Overtired

Qi Xiao noticed that something was off about Qi Yu today, starting from the moment he kicked the threshold. Qi Yu never used his feet to open the doors to Xuanzheng Hall. He would either squeeze through the gap between the doors, duck under De'an's arm, or call out "Father!" from far away before trotting over to the imperial desk. Today, when he walked in, he struck his right big toe against the threshold. The threshold was made of golden phoebe and was very hard. He gave a muffled grunt. He did not cry, but his face scrunched up.

"What is it?" Qi Xiao looked up from behind the imperial desk.

"Nothing." Qi Yu limped over to a chair and sat down, kicked off his boot, and cradled his foot, rubbing it. Then he glanced at the young eunuch polishing a vase beside him. The eunuch was new and young, holding a cloth as he carefully wiped dust off the vase. Qi Yu looked at him, then at the way he was wiping the vase, and wrinkled his nose. "Just wipe it. Stop looking at me."

The young eunuch was so startled that he nearly dropped his cloth. He hurriedly lowered his head and dared not raise it again. Qi Xiao gave De'an a look, and De'an silently went over and led the young eunuch out. Standing by the door, A Ping mouthed three words to De'an: "All morning long."

Qi Yu shifted position, crossing his legs and resting his chin on the chair's armrest. He stayed quiet for less than half the time it took to drink a cup of tea before he began fiddling with the brush rack on the table. It was made of red sandalwood, with five or six brushes of different sizes hanging from it. He took the brushes out one by one, then put them back one by one. As he put the last one back, its tip caught at an angle and the bristles splayed. Irritated, he tossed it onto the table. The brush rolled halfway across the tabletop and fell to the floor. A Ping hurriedly bent down to pick it up. Qi Yu then opened and closed the inkstone lid, opened and closed it again. The third time he closed it, Qi Xiao set down his brush and leaned back in his chair, watching him.

"What did you eat this morning?"

"Osmanthus Cake," Qi Yu said sullenly.

"How many pieces?"

"Three."

"What time did you go to sleep last night?"

Qi Yu did not answer. A Ping answered for him from beside them. "Your Majesty, His Highness did not fall asleep until nearly eleven last night. He tossed and turned in bed for well over an hour."

Qi Xiao looked at Qi Yu again. The boy had buried his face in the crook of his arm, leaving only half an ear exposed. Its tip was red. He suddenly felt terribly irritable; nothing seemed right. The candles in the hall were too bright, the birds beneath the covered walkway were too noisy, and the carvings on the armrest pressed painfully against his arm. He could not say what was wrong. It simply felt as if a hundred ants were crawling all over him. He wanted to lose his temper but did not know whom to take it out on. He raised his head just as another young eunuch came through the doorway carrying a plate of freshly cut fruit. As the eunuch walked, the sole of his shoe scraped against a floor tile with a faint squeak. Qi Yu frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it. In the end, he merely buried his face in his arm again and said sulkily, "Make him leave."

Qi Xiao watched him for a moment, then stood, came around the imperial desk, and walked over to him. He bent down, slipped one hand beneath Qi Yu's knees and the other behind his back, and scooped him out of the chair in one smooth movement. Qi Yu made a soft sound as he was lifted, his hands instinctively settling on Qi Xiao's shoulders.

"Father, what are you doing?" Qi Yu's voice came from the hollow of his shoulder. "You're overtired." Qi Xiao carried him toward the inner chamber. The boy was no longer light, but carrying him still took little effort.

"I'm not overtired. Look what time it is. Why would I sleep now?" Qi Yu squirmed in his arms. Qi Xiao ignored him, walked into the inner chamber, and put him on the bed. The moment Qi Yu's back touched the mattress, he rolled over. "Take your boots off." Standing beside the bed, Qi Xiao watched him burrow his face farther into the pillow, his boots still on his feet. He waited a while, but Qi Yu showed no intention of removing them. He bent down himself, took hold of Qi Yu's ankles, pulled off both boots, and set them on the footstool. The boots toppled onto the floor, one sole-up and the other on its side. He shook out the quilt and laid it over Qi Yu.

"Your outer robe. Take it off before you sleep." Qi Yu lifted his face from the pillow and frowned at him. There was a little irritation in his gaze, a little hurt, and a little dependence he himself had not noticed. He sat up and tugged twice at his sash, only pulling it tighter. Qi Xiao moved his hands aside, helped him out of his outer robe, and draped it over the clothes rack.

"Lie down."

Qi Yu lay down and pulled the quilt up to his chin. Qi Xiao sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Qi Yu's back. Through his sleeping clothes, he could feel that the boy's muscles were still slightly tense, not yet relaxed. He patted him slowly twice. Qi Yu rolled over again and buried his face in the cotton pillow. "You're just overtired. You'll be fine after some sleep."

Qi Yu was silent for a while. His lashes fluttered a few times, and his eyelids began to droop. "Father, stay with me."

He remembered a time when Qi Yu was two and had also been overtired, crying so loudly that all of Xuanzheng Hall could hear him. He had picked him up and paced back and forth through the bedchamber for nearly half the night. Eventually, Qi Yu had fallen asleep against his shoulder, drooling all over it. Once, when the empress was still alive, she had stood beneath the covered walkway, watching him carry the child back and forth through the hall, and said with a smile that His Majesty was better at looking after the child than at looking after the child's mother. He had not answered then. He had indeed read quite a few books on raising children. From the day Qi Yu was brought to Xuanzheng Hall, he had ordered De'an to bring over every medical book on caring for young children from the Imperial Medical Bureau: what to do about nighttime crying, how to care for pox, how to massage a child suffering from food stagnation. He had filled his head with theory, then spent eleven years turning that theory into habit.