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

by Weina Dai Randel

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Pheasant chose me? Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we could be together? I wanted nothing other than to stay with him. He was the one I wanted. But he was not for me. Nor was I for him. “You could never marry me, Pheasant.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I had a destiny, and he was not part of it. And I was so close… “I’m not worthy of you. Can you not see it?”

  “What are you talking about?” He took a step toward me.

  I closed my eyes. “Do you remember the story of the girl who flew to the moon?”

  “The moon girl?” His eyes grew bright. Too bright. “I thought you were different from the others. You never cared. You did not even know who I was.”

  “You are wrong.” My heart wrenched, but I forced myself to continue. “I’m no different from the other girls.” The girls who wished to be an empress. Or Chang E, who wanted her immortality. I put down the basket of laundry and, my hands trembling, I took out the jade silkworm from the scent pouch. “You should keep this. Or give it to Rain.”

  He held it in his hand, gazing at the silkworm. I thought he would fly into a rage, lash his anger at me, shout at me, or strike me. I would have felt much better if he had. But he closed his hand over the silkworm. His fist remained clenched for a long time, and when he raised his head, a deluge of anguish had flooded his eyes.

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I was sorry. I wanted to tell him to forget about what I had said and that I would not leave him. I did neither. Instead, I descended the stone stairs of the bridge and passed him.

  And the rain fell on my face like a shower of ashes.

  • • •

  The Emperor summoned me that night. I painted my eyebrows and beauty marks, whitened my skin with some creamy tincture, and dabbed fragrance under my armpits to make me smell pleasant. Then I put on a transparent silk veil and draped it around me.

  It was my night. There would be no Jewel, and he would be all mine. If he continued to summon me for a month, I would replace Jewel. I would be known as Most Adored.

  He waited, wearing a loose white tunic and a pair of night trousers with gold threads on the hem. He did not sit on the bed or the stool, but rather on a floor mat surrounded by candles. He seemed to be performing a ritual, one I had never seen before. His hand was shaking, and the flames flickered on his shrunken face—was it lopsided somehow? But that must be the light… I was certain though, he looked haggard, uncertain, even…fearful.

  I sat at the outer circle of candles, keeping a discreet distance from him. Daisy had told me he was different at night, but I had not expected to see him act so strangely. In fact, had I not seen him in his elaborate formal regalia and crown in court, had I not seen how calm he was when he gave the order to throw the slave under the horses at the polo match, I would not have believed he was the Emperor of China.

  “Wine!” he ordered, handing me a small jug.

  I hurried to a table and poured the wine. He took it from my hand and dismissed the other servants who waited in the corridor. “Go!” He gestured me to the bed.

  A wave of nervous heat rushed through me, but I did not hesitate. I lay down.

  He came close. “Hold this.” He pushed the wine jug into my hands, as if he were asking his groom to hold his belongings before he headed out for hunting. Then he pulled up his robe.

  I could not understand why he had given me the jug, but I obeyed, held tight to it as his cold fingers scratched my thigh. I should not complain. I had asked for this. Many maidens had looked forward to this moment. I should have been glad, should have felt privileged and honored that I would become the Emperor’s woman. Emperor’s woman…like Jewel… I wondered how she felt when she came to serve him.

  The liquid in the jug swished, wetting my palm as he pushed at me. He seemed to be having trouble, however, grunting and cursing. I stared at the ceiling. The bedposts seemed to shake, and the green balls in the dragons’ mouths appeared as if they would fall out any moment. There were two reflections, the Emperor’s back and my head. We looked small, like insects crawling…

  His cursing grew louder, and his breath became heavier. I tensed, worried. I hoped he was not upset with me.

  “Turn around!” he barked. A force smacked me, and his hands clamped down on the sides of my face. My ear was rubbed raw, and my jaw was nearly crushed.

  What would it be like to do it with Pheasant? Would he hurt me too? I should have been ashamed. I should not have thought of him while I was in his father’s bed…

  A loud sound exploded. It was the jug. I looked at my empty hands. The Emperor had snatched it from me and smashed it.

  “Useless, useless!” he bellowed, flinging his arm wildly. Another crash. Then another. He breathed hard, his face crimson as though he were about to kill someone. “Get up. I said get up!”

  He would not take me. I was too shocked to stand up. He did not like me? Was there something wrong with me? Was I too ugly?

  “Wine! Wine!”

  I jolted. Quickly putting on my gown, I went to a nearby table. There I found another jug and filled it with wine.

  He drained the whole thing and tossed it away. “More!”

  I gave him another, and he drank again, streams of wine trickling down his chin. I had never seen him drink in such haste and without grace.

  “You, all of you, are useless,” he said. His voice was as hoarse as though a fire had burned his throat, but the fire had died, and there were only blisters and scars.

  I remembered the Noble Lady had mentioned that he had trouble doing his duty. So perhaps it was not my fault after all. But I still had something to do with it. I had failed to please him. If I were more skillful, if I were like Jewel, he could have taken me. I could not hold up my head.

  “Tell me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Are you a good liar?”

  I wondered what he meant, and carefully, I said, “The One Above All, when I was a child, I studied Lao Tzu. He said that Heaven and Earth encompass all things in between, like a bellows, and nourish them with their abundance, whereas a man’s utterances would sound full and pleasing, but they would soon be spent.”

  “Nonsense. Say what is in your mind!”

  “It is better not to lie, and a man could always avoid it by keeping silent.” And if I must lie, I would lie only to my enemies, not to myself.

  “Silent? I am asking you now.” He waved his arm, and beads of wine flew to my face. “Do you lie?”

  There was fury in his voice, and I knew the fire would return if I did not comply. “It depends.”

  He nodded. “This sounds more like you. Go on. Why do you lie?”

  Because it was convenient and it provided protection, I wanted to tell him, but I said, “I don’t know, the One Above All. I only know that truth does not die, and we can’t live without it.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, the One Above All.”

  “When you’re older, you will know not to talk to your emperor like this.”

  “Yes, the One Above All.”

  “We always lie. We lie to our servants, we lie to friends, we lie to enemies, and we lie to ourselves. Lies are like this jug of wine. We drink it constantly to keep our essence and to fight. Who daresay it’s not good for health?” He raised the jug. A drop of wine fell on a candle, and the flame spluttered. He did not seem to notice. “And truth, who cares?”

  I did not know what to answer.

  “If we lie well, if we get everyone to agree to it, if we lie until our death, if we lie for a hundred years, would you not say the lies are the truth?”

  That argument sounded perverted, and I did not like it, but I had to agree. Truth had value only when people cared to know, but if people were fooled for centuries, if they thought they knew, who would ask to hear
the truth? Likewise, if a person pretended for his whole life, putting on a kind face and hiding his darkest secrets until his death, would people not think they had known the kind person all along?

  “The hard part would be the moment when you awake from wine. Then you see his eyes.” He pointed at no one in particular. “His dead eyes.”

  He froze, his head cocked to one side, his eyes distant. It looked as though he was lost in an old memory. There was sadness—yes, I was certain of it—in his eyes, and his mouth twitched as though he could not bear the pain of it, as though he were about to cry. Then he punched the air, and his face changed. There was no sadness, only hardness and coldness spreading over his face like a mask.

  “But he punishes me. He is trying to make me weak! It’s him! I know it’s him!” he bellowed. “He stares at me. He even calls out my name. ‘Shimin, Shimin.’ How many years have passed? I don’t remember, but I remember the truth I made.” He stabbed his chest. “My truth, and everyone believes in it.”

  I was confused. So confused. What was he talking about? Whom was he talking about?

  “Do not lie to your emperor.”

  “Never, the One Above All.”

  “Liars, all of you.” He drank more. “I did what was necessary. He couldn’t blame it on me. He deserved it. He would have done the same. What can he do now? He’s dead! What harm can he do to me? He was no brother of mine. No, not anymore.”

  His brother. The heir who was supposed to inherit the throne? Emperor Gaozu had three sons. The oldest son, Li Jiancheng, was the heir to the throne, but he died, and the youngest son died as well, leaving only the Emperor to inherit the throne.

  The Emperor rose. The hem of his night trousers licked the flames. I gasped and dashed to smother the fire.

  He swirled around. “What is it?”

  “The flame—”

  He staggered backward, his head turning left and right. “Where? Do you see him? I know he’s here. I know it!”

  His voice changed again. It was cracked, broken, like a bone fractured under pressure. “Tell him to leave. This is my bedchamber. Tell him to leave. He’s screaming at me. Do you hear him?”

  He was shivering. He looked frightened. I was alarmed. “No…the One Above All…I don’t hear anything.”

  The flame caught the hem of his robe. I was about to cry out, warning him, when he dropped to his feet, smothering the flame. “You’re lying,” he said. Smoke drifted near his feet, and he buried his head between his knees. “You hear him. He mocks me, threatens me. ‘Sooner or later,’ he says, ‘sooner or later, Shimin…’”

  I did not know what to make of it, and how swiftly his mood had changed. “I…I’ll get more candles.”

  “Go. Go. Get out!”

  I could not move. I had come to bed him, but he did not seem interested, and he was angry at me.

  “No. Stay. Don’t leave.” He lay down on the floor. “Don’t leave.”

  Relieved, I went back to the candles. He mumbled, waving his hands. Finally he quieted, and with his feet curled up, his arms tucked close to his chest, he fell asleep. I waited for a moment and then gingerly took the broken candle near his feet and put it on a table. Then I sat, hugging my knees.

  The candle’s light glowed. It lit up the bedchamber, creating a bright ring of light, like the shining edge of the sun near eclipse, and inside the ring, darkness had spread to swallow the Emperor.

  I could not understand what had happened to him or why he was so tormented. But he needed me. I was still his favorite, and that was good enough.

  AD 642

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

  WINTER

  26

  Finally! Secretary Fang gave the Emperor the report of his search for Mother.

  The Gold Bird Guards had pasted many bulletins in the capital, and in a month’s time, they had received many messages regarding Mother, the Secretary said carefully. But it turned out people had misidentified Mother and most information was false, and all the clues led to nothing. It was his belief that because she had disappeared too many months ago, all traces of her had been lost. He paused and said no more, but from the way he bowed, I could sense what he was thinking—Mother was dead, and we might never find out what happened to her.

  I wept, but I implored the Emperor to keep searching. Mother was still alive. I could feel her. And I would never give up on her.

  • • •

  A few days later, I came to the Audience Hall again.

  “The One Above All.” Secretary Fang, in his purple robe, spoke first. “Forgive me that I must bring up this subject again. It has been more than four years since our beloved Empress Wende’s passing. The people are eager to pay their respects to the next empress, whose grace shall bring fortune to our kingdom.” I peeked farther out around the screen shielding the men. The Secretary had a square face and short legs. He was a taciturn man and frowned perpetually, as if he were unhappy in the court.

  My heart raced faster when I realized what he was going to say next—his proposal for the new Empress. His strategy made sense. If the lady he suggested became the Empress, he would gain great control and fortune in the court.

  “Let me restate this. Until another son is born, there will be no Empress.” The Emperor waved.

  So the rumor was true. The Emperor considered it a punishment from Heaven that he had begotten no son after the Empress’s death.

  The ministers near the Secretary shook their heads in disappointment. I moved near the screen so I could see their faces behind their ivory tablets. I wondered who they would ally with. With the Pure Lady’s son in exile, she was in disgrace, and none of them would support her. Then Secretary Fang had to ally with one of the three other Ladies or Jewel. But the Secretary did not know Jewel very well, so she would not be a likely choice. Perhaps he wanted the Noble Lady. The thought gave me great hope, and I was happy for her.

  I was sad too. None of them would speak for me.

  “I beg the One Above All to reconsider.” The Uncle, holding his ivory tablet, stepped next to the Secretary. “A kingdom without an heir can’t prosper, and likewise, the palace without an empress won’t have peace.” His voice was loud, assured, and full of authority.

  “The One Above All.” The Duke came in front of the throne. “I beg to differ. The matter is of utmost importance, and we must not decide on impulse. The candidate for the crown must meet many conditions, such as family background of nobility, her pedigree, her title, and the number of children to whom she gives birth. Although it has been a while since the Empress’s death, sufficient time and careful examination are needed in order to make a proper evaluation.”

  I was not surprised. The Duke did not want a new Empress, because the late Empress had been his sister. Anyone who replaced her would reduce his power and influence in the court.

  “This is only your excuse.” The Uncle pointed his cane at the Duke accusatorily. “You will bring our kingdom to ruin, and your selfish ambition will bring our people to ruin! I only hope the One Above All will see that—”

  “I did not ask for your tirade, Uncle.” The Emperor’s voice was threaded with warning.

  The Uncle’s face turned red. It was the first time I had heard the Emperor openly reprimand him to side with the Duke.

  After a moment of silence, the Secretary bowed again. “If I may be allowed to speak, the One Above All.” He cleared his throat. “By the glory of the One Above All, there is a woman who meets all your criteria. With her impeccable nobility, her pedigree, and her title, she has captured the heart of our Emperor and will make the whole kingdom rejoice.”

  The Duke raised his head. “My esteemed Secretary, I am afraid there is no such woman.”

  The Emperor looked interested. He leaned forward. “Let me hear you, Secretary. Whom do you suggest?”

&nb
sp; I held my breath. Did he support the Noble Lady?

  “I suggest no one other than the Lady-in-Waiting, whose wit has stunned those of us who have a chance to know her, our Most Adored.”

  Jewel.

  I froze. What had she done to win his support? But how clever she was. Being a third-degree lady and still Most Adored, she had enough of the Emperor’s affection and support to get what she wanted. And she had seized her chance to climb further since her former ally, the Pure Lady, was out of the picture.

  “Ah.” The Emperor nodded, his fingers drumming the throne’s armrest.

  I could not listen. Would he agree?

  The Duke laughed. “Secretary, have you checked? She has borne no son.”

  “She’s still in her twenties, young and fertile. She has plenty of time.”

  “What about the order of ranks and seniority? How can a third-degree lady surpass the second-degree ladies to become an empress?” That was ironic. I had never liked the Duke, but it seemed he was helping me.

  “Are you suggesting that the One Above All must bow to the boundary he created, and he can’t choose his favorite woman as his chief wife?”

  “I’m concerned only that such an endeavor will subvert the social order and tradition we have so valued for hundreds of years!”

  The Emperor held up his hand. “What are your thoughts, Grand Chancellor?”

  I searched for the hunchbacked man, Wei Zheng. He had helped me when the Duke accused me after the assassination attempt, and the Pure Lady had sought his support once. He was undoubtedly an important man.

  “May I suggest—” The Uncle stepped forward.

  “I’m asking the Chancellor.” The Emperor did not look in his direction.

  The Uncle breathed hard. He looked humiliated. A few ministers glanced at him from behind their ivory tablets.

  “Chancellor?”

  “I read the signs on the chart today.” The hunchbacked man seemed more bent. “Today is not a good day to discuss domestic affairs.”