by Lydia Kwa
Her face clouded over with displeasure, and she pulled her hand away, then glowered at him. “You can’t afford to stand by while I continue to suffer. Look at your health lately. Not doing so well with your eyes—and the dizzy spells. You need me to help you, don’t you? Why do I have to lecture you about the obvious? Can you afford to see my health suffer too? Where would you be without me?” She straightened up and added, “Besides, my sources say that Luoyang is astrologically more preferable.”
“Your sources?”
Just then, the drum from the tower north of Taijigong began to beat the rhythm for the Hour of the Pig, the ergeng night watch.
Wu Zhao didn’t answer Li Zhi’s question. “You’ve been spending too much time and attention on that foolish monk. All that money wasted on translation of the sutras.”
Li Zhi frowned. “Xuanzang?”
Wu Zhao pursed her lips. “We should return to our heritage. Daosim. Laozi. Long before Buddhism came here. Let’s not waste time on this religion that isn’t even ours, anyway.”
“It was my mother’s religion. And it remains mine,” replied Li Zhi, in a flat, firm tone. “Besides, our Buddhism is different. It retains our Daoist beliefs. Change, flow, timing. But of course you know all that, my dearest pearl.”
He cautiously reached out and tucked a stray hair back in place behind her ear. The tension in Wu Zhao’s face softened and she sighed, resting her hands in her lap. “Much to consider, isn’t there, Your Majesty? But we have to leave the discussions for another day since it’s getting late and I must retire to my chambers.”
“Not staying here tonight?” He pouted.
“Oh, I can’t. I must look in on our infant son and see if he needs me. And then I must rest afterward in my own private chambers.”
Li Zhi stifled a sigh. She wasn’t as interested in relations with him lately. Was it because she had another child last year? Strange, being pregnant with child or bearing children had done nothing to stave off her sexual appetites before. Maybe her sexual energies were being diverted elsewhere. He wondered with whom she was dallying. He must have his spies check on her.
He resented how much power she wielded over him. But what choice did he have? She was right, of course—he needed her. He watched as she walked out and thought that she seemed rather impatient to leave tonight. They hadn’t even shared a cup of wine together.
The eunuch on sentinel duty glanced to his right along the zig-zag corridor, as far as his eyes could see, counting the lanterns hanging from the eaves. He noted that there was one lantern which was battered from the festivities of the night before, its rice paper torn on one side, the frame slightly warped. An image of one of the palace ladies-in-waiting danced through his mind. This caused a shiver to overtake his body.
He was still bound up with his mind’s fanciful twists when a clump of bamboo leaves to his left suddenly stirred. The eunuch felt a momentary abrasion on his smooth cheeks, as if a rough cloth had been passed over his face. He shuddered and shook his shoulders this way and that, as if protesting. His armour jangled lightly about his torso from the movement. How did that wine taste? If only he could have been allowed; but no, he was a mere palace guard and not allowed such indulgences. He sighed.
Silly, snickered the travelling funnel of energy. It wanted to laugh, but then that would have alerted the eunuch to its presence. Once the wind reached the Empress’s private chambers, it swerved adroitly around the first screen, past the outer receiving chamber, then down a short hallway, past a second screen and through a long hallway just before arriving at a final screen. Safe from spying eyes, the wind next spun out like a vortex, casting off its invisibility. It unfurled the shell and entered from the top, filling out the human form.
Xie strode lightly across the room to where the single lamp was lit on the round marble table. To where Wu Zhao sat waiting.
When she saw him, she laughed. “You know, you have the tally that you could use to enter Taijigong. Why resort to your trickery?” It never failed to delight her—how he could enter the palace and escape detection.
“The usual way? It’s too obvious and, you must know, rather boring.”
Xie was dressed all in black, but his eyes shone brightly, reflecting the light from the candle at the table where Wu Zhao sat. His skin was pale and glowed with youthfulness, even though he was past fifty sui.
With his slender fingers, he pulled out a small red silk pouch from inside his sleeve to present to her. She stuck her fingers into the pouch and felt the object. It was cool to the touch. She closed her eyes to concentrate better. Some kind of animal. She pulled it out of the pouch and exclaimed with delight, “A xuanwu tortoise! How clever of you!”
The jade creature fitted in her palm so perfectly that when she closed her fingers over it, the stone seemed to warm on her skin. It had the body of a turtle but its tail looked different. All coiled up, like that of a snake.
“Yes, the Dark Warrior will assist us in conquering our enemies.”
Wu Zhao studied the outline of Xie’s face. It was changing with each progressive day of his experiment, and she was enthralled and enticed by his mysterious capabilities.
Xie held her gaze. She trembled, her whole body knowing that he was completely unafraid of her.
“My calculations are that we will reach the most auspicious moment for a grand public ritual for you in about six years’ time.” He smiled and wrapped one hand around her neck, drawing her closer to him. The edges of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Many things need to happen before then,” he continued.
She gasped at how intently he was staring at her throat. He could choke her. He could do anything. Her face flushed with excitement and she groped for his member beneath his gown. He moaned and nodded his approval.
“For a start,” he said, “we need to acquire a certain oracle bone. It belonged to your father.”
“You know about it?”
“I’ve heard, yes.”
“And?”
“I believe it could be useful.” He paused and tilted his head slightly, as if trying to release a knot of tension in his neck.
“It’s being kept at my half-brothers’ uncle’s place. Most know him as Hsu the Elder, who runs a martial arts school in Huazhou. Some of my father’s belongings were moved there when he died.”
She felt the thrum of her body resonate with his rising desire. He undressed her and carried her to the kang. “What do you want to do with it?”
Xie’s eyelids fluttered, half distracted by the waves of pleasure moving through him as she stroked his thighs. He didn’t answer.
She persisted. “Tell me why you’d care about a piece of bone.”
“You know it isn’t just a bone.”
She glared at Xie and stopped her fervent stroking. “Alright. I won’t lie to you if you don’t lie to me. The bone was unearthed in a pit near Mount Li. My father was given the bone by Gaozu. Now it’s your turn to tell me—why are you interested in it?”
“I believe we can use it, Your Highness. Six years from now.”
“Use it for what?”
“Feng and Shan rituals.” He smiled lewdly at her.
Wu Zhao’s eyes widened. The shape of her lips told Xie that she was now quite aroused. He parted her thighs and used his fingers to penetrate her. His jade stalk now fully engorged, he grasped it at the base and entered her without delay. He dug his fingers into her buttocks and began thrusting.
After they climaxed, Wu Zhao pushed Xie off her. She wiped the glistening film of sweat off her breasts with a linen handkerchief.
“This oracle bone … and the idea of Feng and Shan rituals … how exciting,” she whispered breathily, then turned to face him. “I’ve been sitting dutifully behind the veil, acting demure, when in fact, everyone knows I make much better decisions than he ever could! I’m sick of the fake deference. How much longer before the pathetic man becomes totally useless? I must become ruler of this empire.” She sighed softly to herself, as i
f she were envisioning that day.
“It is a simply matter of timing,” Xie said. “Your fate was forecast. How could any human stand in the way of Heaven’s decree? Those old diehards need to get used to you making more and more of the important decisions. You also will need to have the Emperor publicly sanction you as his equal between now and the time when you assume full power. What better way to do it than in conducting the rituals at the most auspicious moment?” Xie took her hand and laid it back on his jade stalk. She resumed her rhythmic stroking.
“That hasn’t been done since Emperor Guangwu of the Eastern Han.”
“Not in the past six hundred years, no, not since his reign. But you, my dear, will succeed.” His tone wasn’t tender, but determined and unapologetic.
“Just a few obstacles … a few,” she murmured, thinking of those who stood in her way, seeing the faces of the men who were part of the aristocratic bloc, the supporters of the former Empress Wang, men who continued to despise her victorious elimination of the competition.
She climbed on top of Xie, closed her eyes, and placed her palms against his bony shoulders. “You will obey me. Most definitely.” She bent down and licked his nipples, then bit down hard on each orb.
He writhed, pretending to be in pain.
HUAZHOU
Why don’t you stay overnight and leave tomorrow?” offered Dried Reed.
“We mustn’t delay.” Qilan offered Dried Reed more copper cash.
The innkeeper took the coins, enough to buy a few more chickens and pigs, and bowed deeply at the waist.
Old Chen was already waiting with the horses in front of the stables. Qilan took the brown scarf from around Old Chen’s neck and wrapped it around Ling’s head, tucking her shoulder-length hair underneath it.
“You’ll be a boy for the rest of this journey, until we reach the temple.”
Qilan mounted the grey stallion and hoisted Ling up to sit behind her. Old Chen rode beside them on the chestnut mare that looked almost as old as her rider with its wobbly gait and deeply curved back.
The sun was just about to disappear below the horizon. Instead of taking the direct route, Qilan led them upward, on a narrow path. The landscape was barren with hardly any shrubs or bushes. Large rocks loomed on either side of the path. Qilan tilted her head to draw their attention to the swirl of dust below, on the lower road. Three men on fast steeds raced down the road heading toward Chang’an.
Ling could tell by the look in Old Chen’s eyes that he was surprised. Yet he said nothing. They continued to ride slowly, at an ambling pace.
Up ahead to the northwest, a grove appeared like an apparition, an anomaly in the dry landscape. Qilan signalled them to stop about a hundred paces away and dismount.
“A magical forest,” remarked Qilan, in a matter-of-fact tone. “We will travel through it.”
Qilan walked toward the grove, leading her horse by the reins. Ling looked at Old Chen, uncertain. But Old Chen simply shrugged and gently touched Ling on her shoulder, urging her to follow.
Draped from the lowest branch of a tree was a strip of cloth. It flapped in the dim light, as if waving to them from some other realm.
“What does it say?” asked Old Chen.
“Just a Daoist charm. It says that this forest’s magic will lead all our fears to become manifested as strange beasts.”
“What?”
“Oh, I knew that.” Qilan continued, “We will travel through the night until daybreak.”
Ling and Old Chen looked worriedly at each other. They walked into the woods just as the very last rays of light in the sky faded. Ling could smell the change. What was it? she wondered. She felt the air caress her face, the back of her neck and wrists.
They walked for a long time. The moon was several days past new, not quite half yet. They heard the cry of an owl but couldn’t see it.
“Let’s now mount our horses and ride at a steady pace. Follow me,” said Qilan. She helped Ling get back in the saddle then mounted her horse. Ling wrapped her arms around Qilan’s waist.
“Stay calm and don’t stray from the path. Old Chen, we must control the animals and not let them bolt. Remember—this is a forest of illusions. It will read our deepest fears and create visions from them. Yet none of these visions will hurt us as long as we treat them as mere illusions.”
Even though it was summer, the night turned remarkably cold. The partial moon soon disappeared behind clouds, and it became nearly impossible to see ahead. Waves of soft scuffling sounds occasionally travelled through the underbrush.
Qilan began to chant. Her voice was clear, its deep timbre carrying far ahead of them. Ling had never heard such a chant before, but it soothed her.
A winged creature swooped toward Old Chen. His chestnut mare took fright and reared back. Old Chen held the reins firmly and managed to subdue her. The raptor swerved just a hair’s breadth away from his face, swiftly disappearing into the darkness. Panting heavily, the old man could barely find the breath to whisper to his mare, “Quiet now, steady.”
Qilan continued to chant, unperturbed. Apparitions assaulted their senses, one after another. They pierced through the surrounding darkness, as if they were being illuminated from within. A spotted deer suddenly materialized, blocking their way. Its mouth opened to expose the faces of countless human babies. Qilan bade her horse to proceed. Ling felt a strong urge to scream but remembered Qilan’s admonition to stay calm. She covered her mouth with her arm. They passed through the deer apparition. Ling looked back. Nothing but darkness. She caught her breath in sharp, shallow bursts.
Were those visions simply a product of their fears? Just as Ling had that thought, a serpent unfurled its length from a branch, its forehead bearing a tattoo exactly like the one on Shan Hu’s arm. She had to do something. She reached down to the small knife tucked into the side of the saddle, pulled it out, and raised herself up, intending to slash at the hateful vision.
Qilan grabbed hold of Ling’s hand. A burning sensation at her wrist forced Ling to release her grip and drop the knife. It fell to the ground with a muffled thud.
They were almost out of the woods when Qilan stop chanting.
“That piece of cloth caused all that trouble, didn’t it?” asked Old Chen.
“No, it merely told the truth. The real danger resides in our minds,” answered Qilan.
Old Chen scratched behind his left ear. Having been frightened out of his wits, he was grateful that they were all unharmed. And he was going to take Sister Orchid at her word without understanding how a forest could have such magic.
They found shade and let the horses drink from a stream. They must have travelled many hours, for there was a small hint of approaching dawn in the lightening sky. Qilan sat against the trunk of an old tree.
Ling’s body trembled with an overwhelming force. Her legs wobbled when she dismounted, so she carefully made her way toward Qilan. Without saying a word, Ling lay down on the ground and rested her head in Qilan’s lap. The last thing she felt was the comforting brush of Qilan’s hand against her cheek.
When Ling woke up, the sun was peeking out from the edge of the forest. She noticed how sunlight brightened the dew on the lichen that spread across the bark of the tree.
“We’re not going to proceed just yet,” announced Qilan.
“But Chang’an is so close. I mean, I understand why you took the upper route just now, but …” Old Chen raised his thick white eyebrows. They wriggled about, like two worms with disparate identities. It seemed to Ling that they were like brother and sister on the old man’s face, quite at odds with each other. This made Ling smile.
“I need to spend a few hours alone to regain some energy before we can proceed. We may have to linger here yet another night, until the next morning. I will have to see how long I might need.”
“How about …” Old Chen began to say something.
“Those men on the lower road?”
He gulped nervously and nodded.
�
��We’ll be safe here. There’ll be no one here to attack us, human or beast. Safer to linger, in fact, than to rush back to the city now.”
Qilan left them and clambered down a trail at the edge of the cliff until she found shade under a large overhang. She sat cross-legged and seemed to sink into an immobile state.
Old Chen disappeared for a while, carrying a spear he’d fashioned from a branch. Ling, meanwhile, fell asleep once again. By the time Old Chen returned, the sun was halfway past its zenith. He’d killed a hare and brought it back slung over one shoulder. He flung the carcass down unceremoniously near Ling, startling her awake. He then threw down a handful of wild mushrooms.
Next, he went to one of his saddlebags and fished out a gourd. He handed the gourd to Ling. “Fill this with water.”
Ling carefully made her way back to the stream, took off her straw sandals, and rolled up her pants. She walked into the water. The ankle that had been injured was still slightly swollen, but at least she could put some weight on it without excruciating pain. The stream’s cold water came up to just below her knees.
Small fish nipped at her feet, which began to tingle, a ticklish and slightly uncomfortable sensation, but it pleased her that she could feel her skin, rather than remain numb. She splashed water on her face and arms, filled the gourd, and walked back.
Old Chen had collected some rocks and made a circle with them. He threw in some dried twigs and started a fire with flint and metal. “Luckily for us, I had another spare knife in my other saddlebag,” he quipped to Ling. “And look, some taro and hazelnuts.”
They munched on a few nuts while Old Chen worked. He stripped the hare of its fur, sliced it open, and removed the viscera before washing it out with water. He rubbed the inside of the hare with coarse salt, which he kept in a pouch that hung from his belt, threw in hazelnuts and mushrooms and the taro that he had sliced into rounds. He plucked about ten peppers from another small pouch.
“Here, smell this. Sichuan peppers.”
Ling drew close to Old Chen’s open palm and inhaled. The spicy smell was intoxicating and made her choke.