Accidentally Having a Baby with the Future Emperor - Chapter 87

These past few days, except for formal occasions, Xiao Rong had been sitting cross-legged whenever possible.

Before he could say more, Xi Rong had already seized his ankle without warning, pulling off his boots and socks, and then rolling up the thin silk fabric of his trousers. Xi Rong’s grip was firm; Xiao Rong couldn’t break free and could only let him do as he wished. And so, the lingering bruises on his knees were laid bare, nothing left to hide.

Xi Rong lowered his gaze, staring for a long while without speaking or moving.

“It’s almost healed,” Xiao Rong said lightly. “It just looks worse than it is.” He wasn’t lying.

He had only knelt for a day at the Hall of Repentance. When he came out, there had been just faint bruising on his knees and calves. But later, while writing that battle plan, he knelt before the desk, writing nonstop for nearly three days and nights, worsening the swelling himself.

It was, in truth, self-inflicted.

Although it didn’t hinder his movement, to say it was painless would be impossible. Still, he hid it so well that no one had noticed. Perhaps something he did at the palace banquet yesterday had tipped Xi Rong off.

Thinking of this, Xiao Rong’s eyes curved again, a quiet smile at his lips. “Your Highness,” he said, “surely this isn’t the reason you invited me for tea?”

Another cool breeze swept through the window.

Xi Rong’s jaw tightened, like a drawn bowstring. “Rongrong,” he said, voice low, “you shouldn’t have spoken for me last night. You shouldn’t have quarreled with Matriarch Wang on my account. In the future, don’t do such things again.”

Xiao Rong couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Xi Rong looked up.

“That sounds familiar,” Xiao Rong said. “You said the same to me once before. You told me then that what I did wasn’t worth it. Now I’m telling you, what you did wasn’t worth it either.”

“Rongrong,” Xi Rong said quietly, “there’s nothing left between us now. You needn’t trouble yourself.” His tone calm and steady, he reached into his robes and took out a small bottle of medicinal oil. “Let me apply this for you.”

Xiao Rong watched his movements, feeling the faint breeze brush across his face. Then he said suddenly, “Your Highness, if there’s truly nothing between us, why did you secretly send me the lynx?”

Xi Rong’s hands paused. “What lynx?”

“The red lynx,” Xiao Rong said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Wasn’t it Your Highness who arranged for it to appear before me?” He looked at Xi Rong with deliberate interest. “I asked the monks at Huiji Temple. They said lynxes have never appeared on the back mountain. And such a rare creature couldn’t have come from the wilds nearby. Besides, lynxes choose their master; they don’t show affection for no reason. If someone wanted to gift me something valuable, they’d do it openly, not like this. After thinking it over, there’s only one person who would go about it that way. Isn’t that right, Third Brother?”

Xi Rong slowly lifted his head. “What did you just call me?”

“Third Brother,” Xiao Rong replied calmly. “Only Third Brother,” he went on, “would send me a lynx in such a way, to keep me safe from vicious dogs or wild beasts. Am I wrong?”

“Rongrong,” Xi Rong said quietly, voice cold and merciless, “there is no ‘Third Brother’ left in the capital. I have no fondness for such rare beasts. Keeping them in the menagerie is a waste. If you like it, then that’s its fortune.” He continued moving, pouring the oil into his palm, one hand gripping Xiao Rong’s ankle while the other rubbed the ointment into the bruised skin, slow, firm, and steady.

Xiao Rong had never liked medicine like this since childhood. The process itself always felt like another kind of torment. Tonight was no different. The moment Xi Rong began to massage the bruises, Xiao Rong’s brows furrowed sharply from the pain. And because the medicine oil had a strong, acrid scent, a sudden wave of nausea rose in his stomach without warning.

He quickly reached for his teacup, intending to sip away the discomfort, but before he could even lift it, he couldn’t hold back and vomited outright. Xi Rong steadied him just in time, so that unfortunate mouthful landed squarely on Xi Rong himself.

Xiao Rong: “……”

He had drunk quite a lot that night. One could imagine how foul that was.

An awkward, suffocating silence fell.

Xiao Rong’s scalp prickled in mortification. He hurriedly said, “Your Highness, are you all right? Let me wipe it for you.” Not even bothering to find a handkerchief, he was about to use his own wide sleeve to clean Xi Rong’s robes.

Xi Rong’s chest and sleeves had taken the worst of it. It was, frankly, a tragic sight.

“I’m fine,” Xi Rong said curtly, stopping his movement. His brows drew together. “Did you drink too much? Is your stomach upset?”

The real cause was unspeakable, so Xiao Rong could only nod vaguely. “Perhaps. Why don’t I send my guard to buy Your Highness a new set of clothes?” He offered the suggestion quickly. He knew Xi Rong was meticulous about cleanliness; this incident must have been a nightmare for him. There were still shops open at this hour, so a change of clothes shouldn’t be hard to find. At worst, Mo Dong could fetch one from the mansion.

“No need,” Xi Rong replied calmly. “I’ll change once I return.” He lifted his own teacup and handed it to Xiao Rong so he could rinse his mouth, then poured him a fresh cup.

“Feeling better?” He watched Xiao Rong’s complexion closely as he asked.

Xiao Rong nodded. He hadn’t expected that a simple tea invitation would descend into such chaos. “Your Highness, I can apply the medicine myself when I’m home. You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“It’s fine. It won’t take long.”

Xi Rong paused for a moment, then reached into his robes and drew out a small item, placing it before Xiao Rong. “Take this. It’ll help.”

Xiao Rong looked and saw that it was a piece of osmanthus candy wrapped in bright paper. He accepted it, unwrapped the paper, and placed the candy in his mouth. A delicate sweetness of honeyed osmanthus spread between his lips and teeth.

With that gentle flavor dissolving on his tongue, the ache in his knees and the nausea in his stomach both eased noticeably.

By the time Xi Rong finished applying medicine to both knees, the candy was gone.

Xiao Rong swallowed the last trace of sweetness, turned his head toward the window. Outside, the night was lively and bright; people walked in pairs beneath the lanterns. After a long look, he withdrew his gaze, rose slowly, and said, “Your Highness has done so much for me. I truly owe you. I’ll invite you for tea another day.”

“No need,” Xi Rong replied evenly. “Drinking tea late at night isn’t good for sleep.” He rose as well, putting away the remaining medicine. “The Xiao Royal Residence shouldn’t lack fine ointments. The swelling isn’t severe, but it’ll still trouble you when walking. It’s best you keep up with the treatment.”

Xiao Rong nodded.

A full cup of tea’s time had passed. Any longer and people might start wondering.

He turned to leave. But halfway to the door, he suddenly stopped, as if recalling something. Turning back, he walked to Xi Rong again and caught Xi Rong’s hand. Then, slowly, he placed that hand against his own waist, pressing it firmly over the jade buckle of his belt.

Xi Rong looked at him, eyes filled with faint confusion.

Xiao Rong said nothing. He only looked at Xi Rong, smiled faintly, and in those clear eyes, a ripple stirred and slowly faded. After a moment, he loosened his hand and walked out of the private room.

Mo Dong stepped forward at once.

“Let’s go back,” Xiao Rong said quietly, descending the stairs first.

Xi Rong remained standing inside, head lowered, gazing at his own palm. The warmth left there had yet to fade. He pondered for a long time, still unable to understand the meaning behind Xiao Rong’s final gesture.

Was it reluctance? Or something else?

***

The sun blazed overhead. Jiang Cheng stood outside the Ministry of War, waiting nearly half an hour before finally spotting an official in green robes emerge. He immediately strode forward.

“Clerk Zhao, when will the approval for the Eastern Palace’s application to join the martial arts tournament be issued?” he asked.

The official, addressed as Clerk Zhao, gave Jiang Cheng a measured look. “General Jiang, everything in the Ministry of War follows strict procedure. When the approval is issued depends on the superiors’ decision. Asking me won’t make it any faster.”

“But last time I came, you clearly said the result would be out within three days,” Jiang Cheng said, barely keeping his temper.

“That was then. Now every regional garrison is submitting recommendations for candidates in the martial arts tournament. We’re swamped with documents every day and everything has to follow the order of submission. The Eastern Palace’s request came later; we can’t just disrupt the queue, can we?”

Jiang Cheng knew perfectly well the man was stalling him, yet there was nothing he could do. He was about to argue again when Clerk Zhao’s expression suddenly brightened and he hurriedly stepped past Jiang Cheng to greet someone.

“Vice Minister Zhong, the Young Prince has arrived.”

“Ah, the Young Prince himself? Here to deliver the documents?”

“For such a small matter, the Young Prince could’ve just sent word and I would have arranged a runner. How could I let you come personally in this heat?”

The newcomers were none other than Xiao Rong and Vice Minister Zhong Fang.

Having just joined the Chancellery, Xiao Rong was mainly responsible for preliminary reviews and transcription of decrees and memorials. They were light work, though he occasionally assisted the Six Ministries with paperwork.

Today, he had come to the Ministry of War for a document handover.

Zhong Fang chuckled, pointing at Clerk Zhao. “When I used to visit your ministry, I never received such an enthusiastic welcome.” Then, turning to Xiao Rong, he teased, “Junior Brother, it seems I’m basking in your glow today.”

Clerk Zhao bowed hurriedly. “You honor me, my lord. I wouldn’t dare slight anyone from the Chancellery. If the Grand Chancellor heard of it, I’d be done for. I’ve already had tea prepared. Please, Vice Minister Zhong, Young Prince, come inside for a cup.”

He personally led the way, bowing at every step.

Jiang Cheng, of course, saw Xiao Rong. His lips parted as if to speak, but he restrained himself.

Once inside the gates, Xiao Rong asked casually, “That man earlier was from the Eastern Palace?”

“Yes, the general of the Crown Prince’s guard,” Clerk Zhao replied.

Zhong Fang glanced back toward the entrance. “What’s he standing outside in this heat for?”

Clerk Zhao dared not speak freely in front of Xiao Rong and only gave a thin laugh. “He’s just pestering us over some trivial matter.”

When Xiao Rong and Zhong Fang finally left the Ministry of War, Jiang Cheng was still waiting where he had been.

Xiao Rong stopped. “Senior Brother,” he said to Zhong Fang, “I suddenly remembered an urgent task. I won’t go back with you.”

Zhong Fang nodded, smiling. “Your Seventh Senior Brother brought wine-braised fish today. Come back soon, or those gluttons will finish it without you.” The ‘Seventh Senior Brother’ he spoke of was Liu Huai’en, one of the remonstrators, whose wife, Madam Chen, was famous for her cooking.

Since joining the Chancellery, both had looked after Xiao Rong kindly.

He smiled and promised to return soon.

Once Zhong Fang departed, Xiao Rong walked up to Jiang Cheng. “What is it?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng froze, almost startled, staring at him blankly for a few seconds before recounting everything.

“It’s just an approval document,” Xiao Rong said. “It shouldn’t take this long. Did you offend this Clerk Zhao somehow?”

“No. When I came a few days ago, his attitude wasn’t like this at all. It changed suddenly over the past two days. But—” Jiang Cheng hesitated. “I heard Clerk Zhao has some ties to the Wang clan. Matriarch Wang has always disliked His Highness; perhaps it’s related.”

“I see,” Xiao Rong said. “Wait here.” He turned and went back inside the Ministry of War. About a quarter of an hour later, he reemerged holding a document. “Here,” he said, handing it to Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng blinked. “This is—?”

“The approved application,” Xiao Rong replied. “Stamped and sealed.”

Sure enough, at the end of the document was the red seal of the Ministry of War. Jiang Cheng stood there clutching the paper, emotion swelling in his chest. For the first time, he understood the old saying: ‘With friends in court, the road runs smooth.’ Remembering the endless frustration of the past few days, he was nearly moved to tears.