“Look!” a loud voice called out, and gasps rose.
I pulled down the blanket. The Xu Girl and the others were sitting up, peering outside, where a bolt of stark white light flared and flew across the sky like a burning candle. Surprised, I sat upright.
The girls rushed to the corner of the chamber, trembling. Confused, I ran to the doors, opened them, and looked up. Another bolt of light, like a silver fish, swept across the black sky.
A comet.
My hands turned cold. Comets possessed evil power that could bewitch a human’s mind. It was also a sign of Heaven’s wrath and spoke of looming calamity to the kingdom.
Father had often said that an emperor founded a dynasty not by superior military acumen, nor noble lineage, nor the number of decisive battles in which he defeated his foes, but because he was chosen by Heaven. And when Heaven was displeased with the chosen one and his reign, it gave signs, like comets, eclipses, and shooting stars. Disaster and chaos then ensued, the dynasty collapsed, and the emperor’s rule ended.
In The Art of War, Sun Tzu had called Heaven’s intention the Moral Law, which compelled people to comply with their ruler. If one lost it, the reign would end. That was what happened to the Sui Dynasty, the empire before the Tang Dynasty. Emperor Gaozu, who had been a general of the Sui’s army, claimed Heaven had revoked its consent to the Sui Emperor and started the rebellion. He was backed by all men he sought to support and then succeeded in overthrowing the Sui Emperor.
I covered my eyes to block the sight of the comet, but in my mind I could see it was like a sword, a mighty blade of fury Heaven used to pierce the heart of the kingdom.
What evil would befall us? A poor harvest? A flood? A drought?
I shut the doors and went back to my pallet.
The chamber was silent. Then someone whispered in the dark, “This is a bad omen.”
“Do you think the Emperor will cancel the ceremony?” another asked.
“It seems unlikely,” the Xu Girl said. “The date of the ceremony was chosen last year, and it would be difficult to change it.”
“So I will still see everyone, then.” The girl sighed with relief.
I rolled on my side, tucking my hand under my head. But I was not ready to sleep yet. Because I just realized an opportunity had presented itself.
I knew what I must do.
• • •
On the day of Taizi’s ceremony, I left the Yeting Court with the other palace ladies, passed the Inner Court, crossed the Chengtian Gate, and arrived at the Outer Palace, where the ministers conducted their daily work. When I had first entered the court two years before, I was inside the carriage and did not realize how vast the palace was, but since then, I had gotten an idea of its immensity. When we left the Yeting Court, it was at dawn, but by the time we reached the Altar House, the sun was hanging on the top of the trees, and I was tired, my legs sore from walking.
“This way, this way.” The palace’s Gold Bird Guards directed us across from the yard in front of the Altar House. Wearing maroon capes and shining breastplates, they looked stern, their eyes scanning here and there. Since the comet, rumors suggesting that the Emperor was unfit to rule had swirled about the palace, and I had heard the news of insurgence from the northern border. It was an important day today, and with all the imperial family members and ministers gathering, the guards had to be extremely vigilant.
We were ordered to stay in a corridor at the end of the yard, perhaps the least favorable place to watch the ceremony. In front of me stood many court ministers, imperial members, Taoist priests, and ladies dressed in different colors of gowns. Jewel might have been among them, but I could not find her. I was still angry, and for many nights I had thought about how to confront her. But to do so would be stupid. There was no point letting her know my anger, since she had the Emperor’s ear. In fact, I must play coy when speaking to her, as though nothing had happened between us.
Standing on tiptoes, I searched for the Emperor, who sat on a raised platform in the center of the massive yard before the Altar House.
He wore a bejeweled mortarboard on his head, a splendid golden robe with rectangular sleeves draped to the floor, and two swords at his waist. He looked different from the dark man dozing on his stool all those months ago. If the man I met in his chamber were a naked cat, the one in formal attire resembled a true tiger. He looked larger, more solemn, more distant, and more frightening.
What could I do to attract his attention?
Taizi, the Crown Prince, cloaked in bright yellow ceremonial regalia, walked to each minister and thanked them for their presence. He had a deep voice that seemed to echo in his chest, and his tone was short and precise.
I recognized that voice. He was the man in the Forbidden Park who had shouted for Pheasant. When he talked to the ministers near me, I studied him. He was the tallest, most robust man I had ever seen. His neck was thick, his shoulders wide, and he towered over the other people by a head. Each time he approached a minister, he cracked his knuckles and then bowed. He also seemed to be uncomfortable in his regalia; each time he rose, he pulled at his sleeves and frowned.
I had heard stories about him. The firstborn of the Emperor and the late Empress Wende, he was twenty years old. He had grown up in the military camp when his father and his grandfather were warring against the Sui Dynasty. A mighty wrestler, Taizi had never lost a bout since he was nine years of age, and I would have said he was built more for wrestling than for ruling.
“He would make a fine ruler,” a lady in a blue gown near me said.
“Not so loud.” An old lady with her hair shaped in Cloudy Chignon elbowed her. “The spies are everywhere.”
I fell on my heels and turned to her. Who would object to Taizi’s rule? “Whose spies?”
“Oh.” The old lady coughed and glanced at me. “I know who you are. You gave the Emperor a riddle. Very clever. You were summoned.”
I smiled to let her know I meant no harm. “Yes, and I may never be summoned again. Who are you worried about, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Ah, I should not say this, but have you noticed the Emperor’s uncle?” The old lady pointed at an old man holding a cane. Clearly most revered for his age and rank, the Uncle stood among a group of ministers with high hats who bowed constantly as he spoke, his finger stabbing in the air.
“He does not look happy,” I said. Father had said the Uncle had gone through many battles with Emperor Gaozu and helped found the dynasty. He would have been the one to inherit the throne if the Emperor had begotten no sons.
“For a good reason,” the lady with the blue gown said, pointing at Taizi as he left the ministers to kneel before the guest of honor, a tall man, to receive his three hats—a skintight silk wrapping, a leather cap, and a square black hat embroidered with golden dragons flying through clouds. Each hat carried profound meanings. The wrapping signified his responsibility as a man to himself, the cap to his family, and the black hat to society.
I understood immediately. The Adulthood Ceremony was one of the four most important ceremonies in a man’s life. The guest of honor, who would confer the hats on the heir, was supposed to be the most senior member of the imperial family, who I assumed would be the Uncle, but the man who held the wrapping appeared to be in middle age. “Who’s the guest of honor?”
“That’s the Duke, the late Empress’s brother, the Emperor’s brother-in-law,” the lady in the blue gown said. “He—”
The old lady coughed, and the lady in blue swallowed her words. I did not ask more questions. There was no need. Clearly, the Duke and the Uncle did not get along.
It was getting hot. The morning air turned fetid with the odor of scorched pigskin on the sacrificial tables and musk and camphor from burning incense. Layers of heavy clouds pressed against the roof of the Altar House. It would rain soon.
The ministers lined
up before the platform to praise Taizi. First the Uncle, then a hunchbacked man wearing jade pendants, Chancellor Wei Zheng. Following him were more ministers. They bowed constantly, their heads springing up and down like hungry birds pecking at grain.
When they finished, the Duke cleared his throat and shouted from the platform. “Today, we are here to witness one of the most important rituals in life, the Adulthood Ceremony, for my great-nephew, our Taizi, Li Chengqian, the heir of Great China.” He held a wrapping above Taizi’s head. “I now have the honor to recognize you, the firstborn of the Li family, whose ancestry is of the most supreme in this kingdom, son of the late daughter of the Changsun clan, now a man worthy of trust. You shall prevail on occasions of stress and moments of adversity…”
I wiped the perspiration from my forehead. I was shorter than the women in front of me, and, for a long time, I did nothing but stare at their backs.
Finally, the Duke concluded the ceremony and people began to disperse, the tide pushing me toward the entrance gate. The guards on the other side of the ladies waved, shouting for us to return to the Yeting Court. Someone around me mentioned the feast, and the ministers became animated, rubbing their bleary eyes.
I craned my neck in time to see the Emperor enter the Altar House, accompanied by three Taoist priests with long ponytails. One sprinkled yellow water in the air, as if to prepare for a divination. I glanced at the guards standing near the entrance. If I left, I might never see the Emperor again. I ducked under the arm of a minister robed in purple, went behind a painted pillar, took another turn at a corridor, and scurried in the opposite direction.
At the end of the corridor stood a small door. I pushed it open and quickly shut it behind me. The door led to a small garden. An ancient oak, its trunk as large as a round table, stood to my right. Bundles of hay were stacked on the left. The place appeared to be a temporary stable for imperial members who lived outside the palace.
I decided to hide in the garden and wait for the guards and ministers to leave. Once no one was around, I would go out and see the Emperor.
“Who is it?” a voice called.
I jumped, my heart leaping to my throat. A guard? I must not be caught!
“Are you alone?” A boy poked his head above a stack of hay against the wall.
“Oh.” I was relieved. The boy pushed a bundle of hay away from his face and jumped to the ground, his arms casting a graceful curve in the air. “I’m… What are you doing back there?” I asked.
He did not seem to hear me. “Quick.” He whistled and patted the haystacks behind him. “Come out now.”
From where he had first appeared, a girl in a red gown stood. She climbed down and tidied her creased skirt. Glancing at me, she whispered in the boy’s ear. He nodded, and she ran to the door, covering her face with her sleeve, and disappeared through the entrance from where I had come.
The boy coughed. “Well… We were looking for something.”
“In the haystack?”
“Yes,” he said, a piece of straw dangling from his mouth.
“I see. Could it be a needle?” I said, trying to help him out. He looked my age but was taller than me and dressed in a plain white tunic, the color for a commoner. He had a well-chiseled face, a straight nose, and a square jaw. He was like an image whom a painter had taken great care to paint—and the most attractive boy I had ever seen.
“That was it. A needle.” He laughed. “What’s your name?”
I hesitated. It was not wise to identify myself, yet I wanted him to know me. The wind blew my hair to my face, ruffling my bangs. I arranged my hair carefully with my fingers, hoping the wind did not mess it up. I had taken care to style my hair in Cloudy Chignon that morning, and I hoped I still looked presentable.
He leaned against the haystacks. “I’m Pheasant, like the bird. That’s what my brothers call me.”
This was Pheasant? I remembered his comment that girls were like horses. “So you are the heir’s groom.” He looked confused, and I explained. “I heard you talk to him in the Forbidden Park once.”
“The heir? Right… Is he finished with the ceremony? It was boring, wasn’t it? Whoever sits through that ceremony should be crowned as a saint, not just an adult.”
A fair statement. I laughed, liking him.
He took out the straw in his mouth. “I like the way you laugh.”
I stopped. I had forgotten to cover my mouth. Was he criticizing me for showing my teeth? I did not think so, but still I was displeased. “Well, you should be careful. Someone might tell the Emperor what you were doing here, and he will not be happy.”
“You won’t tell.” He stepped closer to me. His eyes were bright, shining the limpid color of newly brewed ale, clear, light, and inviting. “And you are not supposed to be here either, sweet face.”
I studied him. He did not look menacing. “All right,” I said. “I’ll keep your secret if you agree to keep mine.”
“That’s fair.” He nodded and then froze.
I froze too. Faint voices came from the corridor outside the garden. They were heading toward us.
Pheasant raced to the door and opened it a crack. Then he closed it. “It’s the Captain of the Gold Bird Guards.”
My heart raced faster. If the Captain found me, I would be doomed. He would perhaps punish me, and I would never see the Emperor again.
“You should go,” Pheasant said.
“Go where? I don’t have time.” I looked around for an escape, wishing I had never gone there in the first place.
Pheasant hesitated. “Come. Help me move this.” He sprang toward the haystacks in the corner and lifted a square bundle of hay.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see. Quick. They’re coming.” He heaved, and behind the bundle a small hole appeared. A hideout.
“You go in,” he said. “I’ve never told anyone else about this place. Saving it for a special moment.”
I peered inside. The opening was too small for two people. “What about you?” Was he not afraid of getting caught?
The footsteps grew closer, and a man’s voice rumbled. Louder now. It sounded like the Captain who had escorted me to the palace. “Where is the intruder?” he asked.
There was no time to think. I ducked under Pheasant’s arm and went inside the opening.
“I’ll be fine.” He moved to close the haystacks behind me.
Squeak. The door opened.
“Captain!” Pheasant said. “What’s wrong? Is your horse hungry?”
“I’m searching for an intruder. Someone reported it to me.” The Captain sounded suspicious. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to get some hay for the horses. Who are you looking for?”
There was a pause, and the Captain said, “Guards, take him. Keep him until I get back.”
“What did I do wrong? Watch out. Hey! Get your hands off me. I only came to fetch some hay…” Pheasant’s voice grew lower, and it soon faded in the corridor.
No one in the garden spoke, but the Captain and some of his men were still there. I could hear someone stomping across the ground, a sword slashing here and there. So nervous, I could hardly breathe.
“Search the haystacks,” the Captain ordered, and a chorus of voices answered.
Perspiration poured down my forehead and ran into my eyes. Tightly, I pressed my back to the haystacks. My arm swept something solid, and I heard a rattling sound. There was a secret door beside me. Elated, I pushed it open, and fresh air sailed to my nose.
I peered out. In front of me was a long corridor with latticed windows and a vast courtyard, and at the end stood a house with a blue roof and red beams. The Altar House, where the Adult Ceremony had taken place.
No one was in sight. The ministers must have been feasting in the hall. It was quiet too; only wisps of gray incense smoke spilled
from the ceremonial bronze pot.
The Captain shouted something in the garden. I scrambled out of the hideout, stood up, and swept straw off my face. My tunic and my undergarments were soaked with perspiration, but I was relieved. If it had not been for Pheasant, things would have turned out badly for me.
I did not want to take more risks to see the Emperor anymore. I just wanted to get out of the courtyard and return to the Yeting Court as soon as possible. Looking around, I found the entrance in the distance and scurried down the corridor.
I heard a loud crack, as if roof tiles had split under a heavy weight. I paused, looking up. There, between the branches of the oak tree, I caught sight of a large shadow. Was that…a man? I blinked and looked harder. The shadow was gone.
In the sky, clouds gathered, but still no rain.
I was not sure what I had really seen. Frowning, I turned to face the wide Altar House. Its doors were ajar. The Emperor’s golden regalia flitted across the gap, and he shouted something. I could not understand what he said, but he sounded angry.
What was going on? I crept closer to the building. I was not allowed to enter it, for the Altar House was sacred and reserved for only men and high-ranking women, but what if the shadow on the roof was a man… I could not help myself. Carefully, I walked down the corridor and went up the stone stairs stained with the yellow water the priest had sprinkled earlier.
I stopped in front of the House and listened. It was quiet inside. I peered into the gap between the doors. It was too dark, and I could not see anything. Hesitant, I held the door frame and pushed. My hand touched something soft. I looked down.
A hand with yellow stains on the fingertips. The priest’s hand, clutching the door frame from the other side. I started and glanced up, expecting to see his reproachful face.
But there was no priest.
9
A severed hand!
I shrank back, an uncontrollable shiver rushing through my body. The priest’s hand. Still grasping the door frame.
My teeth chattered. I grabbed the other door for support. It swung away from me, and I fell facedown inside the room.
The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) Page 7