Empress of Bright Moon

by Weina Dai Randel

  I did not know what to say. Pheasant was such a benevolent man. His people were threatening him, but he still cared about them.

  “Your Majesty…”

  His voice was drowned out as another wave of shouts broke out. I shuddered. Pheasant needed help. I needed to help him.

  Please. Let the General announce the edict before my friends are dragged to the ax.

  Taking a deep breath, I patted my wig and stepped out of the carriage. The clamor grew louder for an instant, and then the crowd turned their eyes to me.

  I knew what they saw: a court lady with a magnificent red gown and long, black hair adored with gold hairpins and pearls. I was certain they had never before seen a woman in such a glory and splendor. Did they think I was the Empress? They should know that I could not be, because of my protruding stomach.

  “People of Chang’an.” I bowed, my heart tightening in my chest. When I straightened, I took a good look at the crowd. They were not tattered-clothed beggars or tattoo-faced bandits. They wore stained tunics, felt hats, and cloth shoes—ordinary Chang’an civilians. My fear of being cornered by a mob subsided. “I am Luminous Lady, and I beseech you to follow our emperor’s order. He is a just emperor, a kind emperor. He protects you, your sons, and your family. He has opened the markets for trade, put meat in your bowls, and punished the thieves who stole your sheep. Go home, forget this, eat your wheat buns, serve your parents a cup of drink, play with your children, talk with your wives. They are waiting for you. Let there be no bloodshed today.”

  There was silence around me. The commoners looked stunned, and the ministers behind the carriage gaped at me. Their gowns were torn and their faces were smudged with yellow dirt and horse dung.

  I knew what they were thinking. Ordinary women did not speak in public, and a court lady would never deign to lower herself to bow to the commoners or show her face before them. But this was not an ordinary situation. I could not bear to see my Pheasant get hurt; I could not bear to see anyone get hurt today. And we had to hurry. We needed to save our friends.

  “Luminous Lady? This is Luminous Lady?” The angry faces near me turned, whispering to each other.

  “She is the Buddhist lady, is she not?”

  “She built roads and gave alms. Is this the one?”

  They knew I had helped them.

  I bowed again. “Please—”

  “You’re putting yourself in danger,” Pheasant said in a low voice, pushing me to the carriage. “Let’s go inside, now.”

  “But—”

  “Look, the General!”

  Near the market’s gate, the General darted toward us, his maroon cape flying in the air. Behind him was a group of imperial Gold Bird Guards. They shouted, wielding their swords.

  The crowd gasped. They might have heard of my title and my donations, but they certainly had learned of the General’s name and his prowess. The crowd moved back, and a circle of space cleared around our carriage.

  “Arrest them!” The General’s voice rose sharply as his men dove toward the crowd. Their arms raised high, the guards struck those who were slow on their feet. “Arrest them all! How dare they attack the Emperor!”

  “Hold! General!” Pheasant shouted beside me. “Leave them! Leave them be!”

  “Your Majesty!” The General turned toward us, his whole face crimson with anger. “I came as fast as I could. Mobs! How dare they! I’ll not let them get away with it!”

  “No arrests. It is my order. Now, General. Tell me.” Pheasant made sure I had climbed back into the carriage and turned to the General. “Did you see my brother?”

  “I…did.”

  “He’s not too upset, I hope?” Pheasant sat down next to me and wiped perspiration off his face. I dabbed at my forehead too, watching the General intently. “Come on. Let’s go get him. He’ll be safe with me. I’ll speak to my uncle. He’ll listen and get his sense back. Now, go, General, drive the carriage. Why are you just standing there?”

  He cleared his throat, and slowly, he spoke, his voice cold as usual. “Your Majesty, I don’t believe it’s necessary.”

  “What do you mean? You said you saw my brother, didn’t you?”

  The General nodded and said something, but his voice was lower and I could not hear him from inside the carriage. I leaned forward. He had seen the prince and the others, the General said, but they were already on the ground. I could not understand at first, and then I saw dark liquid splashed across the sleeves of the General’s cape. The front of his black trousers also looked damp and dark.

  The strength drained out of me. We were too late. The prince had died, and poor Princess Gaoyang would be a widow. I had ruined her life. “Oh heavens. Oh heavens.”

  “You didn’t deliver the edict?” Pheasant’s voice cracked.

  “I gave it to the Regent, Your Majesty. It was too late,” the General said, his face bearing no emotion. “The prince put up a fierce fight, they said.”

  The prince, who had never raised his voice, shouted for his life and delivered a touching speech that moved the crowd, the General said, and after him followed the prince’s two sons, the Princess’s husband, and the others.

  “My brother…” Pheasant’s shoulders sagged. Breathing hard, he turned his face away from the General, his anguish filling the carriage. “How many died today?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight men had committed treason, you said?”

  “Eight were executed, but not all were guilty of treason.” The General coughed. “One was convicted of adultery. He was the princess’s lover.”

  “What? What lover?” I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Empress found the princess guilty of adultery with a monk named Biji. He was executed here, pulled apart by five horses.” The General paused. “It was quite a spectacle. The commoners were shocked.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. “The monk Biji? He was her mentor. He raised her! What are you talking about?”

  The General folded his arms across his chest. “According to what I have learned, Your Majesty, Luminous Lady, the Empress indicated that the princess gave the monk a jade pillow as her love token, and her maid confessed that the princess met him regularly in a scripture house in secret.”

  “Liar! All liars! Do not believe her. The Empress hates the princess because of me. She will not get away with this!” I panted, anger shooting from my stomach.

  The General glanced at me. Oh, that indifferent look. In that moment, I hated him. He was powerful with his sword, it was true, but like the sword, he was made of steel and untouched by human empathy. “Luminous Lady, there’s something else. With the evidence and the witness, the Empress announced the princess was also guilty of adultery, and she was sentenced to death.”

  “What? That wicked woman! She cannot do this! She cannot simply declare the princess guilty. She wants to get rid of the princess! She hates the princess because she’s my friend. She cannot do this! Where is the princess? Where is the princess? I must see her now. Pheasant, take me to her house.” I struggled to catch my breath. “The Empress cannot touch her! She is a swordswoman. She will not sit there and accept the sentence. Take me! Take me to her house.”

  The carriage did not move, and the General fell silent.

  “Did you hear me? Take me to her! I want to see my princess!”

  The General glanced at me again. Something I had never seen before—something like pity—flitted across his eyes, and his purple birthmark twitched. But he turned away from me and leaned over to Pheasant, whispering in his ear.

  I wanted to grab the General and make him face me and speak to me. He had told me years before that he was my father’s friend, and I thought he would be kind to me. He had tried to help me once, offering to sever my foot when he believed bad blood had clogged me, but he had been wrong. And he had given me the messag
e from my mother. But that was all he had done to help me. Since he returned from exile, he had never even bothered to give me an extra glance. The men with swords and the men with words. They were all alike. They stabbed you all the same with the dagger of treachery and heartlessness. I should not have trusted him.

  “What is it? Why are you not telling me?” I demanded.

  The General drew back, and Pheasant looked as though he had been struck by a club, his eyes dazed and his shoulders stiff.

  “What are you waiting for, Pheasant? We must go to the princess’s house! Pheasant?” He did not move, and I shook him. “Say something!”

  He swallowed, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, flowing over his chin and wetting the front of his yellow robe. I shuddered. Suddenly, I wished I had never asked. Suddenly, I hoped he would never answer me.

  He said, “Let’s go home.”

  I howled.

  • • •

  Later, I learned what happened.

  The night Pheasant and I returned to our garden from the Regent’s house, the Empress met with her uncle, who went to see the Regent and planned their betrayal. In the morning, while I was tying the mortarboard strings under Pheasant’s chin, a group of two hundred Gold Bird Guards took the Regent’s order and burst into the princess’s house, ambushing the sleeping household. Arrows rained from the sky and pierced the windows of the sprawling building Fang Yi’ai had inherited from his father. The cries of the servants were cut short, and some ran out of the house, screaming. The princess put up a fierce fight but was finally caught after six arrows pierced her legs and chest.

  By the time I finished my morning walk and returned to the chamber, expecting to see her, asking Apricot whether any message had been delivered from her, two guards had placed a noose around her neck, one standing on her right, one standing on her left, twisting the rope that wound around her throat, and strangled her.

  AD 654

  The Fifth Year of Emperor Gaozong’s Reign of Eternal Glory

  EARLY SPRING

  23

  A month had passed since Princess Gaoyang’s death.

  Winter lingered. The water lilies wilted in the pond, leaving piles of brown leaves floating on the surface like shattered birds’ nests. The peonies were long dead, and so were the roses. Their branches, once strong and prickly, had been either trimmed or removed, and on the bare flower beds, once a rich playground for insects, spread a thin coat of frost like a layer of ashes.

  Every day I sat on the stone bench in the garden. The wind swept across my face, ruffling my unstyled hair. I did not wear my wigs anymore, or apply whitening cream or bright rouge to my face.

  Wiping the tears off my face, I searched the pavilion’s sloped roof—Gaoyang’s favorite perch—the pavilion’s windowsills, and the skeletal trees nearby. They were quiet and empty.

  I folded my arms on my swelling stomach. My baby kicked inside me, as though reminding me to think of her, and indeed, in two months, I would meet my child, but I felt no joy. In utter anguish and gloom, I stared at the pond. I could see my own reflection, a plump lady with short hair falling limply on her shoulders. There, my shining red gown had turned black, my arms became a mere dark cloud, and my head, a shadowy, pathetic globe, floated on the surface of wavy water like a cracked tortoise shell.

  In the pond, I had no face; in the pond, I looked like a mess of rootless grass; in the pond, I was nothing.

  When the sunlight warmed the top of my head, I looked up at the sky. The sun’s rays were mild but bright, stinging my eyes, and I thought of my friend again. The high sun. But the sun above me would come and go, while the sun in my heart would never rise again.

  Rage burned inside me. I wanted to shout. I wanted to curse. And the sun was hurting me now, blinding me, leaving mountains of shadows standing in front of me. In those shadows, thick and formidable, I saw my friend and the last moment of her life when the air failed to reach her chest. I heard the wicked grunts of those executioners beside her, I heard the scream build in her lungs but choke at her throat, and I could feel her fierce spirit waning, struggling, fluttering, and finally flying away.

  I had to look away. I could not bear the sunlight in my eyes, I could not bear to see her die before me, and yet the mountains of shadows did not disappear. They swayed, expanded, growing rugged, dominant, and turned into a jagged cliff threatening to thrust into my eyes.

  Tears ran down my cheeks. I had led her to the edge of the cliff. I had thrown her into the dark abyss. It was my fault.

  If she could have spoken to me, would she have blamed me? Would she have hated me? She should have. She had protected me with her life, provided me with safety and laughter, and I had brought her the noose.

  Gaoyang was buried with her mother, who had died during the rebellion against Emperor Taizong. Their family tomb, a small mound already infested with centipedes and snakes, was located far away from the late Emperor’s mausoleum, and her funeral was unceremonious. Few imperial family members attended for fear of being branded as sympathetic toward an unscrupulous woman.

  But her husband and Prince Ke suffered a worse fate. Their bodies were left in the market for days, until Pheasant, defying the Regent, ordered the General to bury them. But that was after the blood from the execution grounds had flowed to the alleys of the market, soaking the hard ground, and become glued to the bottoms of many people’s shoes with dirt and horse dung. A few days later, a sand storm assailed our city from the north, carpeting everything with coppery loess. Once again the ground was muddy, and once again the streets of Chang’an turned into their usual morass of dirt and dust.

  But as long as the sun was above my head, I would remember my friend, and I would strike back. I would seek every opportunity to destroy my enemies, even if it meant the execution grounds would be stained with blood again.

  • • •

  Pheasant vowed to restore his brother’s name. He questioned the Regent about the prince’s trial, but the Regent was his usual cunning self, coating the explanation of the murders with his sense of duty and his concerns for the kingdom’s safety.

  What else was he supposed to do? the Regent asked, throwing his arms out. All the evidence was in front of him. Prince Ke’s mother, the late Noble Lady, was the daughter of Emperor Yang, the ruler of the perished Sui Dynasty. Prince Ke certainly had the motive to avenge his grandfather’s death, and it was probable that he would scheme to overthrow the dynasty Emperor Taizong had built. Even if the prince had not actually gathered his army, any evidence of discontent was a budding sign of treason. And Fang Yi’ai, the son of Secretary Fang, had always hated the Regent. Surely, he had his reason to revolt too.

  Pheasant laughed bitterly. “Of course, if you wanted to make a predator out of a sheep, you would accuse the sheep for possessing the teeth to chew.” His face crimson with anger, Pheasant demanded to speak to the people who overheard the prince’s treasonous conversation in the tavern. The Regent turned a deaf ear to the request, the Chancellor chided Pheasant for neglecting state affairs, and the Secretary snickered behind his sleeve.

  None of the middle-ranking ministers attempted to support Pheasant. Quietly, they stepped aside, and the lower-ranking ministers, the potential allies who were unable to fit in the Regent’s or the Empress’s circles, were afraid to speak to Pheasant too, fearing they would lose their positions, or worse, become the target of the Empress.

  Every day, Pheasant went to the Audience Hall with his fists clenched, and every day he returned home with his spirit broken.

  The General, the only one who still stood by Pheasant’s side, came to see him in the garden. His whole face taut with tension, he threw his cape behind him and knelt in front of Pheasant. Without mentioning the Regent or what he had done, the General laid his sword, the sword he had never parted with, on the ground and said simply, “Say the name, Your Majesty.”
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br />   He would chop off any man’s head if Pheasant wished, I could see, and he did not care what the Regent or the Empress would do to retaliate. I was touched. Even though the General did not care for me, he was loyal to Pheasant from the bottom of his heart.

  Pheasant twisted his head away, his hands clenched. He was struggling; he was tempted, I could see, to let the General avenge his siblings’ deaths. But Pheasant faced the General again, and his eyes glittering with tears, he asked, “Do you think I am my father? Do you, General? Do you?”

  “They have defied you, Your Majesty,” the General said. “Defiance means death.”

  Pheasant wiped his eyes furiously. “They deserve to die, yes. They do. But I will not have blood on my hands. I will not! Pick up your sword. Pick up your sword now. As long as you serve me, you will kill no one. It’s an order, General.”

  His face bearing the usual mask of impassiveness again, the General lowered his head and picked up the sword. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Pheasant patted the General’s shoulder, turned around, and slowly walked back to our chamber.

  • • •

  The Empress celebrated her victory by appointing the Regent’s sons to the court. No doubt this move strengthened her newly forged tie with the Regent, and his sons, grateful for the promotion, would serve her faithfully.

  She also rewarded her uncle, the Secretary, who played an efficient part in my friends’ trials, and a number of his servants with lavish presents. She thanked the Regent with a one-hundred-year-old Koguryo ginseng, which was said to prolong youth and bring vitality to the person who ingested it.

  Not only that, she also made sure no one in the court would mention a word of the trial we had planned for her, or the Pure Lady’s condition. Even the Noble Lady’s request to have the Pure Lady’s family visit her was turned down, and if anyone happened to mention a kennel or wolves, that person would receive ten lashes by thick rods. Soon, not a single maid dared to gossip about the Pure Lady’s insanity or the evil that had befallen her and Sujie.