“It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” I said, bowing. “My son and I are honored by your presence.”
The three ladies looked ill at ease, uncertain how to respond. Trying to make them feel more comfortable, I showed them my son. Their eyes widened, and cooing, they stroked his cheeks, touched his small feet, and shrieked in delight when he opened his mouth and drooled. They had not had the fortune to bear children, and I could tell they wanted them desperately.
Another stream of ladies entered the hall. The Ladies-in-Waiting, the Beauties, and the Graces, all splendidly dressed, their hair carefully styled and decorated with jewels and hairpins, their faces powdered and rouged. I knew none of them.
They peered at me from behind their fans and handkerchiefs. When I nodded, they lowered their heads and looked away. All of them must have known I had served Emperor Taizong, and I was expecting taunting and sneers. But Pheasant’s ladies were not malicious. They looked subdued and fearful. I wondered why. Was it because of their young age? Had I been like them, blessed with youth but plagued by fear?
“Where is she?” Pheasant asked. “I’m waiting for everyone to arrive so I can give you your gift.” He held the goblet near his lips, glanced at me, and then set the goblet back down. Ever since my return to the palace, he had drunk less.
The hall darkened, and a tall figure appeared at the threshold. My heart tightened. I put a hand on Pheasant’s arm. “She’s here.”
All the women rose to their feet and lowered their heads, and the Empress in her golden gown walked between the rows of tables, making the women look like children in comparison to her towering stature. She paused in front of the feasting table where I sat with Pheasant. I straightened on my stool. She could not have my seat, even if she wanted it. For I was Most Adored, and even without a title, I was the mother of the infant whose feast we were celebrating.
I did not bow to her or greet her. In fact, I could not bear to look at her without thinking of my Hope. If I got even one glimpse of that ruthless face, I would throw myself at her and claw her eyes.
Finally, she went to a different table on my right and sat. The hall was quiet. It occurred to me the ladies were fearful because they were afraid of the Empress.
Pheasant stood up and cleared his throat, and all the ladies fixed their eyes on him. “My ladies, it is my great pleasure to inform you that this child and the mother of this child have brought great joy to me, and hereby, I shall give the lady a gift. I would like to make an announcement.”
I studied him. What could be the gift?
“I shall honor the mother of my son by bestowing on her the title of a second-degree Lady.”
My heart leaped in joy. A Lady?
The Empress gasped. “Your Majesty, this cannot be done.”
I tensed, unable to look in her direction.
“Why not?” Pheasant’s voice was steady. “Isn’t it part of my authority to honor the women in my court?”
“She was your father’s concubine!” I was certain if I met the Empress’s gaze, her stare would kill me. “Besides, you’ve forgotten, Your Majesty, we already have four ladies who carry this honor. If you give her the title, do you mean to demote one of these noble ladies?”
“No one will be demoted,” Pheasant said, and I was relieved. I would not want to have my joy at the cost of anyone’s sadness. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “I will create a new title.”
“Five Ladies? That is ridiculous. The ranks of the palace ladies were created eight hundred years ago. If you add a random one, you will bring this kingdom to ridicule. I am certain the Regent will disapprove of it,” she said quickly, her voice sharp.
Pheasant walked to the Empress’s table and leaned over her. I could feel his anger rising. “I forgot to mention it to you, Wife. This is not a suggestion.”
“You will never have the court’s approval.”
“I don’t need it, and may I inform you, I have just changed my mind. This new title should not be among the second-degree Ladies.”
There was a pause. “What title is it?”
“Luminous Lady.”
Before she said anything else, Pheasant took my son from Apricot. “May I formally make this announcement,” he said, facing the crowd and holding the baby up, “and let all of you bear witness on this grand celebration of my son, that I now bestow this new title, Luminous Lady, on the mother of this infant, the second daughter of the Wu family. We shall all rejoice!”
“Your Majesty!” the Empress exclaimed, standing up.
“But I am not finished yet.” Pheasant walked toward me. “I forgot to mention that this title should be above the second degree.”
The Empress heaved the table away from her, crushing it against a pillar. Throwing her golden sleeves behind her, she stormed out of the hall.
Pheasant waved his hand. “Let her leave and never come back,” he said, his voice the only sound in the hall. “All of you, hear this. I give you Luminous Lady.”
“Luminous Lady,” the women murmured, glancing at me.
I held on to the table. For a moment the vibrant colors of the ladies’ gowns blended before me like a rainbow, and their gold hairpins and necklaces glittered like the rays of sunlight sprinkling through clouds.
I had not expected this. Luminous Lady. What a title, and how beautiful it sounded. I had struggled for fifteen years. From one emperor to another. From a nobody to a Talent, from a Talent to a nobody, and now from a nobody to a Lady.
I had been a little girl when I entered the palace, and now I was Most Adored, the mother of a little boy, and Luminous Lady, above the second-degree Ladies, below only the Empress.
It meant my family name—and my father’s name—would be recorded in the imperial family history, and his dream that I would bring my family glory would be fulfilled. It meant I would have power to bestow gifts and provide comfort for Mother, who still lived and prayed in a humble monastery on the outskirts of the city.
It also meant my son was elevated, and no one could look down on him and mock him because he was borne by a mother without a rank.
I should have been happy, but for some reason, my eyes moistened. I turned away, blinking away my tears.
Pheasant, smiling, turned to me. “Did you get wine in your eyes?”
For the first time, I could not find the right thing to say to him. “You didn’t warn me about this.”
“That title was yours years ago.” There was tenderness in his eyes, and even though he did not say it, I knew he was thinking of the nights we spent in the garden, watching the moon—and of all those lonely nights too when we had sat under the same sky but were far apart. “I promised you, remember?”
I nodded. “It’s a good title. I like it. Who helped you with it?”
“The moon lady,” he replied, referring to the girl in the tale I used to tell him when we met secretly. Chang E had left her husband and flown to the celestial palace on the moon, choosing immortality over her husband, and Pheasant had said she was foolish.
“Ah, I should have known,” I said, nodding.
“Good. Now drink your wine and let the others toast you, Luminous Lady.”
“Toast, yes.” I smiled and looked at the Ladies with their perfectly rouged cheeks and beauty marks, their eyes timid and their smiles nervous. I felt a need to do something. I rose and went to their tables. “Honorable Ladies, would you care to drink with me?” I dipped my head, my scarf falling before my eyes. I swept it aside.
They looked startled, glancing at me in surprise, but no one answered me. I smiled, remembering how, many years ago, my friend the Noble Lady had broken the boundary between her and me when she held my hand.
I took the hand of the young Noble Lady. “Come, sit here with me. We shall all drink together.”
She looked hesitant.
“All right then. I shall take
a seat next to you. I hope you won’t mind.” I sat down and filled a cup for the Noble Lady. “Wine?” All the Ladies’ eyes widened. The protocol was that the lower-ranking ladies poured the wine for the higher-ranking. “Shall we have some music too?”
Pheasant clapped his hands to give his signal, and the light notes of flutes bounced in the air. The zither players and the pipa players followed.
“That’s better.” I helped myself to some roasted chestnuts. “What are they playing? I am not familiar with this tune.”
“That’s a new song,” the Noble Lady said. “It’s called ‘The Cuckoos’ Song in the Summer.’”
“I haven’t heard it. I suppose I have been out of touch with the world for a long time.” I smiled to ease the tension.
“The baby looks adorable and healthy, Luminous Lady.” Lady Virtue blinked her puffy eyes. “Does he have a milk name?”
“I call him Lion,” I replied. It was a reminder of my Hope, whose thick coat looked just like that of a lion. I missed my pet.
Lady Virtue nodded. “Indeed, he’s a little lion.”
“If Luminous Lady needs good nannies, I shall recommend some for you. I have a list of them,” the Pure Lady said. Her face was still serene, but a thread of wariness had crept into her eyes.
I understood she must have felt threatened because my rank was higher than hers, but if she knew me well, she would understand she did not need to fear me. “That is so kind of you, Pure Lady,” I said genuinely. “I do appreciate your help.”
Lady Obedience cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered in the Noble Lady’s ear. The Noble Lady turned to me and said, “Luminous Lady, Lady Obedience would like to ask your permission to knit some clothes for our newest family member. I hope you will indulge her. She is the best at doing women’s work.”
“Oh, that would give me tremendous honor,” I said, wondering why Lady Obedience needed the Noble Lady’s help to get her words across. “More wine?”
They nodded, more at ease now, and I filled their cups and asked them to sing the cuckoo song. They obliged, although none of them had a singer’s voice. But they looked happy, drinking the wine I poured for them. Soon they talked about a new rouge produced by a type of lac insect from the south. The color was said to be vermilion and last longer than the regular rouge they used. I must try it, they said. I nodded, promising to try it someday, even though I could not have cared less about beauty products.
In the midst of our drinking, I turned toward Pheasant, who held Lion in his arms. He caught my gaze and smiled.
I smiled too, the soft scarf falling behind my shoulders, but for the first time, my short hair did not bother me, for I knew I did not need to worry about my looks. My cheeks warm with the wine, I raised my cup. I would drink for Pheasant, and for me too, because there was a good reason to celebrate. My life had turned out to be just like wine. The more it aged, the better flavor it produced.
But I understood, even though I tried not to think, that the most flavorful wine could turn sour on the wrong tongue.
10
Rumors swirled around the palace. The Empress was furious about my new title. She gathered her uncle, the Secretary, and her other family members who served in the court, for an urgent meeting. Together, her uncle and the others presented a petition to the court, declaring the immorality of permitting me to stay in the palace and honoring me so.
“As our great teacher Confucius says, a woman must not serve two men, and this woman has served two emperors!” said the petition I saw in Pheasant’s hands. “Furthermore, their relationship is nothing but incestuous. It is most deplorable that a morally corrupt woman should keep a high-ranking title, living in our palace and staining our kingdom’s name!”
After a few days, they won support from a group of ministers, and weeks later, the Regent’s servant, the Chancellor, and two of the Regent’s brothers-in-law urged Pheasant to revoke his bestowal or “the spiraling degradation of the kingdom shall be afoot.”
The Regent was silent, but I knew what kind of a man he was, and his silence clearly was an approval of the ministers’ vicious attack on me.
Pheasant shrugged those petitions off and told me not to worry. But each time after he returned from the Audience Hall, he was silent. And then one day he returned extremely agitated, his face crimson with anger. He had to gallop on his horse in the woods to calm down.
Standing in the corridor near my bedchamber, I watched his golden robe flare as he dashed through the woods. I could feel his anger, and I was sorry I had become a burden to him. His newly earned position and respect in the Audience Hall could be challenged because of me.
But I could not give up the title. It was my protection, my child’s protection, and my child’s future. If the Empress and her supporters succeeded in stripping me of the title, she could continue to intimidate me until I was pushed back to the corner of fear and helplessness again.
Pheasant rode farther away, his angry cries fading, and his golden regalia dimming to a dot on the horizon. I stared at the sky, a sheet of light indigo, where the sun shone weakly. I could imagine the arrival of a storm, always unexpected in the spring, and how it could block the sky and lash the flowers.
When the clouds gathered to darken the sky, when a thunderbolt threatened to tear it apart, should I wait inside, sitting in quiet and hoping it would pass, or gather my strength and be prepared?
A whimper came from the chamber. Lion was awake. I dashed inside the chamber before Apricot and my other maids could respond to him. I could always hear him, no matter how far away I was. I could always feel him and understand his needs, even in my sleep. That, for sure, was a mother’s instinct.
I went to the bed where Lion kicked, his eyes open. He was so sweet, pouting his mouth, frowning. He was two months old, looking more like a child than a newborn, and his face was not as swollen, his skin more natural. But he still had that deep, meaningful gaze, and oftentimes he sighed, holding out his hand, as though he were contemplating a good rhyme of couplets. Love poured out of me, and I picked him up, rocking him until he finally calmed down and began to suckle. I played with his soft hair, watching his lips moving, and I wanted to hold him forever. He was mine, and I would do anything I could to protect him and keep him safe.
Outside, the sky was darkening. I hoped Pheasant would return soon, and I knew I must get ready for the storm and danger. For the thunderbolt could strike with all its might, and the storm could catch every leaf and every branch, gather speed, and turn into a downpour.
• • •
I summoned Princess Gaoyang to my chamber. Since I now had additional guards in front of my garden, she did not stay with me every day, but she always came when I called for her.
I was putting Lion down for a nap when she appeared in the corridor. I put a finger to my lips, telling her to remain quiet. Gently, I patted my son. When he wiggled his lips and flung his arms above his head, I knew it was a sign that he was sound asleep. I took my arm from underneath him, got up gingerly, and slipped out of bed. Apricot leaned over his sleeping form, keeping him company.
“Really? It takes you that long to put him to bed?” Princess Gaoyang asked as we walked into the garden. “I have finished my meditating. I thought the whole day had passed.”
She looked imperious. I took no offense, even though I was a high-ranking Lady and Gaoyang ought to at least bow to me. “You won’t understand until you have your own child.”
Gaoyang shook her head. “Now you even talk like a mother.”
“Well, I’m honored to hear that, and may I remind you, some women never have the honor to become one,” I said.
“I see what you mean. So is this what you wished to tell me, little mother?” She leaped on a pear tree nearby. Sitting on a branch, she swayed her legs. She was wearing a simple indigo tunic and a yellow girdle, which flowed through the air and danced as she kicke
d. She was so thin; she looked as though she could have flown away in a gust of wind.
“No. I need to speak to you about something important. Perhaps you can come down?” I asked, standing near a stone lamp beside the tree. It was a warm spring afternoon, and the air smelled fragrant. Pink peonies bloomed, red roses swayed, and the water in the pond glistened brightly like a polished mirror.
A shower of white pear blossoms rained down, and Princess Gaoyang appeared beside me. “What is it?”
I did not reply at first, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on my face. The garden was so quiet. I looked around for Hope before remembering he was gone. I sighed. I missed him.
“Is there a problem, Mei?”
“I suppose you can say that. Have you heard that Pheasant gave me a title, Gaoyang?” I gazed at the maids around me. I had eight maids now, and they were busy with their duties. Some were dusting the chamber, some were doing Lion’s laundry, and some were weeding. I had chosen four among them to be my personal maids and had given them new names—Chunlu, Xiayu, Qiushuang, and Dongxue, meaning, respectively, Spring Dew, Summer Rain, Autumn Frost, and Winter Snow.
“Of course.” She handed me something covered with a red cloth. “That’s why I came bearing a gift.”
“Oh.” It was a beautiful wig topped by an ornate hairpiece. I was delighted. The hairpiece had many delicate twists and gold hairpins shaped like birds, each with gold wings, a ruby beak, and jade eyes. Best of all, the wig was long and sleek, and the hair almost reached the ground. “For me?”
She nodded, smiling, and her dimples deepened into twin whirlpools. “Congratulations, Luminous Lady.”
“Thank you.” I could not help it. I had to put it on. “How does it look on me? Quick, get me a mirror.”
A breeze brushed me, Gaoyang disappeared, and then she was back, holding a bronze mirror.
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