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

by Weina Dai Randel

  “See? Bad blood.”

  I covered my face with my hands. He said something more, but I did not understand. A thought sprouted in my mind like a malicious weed. Unuttered, tenacious, and shapeless, it rooted in my head and grew bitter fruits of destruction.

  I was a cripple.

  Furiously, I clawed my skin and beat my legs.

  “If your bad blood travels to your heart, you will not see the full moon this month,” he said. He sounded like he cared for me, but his voice was cold as usual.

  “Go away.”

  “I’ll give you a clean cut.” He put his hand on his sword. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

  “Go away!”

  “You must decide fast.”

  I would rather die than live as a cripple. With all the strength I could muster, I dragged myself to the edge of the garden. The stones on the ground rubbed against my raw skin, but I could not feel it. I continued to crawl. Finally, I sat in a corner and buried my head in my sleeves.

  So quiet. Like death. I closed my eyes. Would I see Father soon? “I ruined everything,” I would confess when we met. “You were wrong about me.”

  I drifted into sleep. When I awoke, night had descended. But there was no light from a candle or a lantern nearby. I looked around. I was alone, curled up in the corner like a forgotten cat.

  A pair of arms lifted me. Bewildered, I raised my head. My hand swept a chiseled jaw.

  “Pheasant?”

  “There you are.” It was him. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing here?”

  His familiar voice almost drove me to tears. “I can’t walk,” I said.

  He settled me against his chest. “Let’s get out of here.”

  His arms were strong, his skin warm, and his heart beat steadily against my chest. I clung to him like a cicada grasping its leafy home.

  He passed a dark building, moving gingerly, and turned right toward an entrance to another garden. Once we entered it, he crossed a bridge.

  “Where is everyone?” I whispered. It was quiet. We were alone. I liked that.

  “At the other side of the garden with Taizi.” He looked around the small area surrounded by many trees. “They’re burying the flutist.”

  “And you?” I touched his arm.

  “I’m fine.”

  But his pace was slower than usual. “You lost consciousness.”

  “That’s nothing.”

  “Did he forgive you?”

  He nodded, and we did not speak for a while.

  “You shouldn’t have said that to the Emperor, Pheasant.”

  He shook his head and walked toward a stone bench. Then he put me down and put a finger to his lips. There were faint lights coming from my left. Some murmurs drifted to my ears. The night was so quiet, I could hear someone reciting the end of a burial text nearby.

  Finally, voices urged the heir to return to his bedchamber. Their footsteps rose and soon faded. I leaned against the tree next to the bench and stared at the sky, where a round moon hung like a shattered plate. A sprawling branch over my head poked my shoulder. I sat still, recalling what the Captain had told me. I was a cripple, broken, like a table without legs, an abomination, like the heir.

  I felt the bench’s hard surface against me. “The Captain recommended he cut off my legs. He said it was bad blood.”

  “What?” He lowered himself to the ground to stay at my eye level, looking stiff.

  I turned to Pheasant. The pale moonlight draped on his head like a luminescent net. “I can’t walk.”

  He turned his face away from me. “He must be crazy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “What if he’s right?”

  He turned around and cradled my face in his hands. I could not believe how much he had changed. All traces of that easy manner of his were gone. He looked different, intense and melancholic.

  My heart poured out for him. “Oh, poor Pheasant.” I held him. It just occurred to me that he could not sit because he still hurt from being whipped. “What have I done to you?”

  He stroked my hair. “Don’t say that. I would do anything for you.”

  My eyes moistened. As long as I had him, I did not care what happened to me. I could have held him and died at that moment, and I would have had no regrets.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “He promised to leave you alone.”

  “He forgives me?”

  “Yes. He won’t beat you, demote you, or expel you from the court.”

  I searched his face. I should have known that Pheasant would protect me, that he would convince the Emperor to spare me. “What did you do, Pheasant?”

  He did not answer.

  I held the front of his robe. “You promised you’d never see me again?”

  He looked away.

  My hands trembled. “Is he going to send you away?”

  “To study classics.”

  “And?”

  “Remember what I told you? Before my mother’s deathbed, my father promised I could marry any woman I wished, any woman of my choice.”

  I remembered. He was her youngest son, her most beloved son. She wished him to be happy, not a pawn of the throne.

  “Now, he has chosen one for me,” Pheasant said. “And I agreed.”

  My hands slipped, and I faced the emptiness of the night. So vast and open. I felt the weightlessness surround me as if I were falling into a void, like a leaf blown into a gorge.

  “Take care, my love.” He stood up, stretching out his hand as if to touch me. “I promise I will not see you again.”

  “Wait.” I clutched his sleeve. Our gazes locked, and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Just a moment longer, all right?”

  He nodded.

  “When do you leave?”

  “At dawn.”

  So soon. Next time I saw him, he would belong to someone else. “Can I see where they struck you?”

  He reached for his belt and untied his robe. Around his waist and back were bandages, beneath which flowed the blood that had bled for me. I did not touch it. I only stared. “Pheasant, have I told you about my father?”

  He shook his head.

  “He died to save me. I was twelve years old. He took me to my family’s grave site and showed me our family’s land. We were talking so merrily. He loved me, Pheasant. I was his favorite. But a tiger attacked us. No. Attacked me. He pushed me away to save me. For years I could not remember, but now I do.”

  He squeezed my hand.

  “He wanted so much for me. He raised me like a son. He believed in me, believed in some prediction, and then he died to protect me. I wanted to make him happy, to make him proud of me. I wanted to walk the path he chose for me. I couldn’t be with you”—I raised my head—“even if I wanted to.”

  He stroked my head. Once, his tenderness would have crushed me, pained me. Not anymore. I traced his skin near the bandages. He cringed. “But I think there is nothing I can do. I have to disappoint him.”

  I had to make a choice, my own choice. It was neither a right one nor a good one. Because with the choice, I would banish my father’s dream to the court’s shadowy corner, where it would wander like a homeless ghost, and because of it, I would bring my family no fame or glory.

  I untied my robe and let it fall off my shoulders. Then I took Pheasant’s hand and kissed him.

  He swallowed hard. “I can’t now.”

  “Why?”

  “You were right. I will ruin you. I have been selfish. This will bring you danger and dishonor. I will not do that to you.”

  “I don’t care.” I undid the cords of my bandeau and dropped it too. Cool air swept across my naked chest, but I did not feel cold.

  “Me
i…” His voice was faint.

  I did not stop. I pulled down my skirt and trousers, lifting my bottom to remove them. When there was not a thread left on me, I raised my arms to loop around his neck and pressed against him.

  We both trembled.

  “I still can’t—” His warm breath touched my lips like a delicate brush. His heart beat the same fierce rhythm as mine.

  “Kiss me.”

  “Mei…” He was struggling. His breath quickened.

  I leaned closer to him, stroking his chest. He breathed fast but still would not hold me. I moved down. He stilled. Then suddenly, I was beneath him on the stone bench.

  How strange I felt. I was there but not there. I was high but also low. I was soft but also hard. I was less but also more. I drifted, I flew, I leaped to a world distant and unknown. I transformed into water, I turned into gold, and I relived as fire. Every part of my body seemed to evolve, but I did not know what I would become. I only knew, however, that I was stronger.

  Then something deep within me emerged, pulsating, its beats persistent but subtle, like a butterfly’s flutters. It grew stronger and stronger and swept my breath away like the powerful wings of an eagle.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  We stopped to breathe, my face resting in the nook of his neck. We were so close. I could feel his soul next to me, and the seed of sweetness flowered within me.

  He brushed my hair aside. “What are we going to do now?”

  I squeezed his hand. “You have a safe journey tomorrow.”

  His arms circled me tight.

  “We don’t have a choice, Pheasant.”

  His grip became tighter. I let him hold me, my eyes closed. I would want nothing more than to rest with him and stay with him, but that was not a fate we could have. Slowly, I pried open his fingers, one by one, and I took his hand off my waist. I picked up my clothing and dressed.

  “I’ll talk to my brother, Prince Wei. He’ll look after you when I’m gone.” He stood beside me.

  “I’ll be fine.” I slipped off the bench and froze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” I could not finish the sentence, my heart pounding with joy. “Look, look!”

  We both looked down. A carpet of luminous light veiled the ground. There was nothing else there, except for the dark tip of my clogs poking under my long skirt.

  “I’m standing!” I held on to Pheasant’s shoulders. “I’m on my feet again. I feel my feet!” A wave of painful sensation struck my feet and legs, and I wobbled. “Do you see that? The Captain was wrong!” My knees gave way, and I lurched forward.

  Pheasant caught me. “I knew it!” His face beamed with such brilliance and happiness, as if he were the one regaining his strength. “I told you he was crazy. Do you believe me now?”

  Joy radiated through my limbs. “Yes, I believe you.” Gazing at him, I cupped his chin with my two hands. “Always.”

  He lowered his head. Lingeringly, we kissed.

  Somewhere, a night bird cooed. Its soft lilt echoed in the darkness and settled in my heart like a nest.

  I wished to stay there a bit longer. I wished the night would never end. But then came the servants’ voices, brusque and strident, tearing the night’s silence. I gave Pheasant one last glance and limped away.

  AD 644

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

  AUTUMN

  34

  I often thought of that night as the night my life was forever altered, and I also realized I was a terrible student. I had memorized Sun Tzu’s lines of how to succeed in the Nine Situations, how to attack by fire and water, how to cultivate tactical dispositions, and how to use spies to excavate the enemy’s deep secrets. But I had failed, tragically, to understand myself.

  Yet I did not have regrets, and if Father had been alive, I would have knelt before him and begged for his forgiveness. I could not fulfill his wish, no matter how splendid the vision was, and no matter how perfectly my destiny had been designed. I was only an ordinary woman, saddled by an ordinary woman’s weaknesses and tears.

  I knew now: love and destiny were two wild horses that could not be curbed. They galloped in different directions and ran down different paths where streams of desire and hope would not converge. To follow one was to betray the other. To make one happy was to break the other’s heart. Yet I supposed that was part of life, a lesson we had to learn. To grow up was also to give up, and to build the future was to dissolve the past. The only thing we could do was hope for the best, to believe that the horse we chose would find us a safe destination.

  • • •

  On the surface, everything remained the same. I tended the wardrobe chamber, gave instructions to my helpers who delivered the garments, and slept on the mat in the Emperor’s chamber with Plum, Daisy, and the other Talents on our nights. On occasion, I followed the Emperor to the Audience Hall. He did not dismiss or scold me.

  But something had changed. He strolled past me as if I did not exist. His gaze swept the faces of the attendants, but he did not see me. When he ordered wine, he never turned in my direction as I bowed to present my tray. He did not call me to keep him company when he sat alone in the ring of candles. It seemed he had banished me to an invisible corner where he would not set his sight.

  After the New Year, I would be nineteen, but I had ruined the chance of a lifetime.

  Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened if I had not run after Pheasant. I also wondered what would have happened if I had never met Pheasant or fallen in love with him in the first place. I would perhaps have become Most Adored a long time ago.

  Pheasant moved out of the palace a few days after we said good-bye. The Emperor had given him a house outside the palace. The servants whispered about the woman the Emperor had chosen for him. She was from the prestigious Wang family and had a love for animals. Many believed she was a good choice.

  And, to my great dismay, the shameless Rain, more wicked than anyone I knew, even Jewel, gave birth to a baby boy, for she had lain with Pheasant after I left him last year. I did not sleep well after hearing the news. I hoped the Emperor would punish her severely for having an illicit relationship with Pheasant, but he did not. Because she bore a precious son, the Emperor not only forgave her, but also ordered the celebration of the birth with great pomp. He even decreed that Rain serve Pheasant from now on and become an official member of his household. She was to be his concubine.

  Suddenly, Pheasant, my Pheasant, the love of my heart, was a husband of another woman, a father with a newborn son.

  On the night when the palace celebrated Pheasant’s son, the Emperor danced, laughing, spilling too much wine. I stayed in a corner while Pheasant drank with the others. When court protocol forced me to toast to him, I approached his table, knelt before him, and congratulated him.

  He raised his head, his eyes two deep wells of anguish. But there was nothing we could say, with Rain sitting at his right, holding her newborn. I held my head low and poured wine into his cup.

  The amber stream cascaded like a waterfall of tears.

  • • •

  The Emperor retracted Taizi’s allowances and forbade his activities in the Archery Hall, the imperial stables, the libraries, even the parks. Neither was he welcome at any formal gatherings. The heir retreated to his residence and spent all his time hosting wrestling tournaments. Sometimes, when I woke in the night, I heard the men’s boisterous laughter and drunken shouts echo in the distance. I thought about how tenderly Taizi had bound his lover with the strip of cloth and how his hands had trembled when he’d heard the Emperor’s order. I understood the hollowness in his voice, and I knew his pain was as real as mine.

  And the Emperor, oh, he had changed as well. He even lost the last vestige of handsomeness. His che
eks sagged, and the right side of his face seemed somehow longer than the left side. He could not hold his sword anymore. The blade lay at his fingertips, but he simply could not reach out and hold it.

  Still, he summoned us to his chamber, following the bedding schedule, but when I, together with the other Talents, went to his chamber, he always sat in the circle of candles, holding the goblet with his good left hand. As always, he did not trouble to bed us or ask us to seduce him. Rather he ordered us to stay in a corner far from his stool. Walking in front of him was forbidden. When someone did, he would hold his head and cry out, “Shadows, shadows!” as if they gave him a terrible headache.

  He also ordered his dress maids—not me, never me—to read poems or summoned his musicians to play percussion and windpipe music until dawn. But he listened to none of these—his snore was louder than the music. And as soon as their recitals stopped, he woke with a start. It seemed he was afraid of going to sleep.

  His nights with other ladies went worse than mine, I heard. He cursed, kicked, threw things, and when the ladies begged him to stop, he would jerk back, as though suddenly awake, and then he would weep. Sometimes, in his exhaustion, he would curl up in his oversize bed and doze, and then in the morning, when I received the linen sheets from his chambermaids, they were often soiled and stained with his essence.

  Why had he changed so? Was it because of the ghost of his brother? I would never know, perhaps, and I was careful not to talk about the Emperor with Plum or Daisy.

  • • •

  “Perhaps, the One Above All, it is time to revisit the Art of Bedchamber.” The Taoist astrologer’s voice resonated through the Audience Hall as I waited in the antechamber.

  I wished the audience would end quickly. I had lost interest in the Emperor’s governing strategies and the events happening in our kingdom. When I listened, I felt a thick, lethargic stupor clouding my head. It seemed to me the Emperor was not interested in audiences either. These days, he did not come to the audience very often. When he did, it was short and tedious, and his ministers had to wait outside in the corridor rather than inside.

  The Emperor’s meeting with the astrologer was unplanned. He had complained of an ache on his face, or inside his mouth, which he did not seem to be sure. So he had consulted with imperial physicians, and the physician Sun Simiao had prescribed him pills for a toothache. But the Emperor had also summoned the astrologer for his opinion.