Chestnuts

Qi Xiao sat on the edge of the bed and set the medicinal oil De'an had brought on the low table. He had raised the disciplinary ruler himself, but had held back most of his strength when bringing it down. The imperial physician had examined Qi Yu and said there was no damage to his tendons or bones; with a little medicinal oil, the mark would fade by tomorrow. He warmed the oil between his palms, scooped some up with a bamboo spatula, and carefully spread it over the red mark through Qi Yu's nightclothes.

Qi Yu lay on his stomach on the imperial bed, a cotton pillow tucked beneath his chest, his chin resting on it. His eyes were half closed, his lashes trembling now and then. He had changed into clean nightclothes of plain silk, loosely tied at the neck.

"Father, it still hurts."

"I barely used any strength. Don't be so delicate." Qi Xiao sounded as though he were scolding him, but his hands were exceedingly gentle. The bamboo spatula moved in circles over the fabric, the pressure passing through the thin silk.

"You did use strength. Why didn't you think of that when you picked up the ruler?" Qi Yu buried his face in the pillow. The cotton muffled half his voice, leaving the rest low and indistinct, with a slightly wheedling lilt.

Qi Xiao said nothing. He set the bamboo spatula on the low table, his gaze falling on Qi Yu's nightclothes. The boy was growing too fast. The sleeves of the nightclothes made last year were already half an inch too short this year. Just a few days ago, Chun He had said they needed to be taken to the Wardrobe Bureau to have the hems let out.

"I'll have the Wardrobe Bureau take your measurements again tomorrow. These nightclothes are all too short."

Qi Yu turned his head on the pillow, revealing half his face. "Then I want the same fabric as yours, Father."

"My fabric is imperial yellow. You cannot use it."

"Then I want the same color. Not imperial yellow, just the same color as your nightclothes."

"That's called black."

"Yes, black. I want black nightclothes." With that, he buried his face in the pillow again, his breathing gradually deepening.

Qi Xiao pulled the quilt up to just below his shoulders and straightened the pillow he had kicked askew. The boy slept soundly, his cheeks faintly flushed in the candlelight, his lashes casting pale shadows over his eyelids. Qi Xiao turned the horn lamp's flame down as low as it would go and sat on the edge of the bed a little longer.

Outside the window, the branches of the persimmon tree swayed gently in the night breeze, then grew still again. He thought he would have to have the Imperial Kitchen reheat that bag of sugar-roasted chestnuts tomorrow. The silly boy had brought them all the way back from the East Market, only for them to go cold before he had eaten more than a few. Then he thought of the thick stack of lecture notes Qin Wei had delivered that afternoon. Tomorrow, Qi Yu would probably have to spend the whole day lying on his stomach in bed, catching up on his lessons. Then he thought that once this injury healed, he would have to have A Ping put away those storybooks in Yuning Hall, lest Qi Yu have nothing to do and dig up more notions about fox spirits and ghosts.

Qi Yu rolled over beneath the quilt and reached a hand out from under its edge. His fingers grasped unconsciously at the air before falling back onto the pillow. Perhaps he had caught up with that runaway rabbit again in his dreams, or stolen another half plate of Osmanthus Cake. Whatever it was, he was sleeping soundly.

Qi Xiao rose and walked to the door. De'an was waiting beneath the covered walkway and bowed when he saw him emerge.

"Have the Wardrobe Bureau send someone to take the Fourth Prince's measurements tomorrow. Make four sets of nightclothes in plain silk, and don't make the collars too tight. As for the color-" He paused. "Use black, with dark gold trim. No embroidered dragons. Embroider qilin."

The corners of De'an's mouth twitched. "As Your Majesty commands."

Qi Xiao glanced into the hall again and lowered his voice. "After morning court tomorrow, have the Imperial Kitchen reheat that bag of chestnuts bought at the East Market. Steam a plate of Osmanthus Cake as well, with half the sugar. Put two red dates in the ginseng soup."

De'an noted each instruction, stepped back twice, then turned toward the Imperial Kitchen. Most of the palace lanterns beneath the covered walkway had already been extinguished, and a faint pearly white was beginning to spread across the horizon. He drew his sleeves together, thinking that during the fortnight the Fourth Prince had spent recuperating, His Majesty had mobilized the Wardrobe Bureau, the Imperial Kitchen, and the Imperial Medical Bureau, putting more care into it than he did into reviewing memorials. He quickened his pace, and as he rounded a turn in the covered walkway, the smile he could no longer suppress finally rose to his lips.