The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology)

by Weina Dai Randel

  Taizi was the most imposing figure of all. Dressed in a single loincloth and nothing else, he perched on top of his mount like a statue. He was undoubtedly the most powerful player, the ball spinning at high speed each time he struck it. His hits were hard and deadly, but his horse ran slowly, burdened by the prince’s weight. After two chukkas, his mount panted foam, and he had to switch horses.

  Prince Ke was the opposite image of the heir. One year younger, he possessed the delicate features of a young maiden. He had pale skin, scarlet lips, rosy cheeks, and the willowy waist of a dancer. I feared for his life each time the heir roared past him, but he was resilient, like the willow. I hoped, for his mother’s sake, he would play a good game and impress the Emperor.

  Prince Yo bore no resemblance to either of his half brothers. His suntanned face was covered with layers of dust, and his slanted eyes were alert like a hound’s. But the most prominent feature on his face was his eyebrows. Long and thick, they looked as if a calligrapher had lost control when he drew them.

  He looked angry and impatient, and he played polo like someone who was racing against time. Quickly and precisely, he ran through the field like an unsheathed sword.

  They all had much at stake. If Taizi disappointed the Emperor, he might be forced to leave the court again, or face something worse. If Prince Yo scored more, he would greatly please the Emperor, and his mother, the Pure Lady, would rise with him. The same went for Prince Ke.

  “Do you think we will win?” I asked the Noble Lady.

  “I just hope Ke will be safe.” The lady’s gaze followed her son, who spurted forward and struck the ball but missed. “Polo is a dangerous game.”

  I did not speak, but I thought she would have wished more than that.

  “I would like to tell you, the workshops are no longer my responsibility,” she said. “The Emperor ordered the Pure Lady to replace me.”

  Surprised, I turned to her. Had Jewel whispered something in his ear? “He should not have done that.”

  Prince Ke had another reason to win the game—to compel the Emperor to reconsider his mother’s duty in the workshops.

  The Noble Lady shook her head. “Never question him, Mei, for your own sake, and remember that we shall always obey him and respect his decision, no matter what it is.”

  “But—”

  “Look.” She turned, and I followed her gaze. Four female porters, carrying a sedan chair, were heading toward the Emperor. Sitting on the chair was an obese scholar with massive girth that seemed to spill onto the porters.

  It was Prince Wei, Taizi’s younger brother. He was only nineteen but larger than the four women combined. His enormous weight apparently took a toll on the porters, who doubled over, their faces raining perspiration. But he seemed oblivious. Holding a calligraphy brush, he gestured as though composing an important poem in the air.

  “And that’s Prince Zhi,” the Noble Lady said, looking behind the porters.

  My body tensed, but I kept still. Pheasant was holding the reins of a piebald horse, his head turning toward the men on the polo field. He cupped his free hand around his mouth and shouted something, and Taizi waved his mallet as a response. Grinning, Pheasant went to the Emperor, who gestured for him to sit beside him. They lowered their heads together, nodding, pointing at the men on the field, and then both raised their heads, laughing.

  “He’s his favorite,” the Noble Lady said.

  “Prince Zhi?”

  “Yes,” she said. “The Emperor gave him the nickname Pheasant when they went out hunting together. The Emperor saw a large pheasant with a magnificent tussock of tail feathers that none of them had seen before. Everyone vowed to shoot it and give it to the Emperor as a gift. But Prince Zhi stopped them. He said to leave the bird alone. The bird would be happier to be with its family in the wild, he said. The Emperor was touched by his kindness. He praised him and has called him Pheasant ever since. He was only five at the time.”

  What a beautiful story. My heart sweetened.

  “But later, the Emperor told me something else. Prince Zhi had too much love, he said. A ruler does not rule the kingdom by love.”

  I was quiet. But perhaps it did not matter. Pheasant did not have a chance to ascend to the throne anyway.

  “Here he comes.” She waved at her son, who dismounted and walked to her. The practice was over. “I shall go.” The sunlight gleamed on her golden headdress. She turned to face me. “I’m happy for you, Mei. The game is your chance. When everyone sees you next to the Emperor, you will be luminous, rising like a new moon in this court.”

  I bowed. “I thank you. I shall do my best.”

  The Noble Lady smiled and left to meet Prince Ke. Ever an affectionate mother, she kissed her son’s forehead and smoothed his robe.

  I stood alone under the tree, chewing her words. She was right. My fate would change after the game.

  Her servants came to me to ask their leave. Deeply, they bowed. I nodded, acknowledged them, and left as well, but I was surprised by their obsequious manner. Nearby, all the servants, some I did not know, turned and dipped their heads to pay me respect.

  I held my long sleeves tightly in my hands.

  I was eager for the game to start.

  • • •

  When I returned to my bedchamber that night, I took out Father’s mortuary tablet, which was tucked under my clothes. I wished I could tell him of my progress in the court, and I promised him, as soon as I could, I would ask the Emperor to return our family’s fortune to us.

  I thought of the day Father died and how my life had changed. Those images swirled in my mind again: the yellow, bulbous eyes, the whirling leaves, and the desperate cries echoing in the sky. “Mei, Mei!”

  I could hear it was Father calling my name, and there, I sensed it too, a bright orange figure, silent and sinister, looming a few feet beside me. What was it? I wanted to see, I wanted to know, but my neck was stiff, and I could not turn. And suddenly, a gust of wind swept around me, and all the memories vanished. I held the tablet tight. Mother had told me Father fell off a cliff and died. I did not believe it. Something else must have happened.

  What really happened to him? Why could I not remember?

  AD 642

  the Sixteenth Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect

  SUMMER

  19

  The music of drums, fifes, and flutes swelled, and a scarlet ball vaulted into the sky. Along the edge of the polo field, the flag bearers waved their flags frantically. Men shouted from the benches. Horses whinnied, their hooves pounding across the vast field. The competition between the Chinese Imperial Team and the Tibetan Team raged on.

  I sat next to the Emperor on a raised platform, a black veil draped over my face. I wore a lavishly embroidered red gown suitable for an empress, and even though I could not see myself, I knew I looked like one.

  I felt like one too, in fact. After all, today would be most marvelous and memorable. All I had to do was watch the game, entertain the Emperor, and then after the game, I would go to the banquet hall with the Emperor as he accepted the vassals’ vow of allegiance. They would bow to me too, and I would greet them, gracefully and magnificently. And then, as the Noble Lady had said, I would become the rising moon of the palace. Everyone would know I was in favor, and then the Emperor would love me, keeping me by his side, and soon I would wear the crown of Most Adored, and Jewel would don the hat of Most Abhorred. And Mother… I would be able to take care of her. I would ask the Emperor to give our house back and also to bestow many riches on her…

  I tried not to look at Jewel, who was sitting on a bench near the platform. She was veiled as well, but I could feel the sting of her glare. Around her, arranged in the law of feng shui and the order of seniority, were the Noble Lady, who smiled at me kindly, the Pure Lady, holding her cat, Lady Obedience, and Lady Virtue, who gazed int
o the mirror held by her maid. I was relieved she was more interested in her looks than in me, but on the other side of the platform, some high-ranking ministers were eyeing me appraisingly, and behind them, the Emperor’s vassals—the chieftains of various tribes on the northern border—shouted something in my direction. I wondered if they were talking about me too.

  “Wine.” The Emperor knocked on the table.

  “Yes, the One Above All.” Holding my wide sleeves back with my left hand, I poured the wine from the jug. He was a different person today, content and warm, like a wise and benevolent ruler. It seemed each time I met him, he looked different.

  “Your thoughts about the game?”

  I hesitated. I had not paid much attention to the game. The veil obscured my view, and every time the horses sped across the field, a cloud of yellow dust blanketed me. But I should not tell him that.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said.

  He nodded, looking happy with my answer. “I shall give you a reward if you guess who will win.”

  That was an unexpected surprise. I lifted the veil to get a clear view of the field. “Let me see—”

  A deafening roar shook the field. Taizi, in his usual loincloth, sped up to pass three horses and struck the ball. He missed the net. Another rider in a black tunic with a red belt, Prince Yo, intercepted the ball. He struck. The ball dipped into the net; the whole field roared.

  The Emperor shot to his feet. “Well done!”

  I applauded too, reluctantly, and glanced at the Noble Lady. She looked worried, gazing at her son at the other side of the field, who swung his mallet idly. But the Pure Lady smiled wickedly and stroked her cat.

  “So, have you picked a winner?” The Emperor stroked his whiskers.

  “I daresay, the One Above All, the Tibetans will be routed.”

  “Are you willing to bet on that, Talent?” the Duke said, leaning forward from his bench.

  I did not like him interrupting us; I did not like him at all. He was the one who had interrogated me and nearly had me beaten for intruding into the Altar House. I would like to have glared at his long face and told him to go away. But he was the Duke, and I had to show respect. “Why, I thought our Grand Duke should devote himself to a virtue.” Rather than the vice of gambling.

  “Right now, my virtue is to assure proper attention is devoted to the game.” He snorted. “A maiden like you probably doesn’t even care for the scores.”

  “This is the third chukka,” the Emperor’s uncle said near us. I was not certain if he was trying to help me or not. “We won the first two. One more, and we will win.”

  “I’m asking the maiden,” the Duke said curtly. The Uncle’s face turned red; he looked insulted. It was disrespectful for the Duke to speak to him in such a manner.

  “What bet do you have in mind, Wuji?” the Emperor asked, using the Duke’s given name.

  “If your Talent wins, the One Above All will grant her any reward, and I will give up my house and present it to her. If she loses”—the Duke smirked—“she’ll lose her title of Talent.”

  Who cared about his den filled with aristocratic filth? I would rather keep my newly earned title and stay out of it. I lowered my head to rearrange the goblets on the table.

  “It looks like your Talent is rather frightened.” The Duke’s tone was condescending and laced with contempt.

  I raised my chin. “I’m not frightened.”

  “A bet then?”

  I could not reply. The Emperor tilted his head toward me. I should not disappoint him. Yet to risk my title? I took a deep breath, determined to decline, when I saw the Emperor smile. Not at me, but at someone among the ladies on the bench. Jewel stood up and bowed.

  “It’s a bet,” I said.

  “Done!” The Duke slammed the platform with his fist.

  “I shall be glad to offer my Talent a reward.” The Emperor fingered his whiskers. “You’re going to lose, Wuji.”

  It was too late to rescind it. I faced the field, biting my lip. Taizi dashed toward the ball. A Tibetan vanguard clicked his tongue, making a loud di-di-di noise, but he was too late. Taizi snatched the ball with the crescent top of his mallet and scored.

  “Third chukka score: Imperial Team 4, the Tibetans 3,” someone shouted.

  I wiped the perspiration off my forehead. One more point, and the Imperial Team would win the third chukka. And the game. Then I could ask any reward from the Emperor and even keep the Duke’s residence. Drink to that, Duke.

  “You see,” the Emperor said. “My Talent has foresight to match her courage.”

  I had just smiled when a Tibetan got the ball. He struck. The ball shot into the air and bounced on the field. The vanguard raced to it and directed it to the net. Fortunately, he missed, but another Tibetan horseman dashed to it and struck. He scored.

  My heart sank. It was a draw.

  The horses galloped again, and mallets crossed in the air. Prince Ke steered his steed toward the ball, but Prince Yo slid his mallet under the horse’s belly, and the ball flew. Prince Ke forged ahead. He was about to touch the ball when Prince Yo’s mallet appeared, aiming at his head. I gasped and stood up. If Prince Yo wounded Prince Ke, we would lose a valuable player. I could not imagine why Prince Yo would take such a big risk. Around me murmurs arose, but when I raised my head at the field again, the situation had changed. Prince Ke withdrew to the back, and a Tibetan stole the ball and scored. They won the third chukka.

  The score: Imperial 2—Tibetan 1.

  My throat was dry. I should not have gotten lured into the bet. The Duke was evil. Had he allied with Jewel to dishonor me?

  “A break,” the Emperor ordered.

  I sighed inwardly but felt no relief.

  • • •

  “Heavenly Khan,” one of the Emperor’s vassals, a chieftain, shouted at the Emperor from his bench, his mouth full of meat. “The Tibetans are no match for your men.” He grabbed a wine pot and poured the wine directly into his mouth. “Teach them a lesson! Kick them back to Tibet!”

  Near him, another chieftain, whose eyes had been darting constantly from the Emperor to the ministers, said, “Of course our Heavenly Khan will win, my dear khan.”

  Of all the spectators, the Emperor’s vassals did not fit in with us. They wore knee-length pants, exposing a good portion of their hairy legs, and they had not bothered to wear hats.

  “Khan of Tuyuhun, Khan of Eastern Turks.” The Emperor beckoned at them and the other chieftains close to him. “I hear you made inquiries about my health. Here, I invite you and all my vassals to see I, your Heavenly Khan, can still rip apart whoever stands in my way.”

  I filled the Emperor’s goblet with wine. I wondered why he had brought up the subject of his health; after all, it had been a year since the assassination attempt. Some shouts came from the field. I raised my head. The Tibetans broke into a strange dance to celebrate their gain, their shoulders tipping to one side and their legs swinging high. Near them, Taizi kicked in the stirrups, shouting, “You putrid fly eaters! Stop singing like women!”

  “We’re honored to see our Heavenly Khan strong as a lion. This is a great victory to us all, and we shall return home with joy,” the chieftain with quick eyes, Khan of Tuyuhun, said.

  “But I can’t let my vassals return empty-handed.” The Emperor drained his goblet. “I have a special present for you all.” He pointed to a chest behind me. It was rather large, the size of a writing table, wrapped with a piece of black cloth. “It’s in the box.”

  I heard whimpering from inside. Perhaps it was a precious animal, but it was strange the Emperor would bring it to the polo field.

  “And I shall show you, all of you”—he struck the table with his fist, suddenly looking murderous—“what is a traitor’s fate.”

  No one dared to speak. The chieftains lowered their heads
and returned to their benches, looking smaller than before.

  The drums began to beat urgently on the field. The fourth chukka had started.

  I turned to the field, watching every strike of the mallets and every prancing of the horses with great concentration. Halfway through the chukka, Taizi broke the Tibetans’ defense and seized the ball. Before he struck it, he switched the mallet to his left hand and shook his right hand.

  Taizi was injured.

  My heart wrenched in panic.

  Taizi missed two more strikes, and the Imperial Team slowed. The Tibetans seized the chance and tore through Taizi’s side of line like a spear. The Imperial Team lost the fourth chukka.

  The Duke leered. “Imperial 2, Tibetans 2.”

  “Break!” the Emperor shouted.

  I poured him more wine, but I could barely see the liquid or hear what he said to his vassals and ministers. On the field, Taizi was shouting again, this time to Prince Yo and the other imperial players, who laid their mallets across their laps and lowered their heads.

  A bitter taste lingered on my tongue. My bet was doomed.

  • • •

  The fifth chukka—my last opportunity! The crowd shouted, and the sound of the drums deafened. I could barely breathe. My eyes darted here and there. Each time a Tibetan scored, the Duke hit his fist against his palm in victory. I wanted to punch him.

  Taizi held the ball again. Hooves pounding, he sailed through the Tibetan defense and struck the ball. It soared in the air, and he forged ahead to add a decisive hit. But the Tibetan vanguard broke through the right wing from nowhere. Their steeds pranced as they met muzzle to muzzle. Cursing, Taizi yanked his horse to the left, where another Imperial player galloped forward and plowed into him with a thunderous crash.

  I stood up, shocked. Screams pierced my ears. People rushed toward the field. But I could not see anything through the cloud of dust.