“And I refuse to draft an edict that lacks the consensus of the wise counsel,” the Empress’s uncle, the Secretary, added.
Pheasant turned to him. “I did not order you to draft the edict, Minister Liu Shi. You’re no longer my Secretary.”
Voices exploded.
“You must not do this, Your Majesty!” Lai Ji, a brother-in-law of the Regent, protested.
“Relieve the Secretary of his duty, for what?” Han Yuan, another brother-in-law of the Regent, shouted.
“This is unlawful!” The Chancellor’s face was turning purple.
My heart pounded. I started to sweat. It was like watching a horse fighting a pack of wolves, and it was most agonizing because I loved this horse and knew how ruthless the wolves were. They would tear Pheasant to pieces, they would cripple him, and he would never gallop again.
But Pheasant raised his hand and hurled the jug on the ground. A thunderous crash erupted in the hall. “I am the law!” he roared. “I, the third son of Emperor Taizong and Empress Wende, hold the mandate of Heaven. Have you forgotten? Do you dare defy me?”
Silence descended on the hall again.
I wrung my hands, shocked at how determined Pheasant was. But I was also afraid. Pheasant was playing with fire. He was going to be burned. He was going to suffer from the Regent’s wrath, and the Empress’s, for the rest of his life.
“But divorcing the Empress! This is impossible!” the Chancellor said. “It is unseen in our history. What has she done? This divorce will be not granted. Your Majesty, you know it will not be granted! A wise emperor would not even propose such an outrageous idea in the first place!”
Pheasant stepped down from the dais, kicked aside the broken shards of the jug, and walked toward the Chancellor, moving out of my sight. I stood up, and my knees bumped against the stool. I groaned in pain.
My maids hurried to help me. I waved them away. But the Regent turned toward the antechamber. He knew I was there.
“Watch your words, Chancellor.” Pheasant’s voice came from the hall. “My tolerance is not limitless.”
The brainless servant turned his head away. “I will not hold back my tongue at this most ridiculous moment of the kingdom. Your Majesty is bewitched! You have let that harlot whisper too many wicked words in your ears. Can you see? That woman is poisoning you. She wants to be the Empress herself!”
I held myself still, though my nails dug deep into the frame of the screen. Just like that, he had spread his vicious lies. From now on, I would be known as the harlot who whispered wicked messages to my emperor. I would be the seducer who lured him to my bed and plotted to depose the Empress so I could replace her. And the most ridiculous part was no one would know what an evil woman the Empress really was. She had tortured the Pure Lady and murdered Princess Gaoyang, Pheasant’s sister, my most trusted friend!
Pheasant leaned over. “I have been kind to you, Chancellor. I took no offense of your stupidity. But this is enough. I will tolerate no more. Kowtow thirty times and repent, or I will chop off your head.”
“Nephew—” The Regent’s voice, loud with warning.
“I do not need your counsel, Uncle.” Pheasant’s voice was steady. “Now, decide, Chancellor. Kowtow or face my punishment.”
The Chancellor’s lips trembled, out of fear or anger, I could not tell. But conceited as he was, I doubted he would apologize.
And just as I imagined, he said, “I owe my duty to your father.”
“General!” Pheasant shouted. “Bring me your saber.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The General strode into the hall. Standing next to Pheasant, he unsheathed his saber and handed it to him. He had offered Pheasant his sword before, but Pheasant had refused, and now he took the sword with two hands, raised it above his head. His hands steady, his face solemn, he positioned himself in front of the Chancellor.
I could not breathe. He really was going to do it! He would shed blood in the Audience Hall! With his own hands!
“Kneel!” Pheasant ordered, his voice sharp and hard.
The Chancellor trembled. He turned toward the Regent, but before the Regent could say anything, Pheasant kicked the Chancellor, and the brainless man fell. “Kneel!”
“I will resign,” he cried out.
Pheasant did not move.
“I will resign,” the man said again and laid his ivory tablet on the ground.
“That was easy, wasn’t it? My dear former Chancellor. I shall gladly accept your resignation.” Pheasant kicked the ivory tablet aside. “But this is not the choice I offered.”
Chu Suiliang’s eyes, those cloudy eyeballs resembling cooked cocoons of silkworms that would never yield a metamorphosis, darted here and there in desperation. Then in an astounding moment, he looked down at his empty hands, and his face crumpled. Slowly, he knelt and hit his head on the ground. One after another. Thirty times. By the time he finished, he was hatless, and blood trickled down his forehead.
The ministers standing near him looked stunned, their eyes round, their mouths agape, but those near the back of the hall, who were unrelated to the Regent, shifted their feet and nodded toward one another. It occurred to me that these ministers, who must have suffered from the Chancellor’s domination all these years, might have been pleased to see him punished.
“That is better, old man.” Pheasant lowered his sword. The tension in his voice eased, and just as I thought he was finished, he pointed the sword at the Secretary. “Now, your turn, Minister Liu Shi.”
“Nephew!” The Regent stood up on the dais.
Pheasant turned around sharply. Throwing his long sleeves behind him, he strode toward the Regent, each step loud, steady, and heavy, echoing in the spacious hall. Then he stopped in front of him, leaned over, and said slowly, “Sit down, Uncle. There is no hurry. I shall take care of everyone.” His voice was calm, strong, filled with meaning and power.
The hall was as quiet as though all the men had stopped breathing.
My heart clenched in utter shock. I never would have dreamed Pheasant, the filial son, the man who loved and respected his elders, would dare to threaten his uncle like that.
“Nephew!”
“I will not say it again, Uncle.” Raising the sword, Pheasant tapped at the stool where the Regent had sat. The hard metal struck the stool. A deep, bold echo rang out. Once. Twice. Three times. And when he stopped, the sound still lingered, sharp, clear, and unyielding.
The Regent stood stiffly, as though pierced by the sword itself. Gritting his teeth, he said, “He is the Empress’s uncle.”
“No.” Pheasant shook his head. “I have made it clear. That woman is no longer the Empress.”
“You will not act so recklessly!”
Pheasant turned away, ignoring him. “General! Hold the Secretary. I will chop off his head if he refuses to kowtow!”
The General answered and dove toward the Secretary, who cried out, turned to run, but tripped, his hands scrabbling on the ground. The General seized his robe and threw him against a pillar. The Regent looked outraged. He threw his sleeves behind him and stormed toward the hall’s entrance.
I was shaking. I could not speak. I could not breathe. That was it? Pheasant had succeeded in intimidating the ministers? He would reclaim the hall?
But it was not over, I could see, for the Regent had approached the threshold. His hawkish nose looking sharper than ever, he nodded to someone in the corridor. A guard ran to him, and he whispered something into his ear. The guard nodded, sidled behind the pillars, and disappeared through the gate.
Before I could move, thunderous footsteps pounded from outside, and figures in maroon capes poured into the hall. They pushed aside the ministers near the entrance and raced in. The Regent’s guards. I stood up, my heart pounding.
“Pheasant!” I shouted to warn him.
“All of you! Stay a
way fifty paces! Fifty paces!” The General lunged toward Pheasant to shield him, took the sword from his hands, and pointed it at the approaching guards.
“I command you. Out! Now!” Pheasant ordered. “All of you!”
But they did not listen, and one spun forward, a sword lashing out. The General pivoted, knocked it off with his elbow, and sank his saber into that man’s chest. Another man leaped forward. The General twisted around and kicked him with his foot. All of a sudden, the figures of men filled the hall, and the ministers shrieked, running to the corners.
I wrung my hands nervously. The General would not be able to fight off those guards alone. Where were his men?
“Luminous Lady!” A voice came from behind me. A woman stood there—one of Pheasant’s attendants, the pretty one with a round face. “Some guards are coming.”
“Toward us?”
She nodded, trembling. “What should we do, Luminous Lady? It’s frightening out there. What should we do?”
They knew I was here. My head spun, but I could see fear on her face and the others’. I stood up, trying to remain calm. “Bolt the doors. Make sure no one enters this antechamber. Do it. Do it now!”
The moment the attendants bolted the door, heavy pounding came from the other side. My heart raced in fear. The antechamber had two entrances: one to the corridor and the other to the Audience Hall, where Pheasant and the General were standing. We had bolted the entrance to the corridor, and as long as the guards did not get through the General, they could not get to me. If they did, however, everything would be over.
The cries from the hall grew louder. Another group of Gold Bird Guards had leaped across the threshold, pushing the intruders to the left side of the hall. They were the General’s men, I could see. And the intruders, outnumbered, shouted, slowly receded to the corridor, and ran off.
The General ordered a pursuit, and all his men rushed out of the hall. Heavy footsteps rose in the corridor, and someone cried out in pain. After a moment, to my great relief, all the footsteps faded away, the pounding on the door of the antechamber ceased, and the corridor was quiet.
I went to the other side of the screen, my legs shaking. Inside the hall, Pheasant slumped on the throne. The hall was quiet too. Many of the Regent’s ministers had vanished, including the Chancellor and the Secretary. Those unrelated to the Regent and the Empress stood quietly, their faces grave. They turned toward Pheasant, waiting.
Pheasant straightened and raised his head to look at the ministers in front of him. “You may go home, if you wish.”
They hesitated and walked closer to the throne. Although they were trembling, they stared at Pheasant with awe and respect.
“Your Majesty.” Pheasant’s former tutor, the bold Minister Xu Jingzong, prostrated himself, and his voice throaty, he shouted again, “Your Majesty!”
More ministers came around him. “Your Majesty!” They bowed before him, shouting, “Your Majesty!”
Pheasant looked stunned. For a moment he did not speak, his hands gripping the throne tightly. And the shouts grew louder, filling the hall with a unanimous, fresh wave of awe and wonder.
“Your Majesty!”
Pheasant raised his hand, and in that supreme gesture, with his palm facing Heaven, he said, “Rise, my ministers.”
I felt dizzy. My eyes were misty, and my robe was drenched with sweat. But I was happy for Pheasant. I had never expected he would discard his love and respect for his uncle and threaten him. It was very dangerous, but Pheasant had succeeded, and with his relentless charge and anger, he had done the unthinkable—announcing his intention to divorce the Empress—and even better, he had found his power in the hall.
• • •
Later, after the ministers left the hall, I went to Pheasant.
“Pheasant?”
He turned to me. The corners of his mouth curled up, and his eyes were strangely bright. “Did you see that?”
His voice was gentle, so I understood how much effort it had taken him to raise his voice to his uncle and wield that sword. “I was so worried about you.”
“It was the only way.” He stared at the bloodstained hall. There were pools of blood on the ground and splashes of red on the pillars. “All these months, I struggled, angry at what they did to my brother and sister. I thought about what to do, how to drive her away, how to drive my uncle away and take back my place in the court without bloodshed. I was so tempted to give the General my order and end everything with his sword.”
“But you didn’t.” I touched his arm. His robe was stained with blood too, and soaked with sweat. “I’m proud of you. And your father and Prince Ke would be proud of you too.”
Now the prince’s death was avenged, as was that of Princess Gaoyang. For the first time since her death, I felt like a cloud of gloom had been lifted and I could see everything in full splendor again.
He sighed. “This is not over.”
“What is your plan?”
He turned to an attendant beside him, took two goblets, and handed one to me. “I shall follow my announcement of the divorce with formal procedures. Then she will leave the palace, and I will have nothing to do with her. And I shall also announce my uncle’s retirement. He’s an old man, after all. In fact, I shall draft the edict myself and send it to him.”
He looked confident, as though he had become young again.
“Will he accept that?”
“Oh, after today, I think he will accept it gracefully. He can no longer use me.” He waved his hand. “Did you see the faces of the ministers? They want him to be gone too.”
“Yes.” And they would be overjoyed at the Regent’s retirement, judging from their reaction at the Chancellor’s resignation. And once the Regent retired, with the demotion of the Secretary and the exit of the Chancellor, all the powerful threads that held the Empress’s cobweb would be severed. She would be alone. Even if she resisted the divorce, she could not stop it.
Pheasant raised his goblet. “To tomorrow. It will be a new day. I shall have my ministers’ support, and I shall rule my kingdom as a true emperor.”
His voice was solid and powerful, the most beautiful sound I had heard in a long time. I drained the wine. I felt light-headed. I could see a soft, golden sheen glowing in the hall, enveloping the pillars, the standards, the stools, and the attendants like a colorful mural. A fountain of poetry bloomed within me, poetry that sang of victory and dreams.
When it was time for Pheasant and me to leave the hall, we came into the corridor, where the General stood like a pillar, his eyes watching the vast space before him. Near the bridge in the distance, the General’s men were still fighting against two of the Regent’s men. And as I watched, the General’s men thrust their blades into the Regent’s men’s hearts, and they dropped to the ground.
But a thought came into my mind. The Regent had many followers among the Gold Bird Guards, and those men below me were only a handful of his followers. Would he obediently retire?
And the Empress. She must have heard of her denunciation by now. She would not give up. She would bite, and she would bite hard.
Would the fountain of poetry that had bloomed within me spout tears, tears that would inundate us all?
My hands turned cold.
27
It was nearly noon when we reached the garden. Through the open carriage door, I glimpsed a large vulture standing on the wall of the garden, its wings outstretched and its black head turning to watch me, and then as though it had seen enough, as though it had completed its mission, it soared into the gray sky.
I blinked nervously. It was only a vulture, but why did I feel as though I had looked straight into the bulbous eyes of the tiger that had killed my father so many years before?
One guard, Guard Cao, knelt on the ground and helped me get out of the carriage. The other guards lowered their heads and bowed as I pa
ssed them. I was not certain if they had heard of the Empress’s denunciation. My face hot with the wine, I steadied myself and followed Pheasant into my garden.
It was empty and quiet.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, looking around. I had twelve maids and nannies now. Some of them should have noticed my arrival.
“Perhaps they are playing behind the pond.” Pheasant strode to our bedchamber, his steps unsteady. He had drunk too much. We both had. “I shall go lie down for a moment.”
I nodded. I wanted to join him, but I missed my Oriole; she should be with the maids. I had never left her for so long before, and I was so accustomed to holding her, my arms felt empty without her. “I hope the maids fed Oriole.”
Just then I heard Hong’s shriek behind the woods. My heart jumped. He sounded frightened.
“Don’t worry, sweet face. He probably just saw a frog.” Pheasant pushed the chamber’s door open.
“Let me take a look. I shall come right back.” I turned.
Pheasant waved and disappeared inside the bedchamber.
“Hong! Apricot!” I went down the trail that led to the grove behind the pond. I had to pause now and then, holding onto the pear trees, for my head was dizzy from the wine. But I was worried.
Hong shrieked again. I pulled up my skirt and clambered up the hill as fast as I could. What happened? Had someone hurt him? Had the Empress come to hurt him?
I was panting by the time I reached the top of the hill. There, I saw Hong, dressed in a shining red tunic, standing near a creek with Apricot and the other maids. That despicable Empress, of course, was not in sight. “Hong!” I called out in relief.
“Luminous Lady!” Apricot turned to face me. “You are here!” She looked delighted.
“There you are. What are you doing?” I breathed hard, glad to see my boy safe with my maids. “Why was Hong shrieking? Where is little Oriole?”
“Oh, she’s sleeping in the bedchamber.”
“Ah.” I nodded and picked up Hong. “What’s in your hands? Is this why you were screaming?”
He showed me. A baby turtle. He had always been fascinated with turtles. Once he had told me a turtle talked to him and it sounded like Princess Gaoyang. It pained me to hear that. Hong had adored the princess and asked about her constantly during the early days after her death.
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