The Empress enjoyed herself, inviting a music troupe to the palace to entertain her. With her adopted son sitting next to her, she clapped and laughed, asking for more songs. The celebration went on for days, and the palace was filled with the notes of flutes and zithers.
• • •
Meanwhile, the Regent, claiming the impending threat of a revolt that would throw the kingdom into turmoil, declared he would return to the court as before. His health had been restored, and he would resume full duty as the Regent. He ordered all matters, large and small, to be reported to him, and any edicts to be reviewed and approved by him before they were passed on to the related ministries.
To ensure he would have an iron grip on the kingdom, the Regent suspended the Keju exams, the system the court used to select talented men to serve the kingdom. He named all his nephews, related by both blood and marriage, to governor’s positions in various prefectures. He gave the major posts, such as tax collectors and judges in yamen, to his and the Empress’s relatives, and these men then distributed other important civil positions to their relatives. Very soon, all the important positions in the kingdom were occupied by the families and servants of the Regent and the Empress.
• • •
My poor Pheasant. He was not himself these days. He would not give the General the order to retaliate, but he was tormented by his uncle’s betrayal and the deaths of his siblings. His skin was pale, and dark spots appeared on his face. His jawline was sharper, his eyes sank deep into their sockets, and his voice grew husky, as though his throat had been burned and his heart was smoldering from the smoke of guilt and grief.
He was not yet thirty, but he looked twenty years older. And he reminded me of his father. Both men were haunted by the past, although Emperor Taizong was consumed by the crimes he had committed, while Pheasant suffered with guilt over those he had failed.
He spent hours riding through the woods alone. Impatiently, he kicked the stirrups, jerking the reins, and veered the horse forcefully. He rode past the hills, reaching the walls at the back, turned around, flying through the garden’s entrance, heedless of the servants standing in his way, and galloped again, rocking the garden with the deafening sound of the hooves.
Sometimes he went to the lot where he had practiced mounted archery with Prince Ke. But he did not ride his horse or shoot any arrows. He only stood there, staring at the empty lot and the wooden target board, his face pierced with pain.
At night, he came to sit with me on the bench in the garden. He ordered servants to bring jugs of wine and drank them before a bonfire. He did not speak, only drank one jug after another. When he finished, he waved for more. A long time ago, I would have stopped him, worried about his health, but now, my hand on my round stomach, I drank with him. I let the strong liquid race down my throat and simmer in my stomach, and let my head sway in blissful dizziness.
The night was long, the sky dark. The moon hung in the distance, covered with a wan, yellow hue. It looked sick, helpless, like the eye of a dying man. Forlornly, it stood above us until the surging clouds drifted over and swallowed it.
Before us the bonfire hissed, black smoke surged and thinned, the pond was silent, and the water was black like poison. The wind, like a shameless thief, blew at our faces, stealing our warmth, our voices, and our hopes.
24
I gave birth at the end of spring. A princess, as I had expected. She was beautiful, with black eyes like a pair of shining prunes, her eyelashes lush like a black swan’s feathers, and her skin pink, delicate, and smooth. When she squinted, two dimples appeared in her cheeks.
“My princess, my treasure, my precious heart, my little oriole,” I whispered in her ear. Could Gaoyang hear me?
My daughter was strong and healthy, unlike Hong, who had been sickly when he was born. She cried loudly enough to make the guards outside the garden turn their heads. When she was hungry, she suckled with vigor and concentration, placing her little hand protectively on my chest, as though ordering me not to move. When I held her, she grabbed my hand and kicked with force, the bed board shaking underneath her. She grew fast, her face quickly rounding, her arms thickening.
It was clear to me she had arrived in the world with a purpose. She had come to fight. She was a warrior.
I played with her little fingers as she lay beside me. They were plump and soft. In a few months’ time, she would grin her toothless smile, and very soon, she would begin to crawl on her strong legs. By this time next year, she would toddle and explore the garden and palace, and as the years went by, she would grow, she would call for me sweetly, climb into my lap, asking for presents and making demands, and I would give them to her. I would give her everything she asked for. I would fulfill every wish she made upon the moon, and I swore I would do anything I could to keep her safe, to make her happy, and never see a drop of her tears.
For she was not only my sweet daughter; she was more. She was an oriole that stood proud and tall, a bird that flew on her own wishes. She could laugh without covering her mouth, she could fly instead of walk, she could play polo, and she would own her own destiny.
And she would be my friend. She would be my companion, bring me an eternal spring of happiness, encouraging me with her sweet smile and comforting me with her soothing voice. She would walk down a path unknown to me and find a future I had longed for. She would be everything I hoped for and more.
If only Gaoyang had been here. She would have understood how I felt. She would have shared my joy. She would have seen her spirit in this child.
And Pheasant was gentle and tender with my Oriole. He gave her a gift, a splendid doll wearing a red silk gown and a gold headdress. When she smiled, showing two dimples, Pheasant stared at her, his eyes filled with grief, and then without a word, he picked her up and pressed her to his heart.
I wrapped my arms around them. “My little oriole.” I kissed her fingers.
• • •
The three Ladies sent me gifts in baskets decorated with golden flowers. Inside were soft fur hats, feather-padded shoes, thick gowns, and many pairs of small trousers, each adorned with intricate designs of flowers, rabbits, trees, and fish.
“Why didn’t they come themselves?” I asked Apricot, who brought the baskets to my chamber. Then I remembered the Empress’s restrictions on leaving the compounds. She must have denied the Ladies’ request. But it was part of court protocol, and a tradition, for them to visit me after I gave birth, and I knew they adored children and would like to see my daughter. They wished to have their own children too, and I hoped they would succeed. Pheasant had agreed to summon them when I urged him repeatedly last winter, but since the deaths of Prince Ke and Princess Gaoyang, he had been too distraught. Bedding the ladies was perhaps the last thing on his mind.
Outside, Chunlu and Xiayu were playing hide-and-seek with Hong. The two maids were laughing, but Hong’s face was solemn. He had become more serious since his sister’s arrival, and grumpy too sometimes.
“Oh, they did wish to come,” Apricot said. “I could see that. They kept me there for a long time, asking many questions about the baby. What was the baby’s weight? How did she look? Had she smiled yet? Did she like to sleep? They wanted to know everything about her. They did not want me to leave.”
“I see.” I pulled a thread from a skein of yarn sitting in a basket. I had begun to knit when I started my confinement in the chamber after my daughter’s birth. At first I had tried to knit a glove, but it looked like a bag with uneven stitches. Now I was knitting a blanket for my Oriole. Gaoyang would have laughed at me if she had seen me knitting.
“And they asked about you, Luminous Lady.”
“Tell them I am doing well.” Apricot nodded, and I added, “Are they still looking after the Pure Lady and Sujie at least? How are they doing?”
“They are fine. The lady is under the physicians’ care. She is taking her herbal medic
ine, but she is…unpredictable at times. Sujie plays weiqi a lot. He will not speak to anyone other than his two maids.” Apricot cleared her throat, and her voice dropped lower. “And the three Ladies also said…”
“What?”
“They said they were sorry about the princess.”
My heart pained. I pulled the thread harder. “Send them gifts and tell them I am grateful they were thinking of me and my child. After I finish my one-month confinement, I shall go to their quarters and visit them. You may take this message to them now.”
“Yes, Luminous Lady.”
She did not move. I glanced at her. “What is it?”
“I…I…” Apricot covered her mouth. Tears spilled out of her eyes. “I do not wish to say this, but the princess…”
I put down my knitting sticks. I wanted to comfort her, but I refrained myself. “Do not cry because you are frightened, Apricot. I will not allow it.”
“Yes, Luminous Lady.” She nodded, wiping her eyes. “But…but…the princess saved me. Luminous Lady, I was afraid to tell you…”
“What do you mean?”
She dropped her head, and her voice was so low I had to strain to hear. “The Secretary followed me when I was fetching your clothing from the laundry women. I…I was frightened. I did not say anything. I only wished for him to go away…but he did not…and once I was crying when the princess saw me. She stopped him.”
I remembered Gaoyang had mentioned seeing them together. “Was he bothering you?”
Apricot’s hands were trembling. “It doesn’t matter now, Luminous Lady…please…do not be angry with me.”
“No. I am not angry at you.” I pushed the knitting sticks aside. “What did he do? Did he touch you?”
Apricot lowered her head.
Anger rose inside me. Apricot was mine, and that shameless man had molested my maid! I reached out and put my hand on hers. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was frightened, Luminous Lady.”
“When did this happen?” Apricot was my spy. She went to many corners of the palace, and that meant she was vulnerable every day.
She swallowed hard. “A few times when I went to fetch your clothes from the laundry women, and when I was using the privy chamber. I don’t know how he always found me… I tried to fight him off, but…but…”
I took a deep breath to keep calm. “Does anyone else know?”
Panic crossed her face. “No! Please, Luminous Lady, do not tell anyone. I should not have told you. It was just…I miss the princess, and now with her being gone…”
“Do not fear.” I leaned back, my heart burning with anger. That evil Empress had cooked my pet and murdered my most cherished friend, and now her uncle had forced himself on my maid. “He will not get his hands on you again, Apricot, I promise. And if he dares to approach you, you come to me, understand?”
“I will, I will. Luminous Lady, please do not tell the Emperor. I beg you. He doesn’t know anything. I don’t want him to hear that. He’ll be very upset. He’ll—”
“I will not tell him. Trust me.” Pheasant had left for the audience this morning, looking grim. Chang’an was suffering from a drought, and the court was discussing some emergency measures to deal with it. “Has the Emperor come back yet?”
“I…I will go see.”
“Good.” I nodded. “Inform me when he arrives.”
Apricot hesitated for a moment, then she bowed and left the chamber. Her footsteps were light, and soon, I heard her asking Chunlu whether supper had been prepared.
I turned to my daughter beside me. She was sleeping, her plump cheeks pink and her lips full. And I thought of what Apricot told me. What should I do?
I was not the Empress’s match. I had lost Princess Gaoyang; I had lost my guardian. If I resisted the Empress, I would not be able to protect myself.
Yet I must fight back.
I rose.
I asked Qiushuang to bring me The Art of War scroll that I had kept in my dresser. When she carried it over, I got out of bed and sat at the lacquered table. With the sunlight shining outside, with Hong’s voice echoing in the garden, with my daughter beside me, I read and reread the master’s words. When in battle, he said, be swift as the wind; when resting, majestic as the forest; when raiding, like fire; when in vigil, firm as the mountains.
Firm as the mountains.
• • •
A few days later, a sandstorm swept through Chang’an and destroyed many mulberry tree farms in the city, and the drought persisted. Many farmers became homeless, and people in the north near the Steppes, as well as those in Chang’an city, faced the threat of famine. Many families abandoned their homes, begging on the streets or fleeing to temples for meals. Hundreds of mulberry tree farms were left unattended. During one month, the Imperial Silkworm Workshops suffered a short supply of mulberry leaves again.
The Taoist abbeys, as usual, turned away the homeless, and it was the Buddhist temples and monasteries that opened their gates and provided the homeless with shelter. I was glad. At least something I had done bore fruit.
I began to collect information on the ministers in the palace. The court had one hundred and eighteen of them, and about twenty of them were unrelated to the Regent or the Empress. I asked Apricot to find more details about them. How long had they served in the court? What were their hobbies? What did they like to eat? What were their strengths? What were their weaknesses?
Apricot soon told me something interesting about Minister Xu Jingzong, Pheasant’s former tutor. He had held the position of the Secretary during Emperor Taizong’s reign, but he was too talented and too efficient, and Chancellor Chu Suiliang got jealous, accusing him of breaching Confucian morality when he accepted gifts from his Turkic son-in-law. So Minister Xu was censored and banished.
But the minister did not change his ways after his return from exile. He still enjoyed luxurious gifts, indulging in silk and rare jade. Now in his sixties, he was still bold, his voice loud. I thanked Apricot for finding out the minister’s history, and I knew I needed such a man, a man with a purpose, who was eager to pursue it and who also disliked the Regent.
When I finished my one-month confinement, I took Apricot with me and walked toward the library in the Eastern Palace, where the minister worked. I wanted to familiarize myself with Minister Xu Jingzong.
The Empress would know I had left my garden and defied her rule, but I did not care. She could stop me.
With my maids holding parasols beside me and Apricot following behind, I passed the arched bridges, the stone statues, the elaborately carved gates, and the towering pillars of many majestic halls in the Outer Palace. The path reminded me of the days when I had served Emperor Taizong as he went to the Audience Hall. But I blinked away the memory. The sun stood high in the sky by the time I arrived at the imperial library in the Eastern Palace. I had taken a long route to reach it, but it felt good to walk again. I dabbed at my forehead, patted the side of my wig to assure it was in place, and stepped into the vast yard in front of the library.
The palace had three libraries: one for Pheasant, one for the ministers, located in the Eastern Palace, and a pitiful one in the Inner Court, which I had frequented when I was trained as a Talent. I had been to Pheasant’s library, back when it was still Emperor Taizong’s, and visited it many times. But I had never gone to the ministers’ library.
It was a magnificent five-bay building, sitting on a high platform. It had the usual blue flying eaves, gray tiles, red latticed windows, and a large bell in the corridor, which was used to summon the scribes. In the center of the building sat a horizontal board inscribed with three characters: Hong Wen Guan. The Great Literature Building. Beside the board were two couplets written in grass script.
I ascended the stairs and found a group of ministers gathered in the corridor. They glanced at me curiously. Some frowned,
and some looked away. They were afraid to be associated with me and potentially become a target of the Empress’s revenge.
I ignored them and entered the building. Inside, I glimpsed Minister Li Yifu, who stood among a group of other ministers.
“Zao an, Minister Li,” I called out in a pleasant voice.
He turned toward me, a calligraphy brush in hand, and his face reddened, and then he bowed reluctantly. Courtesy was, of course, the best action to give when you could not decide what to do. “Zao an, Luminous Lady.”
I saw Minister Xu Jingzong, the fifth-degree minister who had once recorded the explanation of my riddle, standing near a pile of scrolls.
“Zao an, Minister Xu.” I wanted to speak more to him, but there were too many ears around me.
“Zao an, Luminous Lady,” the minister replied.
He did not approach me, like the others, but he did not look away either. Then, he gave me a nod, and that was enough to make me feel better.
Minister Li Yifu cleared his throat. Obviously he was the highest-ranking among them, and he had no choice but to speak to me. “Luminous Lady, may I, on behalf of the imperial library, offer you my sincere welcome. Your arrival has honored me and everyone here. With your permission, may I ask how I can assist you with your reading pleasure?”
His manners were courtly, as usual. I went to a writing table as Apricot cleaned the space for me. “I do hope my appearance will not interrupt your important work. If you do not mind, may I have a look at Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Jing, or Zhuang Tzu’s Zhuang Zhou Zhuang?” Those were two central scriptures of Taoism.
He looked surprised. If I wanted to read any classics, I could always order my maids to bring them to my chamber.
“I shall be more than happy to oblige,” he said, turning to the ministers around him.
A minister in a green robe whispered in his ear, and Minister Li grimaced, his eyes avoiding me. They must have been debating whether they should inform the Chancellor, the Secretary, or even the Regent of my request to read the classics, although I believed Minister Li, the highest-ranking minister in the imperial library, should have had the power to grant my access.
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