“That was close,” he said as we stopped to catch our breath.
“Did he see us? Who was he?” I asked, my heart pounding from running, and I was nervous too.
“Perhaps a gardener. Don’t worry.”
A servant holding a tray appeared down the hill. I stepped away from him. “I think it’s time for me to leave.”
“Wait! Can I see you again?”
“I don’t know.” I smiled and walked quickly down the hill.
It was near supper hour. Time had gone fast. I had not known I had spent almost the whole afternoon with Pheasant. On the horizon, the sun shone brightly like a sweet tangerine, and the air smelled fragrant, intoxicating with its scent.
AD 641
the Fifteenth Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect
AUTUMN
11
I was reading in the library when Teacher Rain snatched the scroll of poems from my hand. “Follow me,” she said.
I walked behind her. She seemed ill-tempered, and I was wary. “May I ask where we’re going?”
She did not answer, and I followed behind her as we passed a gate, a vast courtyard, then another gate, and another courtyard. The ladies in the corridors raised their heads from weiqi tables and studied me. Maids leaned over brooms and glanced at me. I did not look at them, but I grew uneasy inwardly.
Where was she taking me?
She walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a building with three bays. “This is the Emperor’s wardrobe chamber,” she said, pushing open the center door. “You’re to tend to it from now on.”
My heart sang. I had been given an assignment in the imperial wardrobe! Not emptying Jewel’s chamber pot, embroidering, or doing other onerous, menial work. Most importantly, I was closer to the Emperor, and I could run into him at any moment. I wondered what Jewel would think when she found out.
I picked up my skirt and stepped inside.
Twelve tall wardrobes, engraved with elaborate flowery designs and lacquered in shiny red, stood before me. Along the walls, rows of shelves contained large chests, each the size of a writing table, stacked to the ceiling. I could not tell how many there were. Hundreds, perhaps. A strong odor of mold slapped my face like a soiled rag, but I did not mind. It smelled better than any exotic perfume, and my heart swelled like a storehouse full of treasure and riches.
“What should I do?” I walked between the rows of chests with leather buckles. My clogs struck the wood floor, the clear sound echoing in my ears like sweet music.
Rain stuffed a scroll into my hand. “This will tell you everything.”
I glanced at the document, which contained a list of my daily duties—preparing garments for the Emperor in the morning, organizing garments, counting linens, mending the seams, etc. “Where are the other caretakers?” Surely there were other helpers in the Emperor’s wardrobe chamber; even my father had two maids dusting his garments.
“You are the only one. More will come when the Emperor approves the assignments.”
I was surprised. “What about the previous maids?”
“Gone.” She headed to the door.
“Gone where? Did something happen to them?”
“Hanged.” The door swung shut behind her.
I wondered what they had done to deserve such a terrible fate. I studied the chamber again. It seemed different, the air filled with sinister threat. I must be careful. I could not make any mistakes.
I began to examine the chests. None of them were labeled. The former caretakers of the wardrobe were either too lazy to write the Chinese characters, or they were illiterate.
I opened the tall wardrobes. Inside were many extravagant sets of regalia. Red robes made of smooth silk, indigo robes interwoven with gold and silver threads, maroon robes embroidered with intricate designs of cranes, dragons, phoenixes, evergreens, and mountains, and multicolored gowns edged with fur and embellished with sparkling jewels. I was familiar with beautiful robes, but these touted finery I had never seen before.
“Sort out the garments according to the occasions the One Above All must attend…” I read from the list. “Important occasions include the audience on the first day of the moon, audience on the fifteenth day of the moon, days of receiving foreign ambassadors, worshipping Heaven and Earth, making sacrifices to ancestors, sacrifices to divinities of seas and mountains, offerings to the deities of grain and soil, offerings to the ancestors on their death anniversaries…”
But how would I know which robe was for which occasion? I knew enough not to dress him in red for his ancestors’ death anniversaries, but I also understood the wrong embroidery, wrong patterns, wrong fabric could cause insult when none was intended.
I went on to examine the chests. I could not lift the ones stacked high, so I started with the ones on the ground near the wardrobes. One by one, I opened them. Inside lay the Emperor’s casual outfits—long yellow robes; knee-length orange robes; tunics with wide sleeves; tunics with narrow sleeves; dresses embroidered with the sun, the moon, and stars; dresses stitched with paired deer and cranes; and many more.
“And the occasions are”—I checked the list—“court days, hunting, polo competitions, picnics, spring outings, admiring the full moon, spring outing, stargazing, feasting…”
So many occasions. I rubbed my eyes and moved on to the chests along the wall, which amassed an array of dazzling accessories, such as mortarboards, bejeweled girdles, jade clasps, beaded seal pouches, silk slippers with curled tips, jade pendants, leather boots, silk undergarments, even breastplates and capes.
In another container, I found red sable coats, black mink hats, spotted leopard vests, dyed leather gloves, and many crimson fur capes.
How could one man wear all these?
I started to sweat, but I had finished reviewing only half of the chests. Many accessories were tangled together and mismatched; to simply put everything in order would take days.
A girl dressed in a white tunic came to the chamber. She said she was the Emperor’s dress maid and her name was Daisy. Playing with her long braids, she said simply, “Need polo suit.”
“Polo, polo.” I wished she could be more helpful, but she seemed rather distracted, her face blank, and when I asked her again, she only stared. I paced between the chests, remembering seeing a tunic with a picture of men riding. After half an hour, I finally found it at the bottom of the third container near the fourth wardrobe.
Over the next few days, I carefully sorted out the accessories, organized compartments for shoes and girdles, folded the garments, paired them with underclothes and belts, and labeled the chests according to the seasons. When it was sunny, I spread out the winter garments and fur coats and capes in the courtyard to rid them of dust, moth eggs, and tiny insects. Before the fur and fabric could get warm, I swiftly took them inside and stored them to prevent the color from fading.
Every day, I rose on the fourth crowing of roosters and arrived at the wardrobe chamber before dawn broke. By the time I returned to my bedchamber, the last ray of the sun had faded. After twenty-five days, I stretched my aching back and scanned the neat assortments with satisfaction. There it was. Orderly fashion.
Plum, along with four Beauties, came to the chamber several weeks later. Taking care of the garments became easier with their help, and Plum seemed to know the answer to every question I asked her.
“Those previous maids before us,” she answered, smoothing some stubborn wrinkles of a picnic tunic, “they were hanged because they dressed the Emperor in mourning regalia on the fifteenth day of the moon.”
I stopped sweeping the floor, shocked that such a small error would cost people’s lives. “We must not make mistakes like that,” I said. “I wish we could know what kind of clothing the Emperor would wear the next day, then we could prepare them ahead of time.”
She shook her head. “
It’s not possible.”
Only the imperial Taoist astrologer, who consulted the Emperor’s personal almanac daily, kept the ruler’s schedule. A sixth-degree Talent like myself certainly would not have the privilege of knowing it. Neither was I, nor any lady, allowed to keep a calendar, which required the monitoring of Heaven and thus was considered sacred. Again, only the Emperor’s astrologer was allowed to create and keep a calendar, and if anyone else possessed one without permission, it was a severe crime, punishable by death.
AD 641
the Fifteenth Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect
WINTER
12
I rather liked my routine. Each morning, I prepared the Emperor’s clothing for the day, dusted the chamber, and changed the mothballs in the chests. At noon, I counted the garments and linen sheets the laundry ladies delivered and finished dusting the chamber. After that, I strolled through the courtyard and went to walk around a small garden at the back. My bedchamber was located on the other side of the wardrobe chamber, and it required half an hour’s walking from one side to the other. Usually, when I returned to my bedchamber, it was already dark, time for bed.
One day, while waiting for the laundry women to deliver clean linens, I made a mortuary tablet for Father out of a piece of wood I found near the lake. I had always wanted to honor him with my silent thoughts, as I was unable to visit his grave in Wenshui each year on the Day of Qingming. It had been three years since he’d died. He must have learned of my new title in the other world, and I wished to tell him I would restore my family’s fortune and perhaps even make his dream for my destiny come true.
I put the tablet at the bottom of a chest and covered it with my clothes.
I thought of Mother. How I missed her. It had been more than two years since I’d left her. I prayed she stayed healthy. I wished I could tell her how close I was to the Emperor, and soon, very soon, I would meet him and tell him about my family’s situation.
A month after my appointment in the wardrobe chamber, I received my first allowance as a Talent, which contained ten jin of rice and two boxes of facial tincture and rouge. I did not use the beauty products. When I received the second allowance, I saved them as well. Once I saved enough of them, I would trade them to the other Talents for a silver ingot and send it to Mother. She needed money. I did not know if Qing offered her food or warm clothes. With the silver I sent, she would at least have one good meal. She would also understand that I had not forgotten her, and she would be greatly comforted. And even if Qing stole the money, it would be all right. At least he would know I was doing well in the palace. With his greedy nature, he would hope I could do something good for him in the future, and then at least he would treat Mother more kindly.
I also befriended Daisy, the Emperor’s dress maid, although she was hard to talk to at first. People often joked that she had a rock where her brain was supposed to be, but Daisy failed to comprehend even that. Words seemed to reach her in delayed echoes, and she always responded a few moments slower than normal.
I made excuses to visit her in the Emperor’s bedchamber, which was located far away in Ganlu Hall. Every time I went there, I hoped he would notice me, but he was always surrounded by an array of physicians, guards, and servants. They ordered me to stay one hundred paces away from the Emperor.
His recovery had been slow, even with the help of the great physician, Sun Simiao. The physician had famously declined the invitation of the Sui Court but now accepted the task of overseeing the Emperor’s health. He suggested citragandha, a wonder drug that contained tamarisk manna, pine resin, and licorice, and had the Emperor take it with grape wine at noon and two hours before bedtime. He also prescribed drugs such as mica and cinnabar, which were said to be two important ingredients of Taoist’s elixir, with careful doses administered by a team of physicians and food provosts.
The Duke, the man who suspected me of assisting the killer in the Altar House, was always around, sniffing, frowning, inspecting the medicines before they were delivered to the Emperor. He was the Emperor’s most trusted man, clearly, and I thought it best to stay out of his sight.
The rumor of Heaven’s withdrawal from the Emperor died off slowly as he recovered. In time, I believed, the appearance of the comet would become a distant memory to everyone.
Day and night, the thick fragrances of the Emperor’s medicinal herbs floated in the Inner Court, sometimes even drowning out the scent of plum flowers. But I breathed it in. As long as the Emperor was in good health, I would see him soon.
• • •
Despite my preoccupation with the Emperor, I thought of Pheasant more and more. His face came into my mind when I swept the chamber or folded tunics. I knew I should stop thinking of him, and that Father would not have approved. But the more I tried, the harder it was to rid my mind of Pheasant. I could still feel his finger on my lips. What if I met him once more? Just once?
There were watchful eyes everywhere though. A few times, I caught two maids peering at me through the wardrobe chamber. I had never seen them before, and when I went to confront them, they pretended they were only passing by. I wondered if they had been sent by Jewel. Who else would be spying on me?
One time, Jewel visited before midday mealtime. “I’m helping the Emperor pick up his outfit,” she said, strolling between the rows of chests. But she did not seem to be interested in the Emperor’s garments. Instead, her hands flipped through the piles of the late Empress’s belongings, her old clothes and her jewelry. Jewel did not take anything in the end and left without a word.
I was wary. After she left, I moved those chests to a far corner.
In time, the opportunity to see Pheasant came. I made certain no one was around and slipped out of the court. I did not know where to find him, so I went to the polo field again. He was there with Taizi, and when he saw me, he gestured to the mulberry groves, where I waited until he could join me. Then we went to a beautiful wooded area behind a vast lake and a long corridor, named A-Thousand-Step Corridor. I admired the intricate lattice works on the sideboards near the bridge, while he whistled and told me about his horses, and then we climbed atop the garden rocks and watched the falcons fly by. Afterward, we raced each other down the hill. The time dribbled like honey flowing from a secret comb, lazily but full of flavor.
One day when I went to see him again, he was in the mulberry grove waiting for me. Together, we went to the back of the Inner Court again and arrived at a garden with high walls. Thick bushes and twisty vines had overgrown the front gate, and a pair of heavy, rusty locks barred the arched entrance.
Light as a lark, Pheasant flipped over the wall with ease. A moment later, his voice wafted from the other side of the garden. “Are you coming?”
I looked around to make sure we were alone and climbed onto a rock. My feet slipped, and my skirt caught my foot. I freed myself, grabbed the bricks on the top of the wall, and heaved. After a few failed attempts, I landed on the other side of the garden.
“Are you all right?” Pheasant looked at me from the grass-covered path. Behind him was a pavilion with a broken roof and moss-covered pillars.
“I’m fine.” I looked down at my dress. An ugly patch of mud had stained the back hem. I groaned; the last thing I wanted was untidiness. “You seem to know the palace so well. What is this place?”
“It’s abandoned. No one comes here anymore. Come.” He went to sit on the pavilion’s windowsill and leaned against the latticed panel. The woodwork on the panel was broken, and the pavilion’s ground was covered with fallen leaves. “I want to show you something.”
I sat across from him, keeping my distance, although I yearned to be close to him.
“Here.” He took my hand and left something in my palm. Carved out of opaque green jade, the beautiful piece had onyx eyes, minute gold feet, an elegantly curved back, and a smooth, supple belly.
“S
ilkworm!” My eyes widened. Silkworms were precious enough, but a jade silkworm was priceless. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s my gift to you. Do you like it?”
I adored it. Stroking its smooth surface, I could not take my eyes off it. It was true what people said about jade. It calmed the nerves and brought tranquillity to the bearer. “Why do you want to give me a gift?”
“It was my mother’s. She loved silkworms. She said the jade silkworm would bring skillful weavers good fortune. If you were a weaver with poor skills, it would transform you into a capable one.”
His mother must have been a weaver in the silkworm nursery. The palace often recruited weavers, as well as their family members who possessed certain skills. That was, perhaps, how Pheasant ended up working in the stable. “Are you certain about this? It’s your mother’s.”
“Yes, it’s worth a lot of money.” He grinned.
He had a knack for making me smile. “You know I don’t mean that. Why do you want to give it to me?”
“Because I like you.”
Did he mean that? Happiness bloomed in my heart. “But what about your mother?” I stroked the silkworm. “She’ll be mad if she discovers it went missing.”
“She died years ago.” His head drooped, and a cloud of sadness covered his face.
I reached for his hand. His mother had died, and mine remained unreachable. In a way, we suffered the same hollowness, where the absence of motherly affection settled in our hearts like a wound.
“I cannot accept this.” I returned the jade silkworm to his hand.
“What’s wrong, sweet face?”
“A Talent is not allowed to possess precious gifts, you know that.”
“But you won’t tell anyone.”
Of course I would not, and I would keep it close to my heart and never let it leave my sight. “But I still think you should keep it yourself.”
The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) Page 10