

Qi Xiao raised his eyes to glance at him. "How do you know?"

"The Grand Tutor said autumn tax memorials have to be checked three times every October. They checked them three times last year, and three times the year before. This year certainly won't be an exception." Qi Yu rested his chin on his knees. "So the Ministry of Revenue makes mistakes every year. It isn't that they can't do the sums. The figures reported by the local authorities are different from what was actually collected to begin with. Some of the difference is wastage, and some goes into private accounts. The Grand Tutor said this is called 'fire consumption.'"

Qi Xiao laid the vermilion brush on the brush rest and leaned back in his chair, watching him. "What else did the Grand Tutor teach you?"

"He also taught me how to calculate fire consumption. You can't waive it all, or the local officials won't be able to get by. You can't collect it all either, or the common people won't be able to get by. So you have to find a figure somewhere in between-and that figure isn't calculated, it's found through trial and error. You try it once each year to see how much the local authorities can bear and how far the Ministry of Revenue can push it down." Having finished, Qi Yu tilted his head and looked at his father. "Father, am I right?"

Qi Xiao did not say he was right, nor did he say he was wrong. He simply leaned back in his chair and watched Qi Yu for a long while. In the Imperial Study, this child was usually either distracted or clowning around, and the Grand Tutor always had to sigh before testing him on his lessons. Yet the things he had just said were not things a distracted child could have taken in. He was listening, and listening very carefully. He simply did not like reciting those commentaries before the Grand Tutor, because reciting commentaries was too easy for him, and too boring. What he liked was taking the principles in those commentaries apart, examining them thoroughly, and testing them against the matters before him.

"Tomorrow I'll have the minister of revenue explain fire consumption to you. He's spent his whole life doing accounts. His explanations will be more practical than your Grand Tutor's." Qi Xiao picked up the vermilion brush again, his tone as mild as ever.

Qi Yu's eyes lit up, though he muttered that the minister of revenue would surely complain again that he asked too many questions. He remembered running into the minister of revenue at Xuanzheng Hall last time. His questions had left the old official's forehead covered in sweat, and when the man finally took his leave, he had even put his boots on the wrong feet. Eunuch De'an had later told him in secret that the old minister had leaned against a pillar outside the hall to wipe away his sweat, muttering, "The Fourth Prince asks far too many questions." He told his father about this. Qi Xiao said asking questions was a good thing. If he asked something wrong, someone could correct him; that was better than knowing nothing at all. He then said his questions had been wrong, and the minister of revenue had been so frightened that he had put his boots on the wrong feet. Qi Xiao said that was because the man was timid; if he went to the Ministry of Revenue offices to ask his questions next time, he would probably frighten the man's hat off.

Father and son chatted a while longer. When De'an came in to change the tea, he saw Qi Yu gesturing in his chair, saying that fire consumption was really a muddled account. As he carried the tea over, he repeatedly suppressed the twitch at the corners of his mouth, thinking, If the minister of revenue heard this, the old minister would probably have to go back and change his boots again. After finishing what he had to say about fire consumption, Qi Yu picked up his teacup and took a large gulp, then set it back on the table, leaned against the back of the chair, and yawned. He asked, "Father, how many memorials do you have left?" Qi Xiao said three. He said, "Then I'll wait for you. Once you're finished, you can go and rest." Qi Xiao told him to go to the bedchamber and sleep first; there was no need to wait. He said, "No. You said the same thing yesterday, but after I fell asleep, you were still reviewing them. When I woke in the middle of the night, you were still reviewing them, and at dawn you went to court as well. Father, you're not made of iron."

Qi Xiao did not answer. Qi Yu wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and said he would wait right there, then. Qi Xiao did not try to send him away again. The West Warm Pavilion fell quiet, with only the soft scratch of the vermilion brush across paper and the occasional sound of a memorial being turned. After about the time it took an incense stick to burn, the sound of turning memorials stopped too.

Qi Yu had already fallen asleep against the cushion. His cloak had slipped down and lay in a heap on the chair. He lay on his side, his face buried against the edge of the cushion, his breathing soft and long, his lashes resting quietly over his eyelids. A few crumbs of osmanthus cake still clung to the corner of his mouth, probably left unwiped from the two pieces he had eaten before coming. Qi Xiao set down his brush and leaned back in his chair to watch him for a while. Only a moment ago, this child had been discussing fire consumption calculations with him, and now he was sleeping as though he would not care if the sky fell. He closed the last memorial, rose, and walked over to the chair. Picking up the fallen cloak, he shook it out and draped it over Qi Yu. Then he moved the candlestick at the edge of the table a little farther away so that sparks from the wick would not fall onto his hand.

De'an tapped lightly on the doorframe and asked in a low voice whether they should move the Fourth Prince to the bedchamber. Qi Xiao said there was no need; let him sleep here, and stoke the charcoal fire higher. De'an acknowledged the order and turned to tell the young eunuchs beneath the covered walkway to add charcoal. As he withdrew, he glanced into the warm pavilion. The emperor had already returned to his seat behind the imperial desk, a new memorial spread before him, but the vermilion brush in his hand had not touched down. His gaze passed over the memorial and rested on the figure curled up in the chair beside him. A moment later, he withdrew his gaze, lowered the tip of his brush to the paper, and continued his review.