Qi Yu lay on his stomach on the imperial bed, his chin resting on his folded arms, idly counting the five-clawed dragons embroidered on the canopy. When he reached the seventh, he rolled over to change positions, but the moment his backside touched the bedding, he hissed and sprang back, settling onto his stomach again.
He had been lying on his stomach for a day and a night. The dressing on his ankle had been changed twice, and ointment had been applied to his injuries three times. He had drunk three bowls of the medicinal porridge Chun He brought him. There really was nothing else to do.
"A Ping. What do you think Father is doing now?"
"Your Highness, His Majesty is reviewing memorials in the West Warm Pavilion."
"Memorials matter more than I do." Qi Yu buried his face in his pillow and said, his voice muffled, "I'm in this state, and he's still in the mood to review memorials. He hit me so hard last night, and today he won't even come to see me."
A Ping opened his mouth. He very much wanted to say that His Majesty had come before dawn that morning and sat beside the bed for nearly an hour, and had even wiped Qi Yu's face with a warm, damp cloth before leaving. But he did not dare. His godfather De'an had told him not to say anything, or His Highness would start taking liberties again.
"Your Highness, please don't move about. The imperial physician said your ankle needs rest." A Ping hurriedly changed the subject.
"I hurt all over. Try lying on your stomach yourself. It hurts even more this way." Qi Yu's voice squeezed out of the pillow, full of grievance.
"Then shall I apply some more ointment for you?"
"The