Empress of Bright Moon

by Weina Dai Randel

  I had told him we would meet again, and indeed, here we were after all these years. Would he remember me?

  “Come, my child,” he said. His voice was calm and steady, carrying a warm echo, like the sound of a bell calling the arrival of dawn.

  I looked around to see if he was speaking to anyone else. The monk beside me nodded and gestured to me to step forward. I suddenly grew nervous. I did not know why Tripitaka called for me, and if he knew I had come for Pheasant, he might expel me. Gingerly, I knelt before him.

  “I have been expecting you,” Tripitaka said. His eyes remained shut.

  I did not know what to make of that. Did he know I was a nun? How did he know who I was without seeing me? “Enlightened One, it is my honor to meet you here.”

  His face remained serene. “You have come a long way.”

  Perhaps he was referring to the travel plan I had told the monk earlier. “I still have a long way to go.” I pressed my hands together.

  “Indeed,” he said. The corner of his mouth curved up, but he still did not open his eyes. “And what are you seeking, my child?”

  “Enlightenment,” I lied.

  He opened his eyes and gazed at me. Oh, those eyes. They were just as I had remembered. So bright and fierce. They seemed to see right through me. I had once looked into Emperor Taizong’s eyes, and there I had glimpsed power and supremacy that could not be defied. Tripitaka’s eyes held power too, but of a different sort. They were vast, unimaginable, mysterious, like two mirrors that held the forbidden secrets of the past and the future.

  I was mesmerized, but then the look in his eyes changed…and became familiar. I remembered that look. He had stared at my father like this years ago, as though he were watching a man drowning but was unable to help.

  “The fire of grief shall set ablaze a thousand trees. But remember, only virtue will bear the fruit of your trees,” he said.

  I snapped upright. “What do you mean? What grief?”

  I recalled the conversation he had with Father so long ago. “How could a woman become a ruler?” Father had asked Tripitaka.

  “She must endure deaths,” he had replied.

  A few years after our meeting, Father had died.

  Fear ran through me. I shivered. Whose death was he talking about this time?

  He only sighed. “Remember, my child, virtue, not vengeance.”

  I stared hard at him, trying to read his face, trying to understand what virtue he meant. But I should not believe him. He had been wrong about my destiny, and he would be wrong again. I calmed myself, and taking a deep bow, I said, “I am honored to meet you, Enlightened One.” And I hoped, with all my heart, that I would never see him again.

  He looked as though he wanted to speak more, but he sighed and closed his eyes. The monk beside me bowed and gestured to me to follow him. We eventually came to a courtyard with two low buildings. It must have been the quarters where weary travelers lodged. I thanked the monk and sat on a mat against the wall, clearing my mind with meditation.

  I had to forget Tripitaka and his words. I had to stay calm.

  I would see Pheasant very soon.

  • • •

  Five days before Pheasant’s arrival, the monks grew busy. They swept the vast yard and corridors, dusted the eaves, polished the pillars, and cleaned the trash from along the road outside the pagoda. I made an excuse that I was ill and unable to travel. The monks kindly agreed to let me stay for another week.

  Soon, loads of tributes were sent to the monks. Pig heads, whole goats, salted cow legs, and many barrels of oranges, apples, pears, beans, and rice, all offerings to the late Emperor’s spirit. The guests would feast upon the meat after the ritual was over, but the monks would not touch it even if it had been blessed. The beans and rice, however, would be given to the pagoda as gifts.

  Excited and nervous at the same time, I imagined what Pheasant might be doing every day. He would start fasting; he would purify his body; he would be on the way to the pagoda! He would bring many palace guards with him—that was for certain—and perhaps some high-ranking ministers. The Regent would come too.

  I could not request a formal meeting with Pheasant. The palace eunuchs would interrogate me about my birth and the purpose of the meeting, and then they would hang me if they discovered who I truly was. Seeing Pheasant in private was the only option, but still difficult, since he would have guards surrounding him at all times. But no matter how hard it would be, I had to find an opportunity.

  On the day of Pheasant’s scheduled arrival, all the monks, wearing saffron-colored stoles, with wooden beads in hand, lined up at the gate, chanting and waiting for the delegation. By noon, the monks’ lips were parched and their faces had turned crimson in the heat. My eyes grew sore after gazing intently at the roads all morning, and the imperial procession still did not arrive.

  Tardiness was certainly an imperial family’s privilege. But when the rays of the sun began to weaken, I started to wonder if Pheasant would come after all.

  Then, with the ringing of a loud gong, the central yard came to life. Four guards carrying standards bearing the signs of imperial delegations rushed to the corners of the yard, and another procession of guards wearing maroon capes took their places at the north, south, east, and west sides of the yard. Another gong rang out.

  My heart pounding nervously, I hid behind a door across from the entrance and peered out. A carriage with a blue roof stopped in the center of the yard, and two eunuchs ran up and pulled aside a red curtain.

  I could hardly breathe. After three years, I would finally see Pheasant again. What should I say when I faced him? Should I address him as the Emperor? Should I kneel? Should I cry?

  Would he remember me?

  A red shoe with a curled tip stepped out. Then an enormous figure, wearing a sparkling phoenix headdress and cloaked in a voluminous white gown, strode into the yard.

  The woman was tall and heavyset, with broad shoulders and hips, and her face was wide and flat, her eyes set closely. Lady Wang.

  No.

  Empress Wang.

  My heart dropped. Of course she would come too, but with all my thoughts on Pheasant, I had forgotten about her. I had always known she was not a woman I wanted to fight with, and still, seeing her after three years, the memories haunted me. She knew Pheasant’s feelings about me. She had been glad to see me exiled, and she must have hated me because I, Emperor Taizong’s concubine, had seduced her husband.

  If she saw me, she would certainly fly into a rage and order my death.

  Tripitaka greeted the Empress, and all the monks lowered their heads and chanted. Empress Wang did not nod or reply. She passed them without a glance, walking toward the altar, where three incense pots sat before the statue of Buddha.

  I should have hidden, but I could not look away. She had changed since I had last seen her. She looked pale. Her steps were unsteady, and she walked strangely, her back stooped as though she was ashamed of raising her head. She took some incense from a eunuch’s hands and waved the servants away. Alone in front of the statue, she held the incense between her hands and knelt on a cushion before her. Her lips moved as she prayed silently.

  I knew what she was praying for. A son. Undoubtedly. Before my exile, I had heard whispers of her being barren, for she had been married to Pheasant for almost four years without becoming pregnant. Now, after another three years, she was still childless. No son. No daughter. It was a great shame for any woman, whose chief duty was to give her husband a son who would carry the family’s name, and for the Empress, it must have been a disaster. She must have been humiliated, desperate, and angry.

  The Empress wiped her eyes. She was weeping. The Empress of the kingdom, kneeling before Buddha’s statue, wept and begged for a child.

  I wanted to sigh. This was perhaps the saddest thing that could happen to a woman like her. S
he had everything—the servants, the title, and the crown—but could not bear an heir. Pheasant must have been very disappointed with her barrenness.

  More people filed into the yard. Some palace women, their braided hair standing up from their heads like rabbits’ ears—the titled ladies—entered, followed by maids carrying trays of fruits and jugs of water. Behind them were the eunuchs, lugging chests that must have contained the Empress’s personal items.

  Not one face looked familiar to me. They all must have been new servants summoned to serve Pheasant and the Empress in the Inner Court. I was certain they would not know me if I told them who I was. Three years could be such a long time. One reign ended. Another began. The old players lay beneath their tombstones, new faces danced to fame, and I was only a servant of the late Emperor, the dust of a faded reign.

  I shook my head. This was not the moment to be sad, and I had yet to find Pheasant. I craned my neck, watching the entrance. A guard strode forward to close the gate, Tripitaka struck his wooden block, and the monks began to chant.

  I was stunned. Pheasant was not coming. After my escape, months of travel, and the monks’ preparations, he was not coming.

  The noise in the yard became deafening, pounding in my ears. My legs heavy, I pulled away from the door and headed toward the back of the temple. I kept walking until I could no longer hear any chanting or footsteps, and I went to the large paulownia tree. Shrouded in its tent of pale indigo blossoms, I could no longer contain myself. I buried my face in my arms and wept.

  “What’s the matter?” a man’s voice said behind me. “Why are you crying?”

  I hurried to dab my eyes, remembering where I was. I needed to leave as soon as possible, lest anyone discover my identity. “Oh, nothing at all.”

  A figure in a white robe stood before me. “Nothing?”

  I raised my sleeve to shield my face, but as I looked up, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face. The face that had become etched in my mind, the face that I had dreamed to see. I dropped my arm. “Pheasant?”

  There he was, standing right in front of me, although his once-well-defined face was swollen, and his skin was pale. His chiseled jaw had lost its sharp edge, and there were layers of skin under his chin, and shadows and fine lines under his eyes. And his eyes, once beautiful, limpid, were now gloomy and heavy. He looked like a middle-aged man who had suffered a long illness and still had not recovered. My swelling happiness subsided. Oh, Pheasant. What have you done to yourself?

  He stepped back, his jaw loosening, his eyes wide in shock. “You…” he stammered. “You…are…”

  I nodded wildly, unable to keep back my tears. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “You… It is you,” he croaked. “Heavens! It is you…” Indeed, he had aged, in a way I did not expect, and his voice was scratchy, almost hollow.

  A guard standing behind him coughed. “Your Majesty?”

  Pheasant spun around. “Leave me. All of you!”

  The guards hesitated, glancing at me, and I shrank back, hiding myself behind the tree. Finally, they turned around and left.

  “Mei…” Pheasant came to me. He was trembling, but joy flooded his eyes, and it seemed he would burst into tears. He gripped my shoulders. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  He still loved me. My heart softened, and my eyes moistened. “I didn’t think I would see you again either.” Or hear his voice. Or stand in front of him. Or talk to him. I wanted to tell him how much I had missed him, how I often thought of him while I stared at the mountains as the days slowly went by.

  “Oh heavens!” He pulled me into his arms and started to sob. “I will never let you leave my sight again! Never, never!”

  I wanted to cry too, with joy and relief, for I could see how much he had loved me all these years, just as I had loved him.

  “They didn’t tell me where you went, Mei. I searched for you. I went behind the Regent’s back and ordered two hundred guards to search for you. They went around the kingdom for months. They told me you were dead.”

  “They did?”

  “I did not believe them. I told them to search again. But the Regent found out and stopped it.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, they were heavy with defeat and helplessness. “I couldn’t do anything, Mei. I gave up. I was weak. I hate myself.”

  Standing on my toes, I reached out to dab at his face. “I’m here now,” I said gently.

  He smiled wanly. “I never forgot you. Do you believe it?”

  “I believe you.”

  “Three years.”

  It felt like a thousand.

  Gently, he brushed his hand against my cheek, my chin, my nose, and my ears. “So what is it like to be away from the palace? Do you like being a nun?”

  “Sometimes,” I said.

  “Liar.” His touch was light, his finger warm, as always. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “I hike on the mountain every day.”

  “Your skin is darker.”

  “I am often outside.”

  He gazed at my gray skullcap. “And your hair…”

  With shame, I remembered the palace ladies’ elaborate hair, perfumed, thick, and long and how unattractive I was with my shorn scalp. I covered my head with my hands.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to steal your cap,” he said.

  I laughed, and he grinned too. He was himself again—handsome, youthful, and cheerful. A current of warmth coursed through me, thawing my cold memories of the monastery and dispelling the fog of despair that cloaked my heart. “I’m so happy to see you, Pheasant.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I will never let you leave again, I swear it. I want you to come back to the palace with me.”

  He sounded so natural, as though I had never been exiled. I was on the verge of tears again. Yes. I would love to return to my home and to be with him. “But it’s not that simple, is it? What if the Regent finds out?” He would no doubt view my return as an open defiance. “Is he here?”

  “He’s coming. But I promise you, he will not know.”

  I turned to peer at the guards. I could see only their legs and their maroon capes waving near their feet, and with the large tree trunk between us, they could not see me either. But I was certain they must have been wondering why the Emperor would spend so much time talking to a nun.

  “But your wife…”

  Pheasant’s face darkened, and I wondered what had happened between him and the Empress. “I saw her, Pheasant. She looked… She will not like to see me. She will tear me apart before I set foot in the palace again.”

  “She will not know either.” He gripped my shoulders hard. His eyes were bright, and within them I saw my own refection, like a seed—radiant, hopeful—spark before me. “We’ll find a way to get you back, sweet face. I promise. I will find a way.”

  5

  In the end, Pheasant decided to smuggle me into the palace.

  On the second night in the pagoda, after Pheasant attended the ritual for Emperor Taizong and while the other imperial members were still dining on the blessed meal, I climbed into a chest filled with garments and returned to the palace in a carriage under the moon and stars. Once I entered the Inner Court, I was carried to the garden where Pheasant and I used to meet in secret. The garden still looked abandoned, with overgrown weeds and cobwebs in the pavilion, but a house had been swept clean for me. There was simple furniture—a table, two stools, and a bed covered with a red quilt. Apricot, a maid who had a tendency to blush and speak in a whisper, waited there for me. More servants would come to serve me, Pheasant said, but I told him one was enough.

  The Empress was still in the pagoda, praying to get pregnant. I imagined how surprised and angry she would have been if she knew a concubine of the late Emperor’s was living in her palace. But Pheasant was careful. He appointed two guards at the garden’s gate
and two eunuch servants, whom he said he could trust, to deliver food and water for me. As long as nobody knew who I was, I could live in peace in this corner of the palace.

  I was fine with the arrangement. I relished every moment in the garden, strolling down the winding path covered with round pebbles and lingering in the shaded corners of the bamboo groves. When the sun was out, I sat on the warm stone stools near the pavilion and enjoyed the sunlight on my face, its rays much stronger than they had been on the mountain. I was mesmerized by the myriad of voices coming from other parts of the palace, the rhythmic songs of cicadas, the gentle sound of the lanterns swaying under the eaves, and the faint trill of the flutes from the distant halls. The music of life.

  What more could I ask for? I had been given a second chance, a gift given to me by Heaven.

  I spent many hours working on the flower beds. I weeded the grass, pruned dead branches, dug into the soil, and planted many asters, roses, peonies, azaleas, chrysanthemums, and orchids—anything Apricot gave me. The scent of dirt seeped into my clothes and lingered on my fingers as I went to sleep. I filled the pond with blue water lilies, added rocks around the edge, and poured carp and goldfish into the water. When the breeze sailed through the garden, bringing me the sound of trickling water and the scent of algae, I knew I had built this place, and I knew this was where I belonged.

  I enjoyed Hope’s company too—Pheasant, upon my request, had sent his men to the monastery to fetch Hope without telling anyone of my escape. I was so glad to see my dear companion. In the monastery, Hope’s fur had tended to become matted, but in the palace, his coat was loose and fluffy, and when he ran, chasing bees and butterflies, the thick fur bounced back and forth like waves, making him look like a fierce lion. Hope seldom barked in the garden, as though he was aware of the need for secrecy. I took him with me when I strolled around the garden, I talked to him when I got dressed, and he paced around me as I worked on the flower beds.