I should leave. I could not be alone with him. Such a distance, even with a forest between us, was too close, too much. But he looked so lonely and forlorn, standing beside a red lantern.
He put one knee on the ground, and with one hand on the stone, he slowly swept the top of the rock. A cloud of snow drifted in the red light, and his hand seemed transparent and glowing, like a lamp of hope. Then he leaned over and brushed the side of the stone with two hands. The motion, so delicate, so tender, reminded me of how he used to brush his fingers over Oriole’s cheeks. Something choked my throat.
Finally, he pushed against the ground and stood up with a grunt, like an old man, and then he fumbled in his pocket, fished out something, and placed it on top of the tombstone that he had cleaned. He turned around, picked up the lantern, and walked toward the trail near the grove.
I waited until he disappeared into the trees, and then I went to the grave. The tombstone did not look so lonely, and on the top stood a small figure, like a vigilant sentinel—a wooden doll dressed in a fine, red gown.
My eyes misted. I remembered the dozens of dolls he had given Oriole. He had always insisted girls needed dolls and boys needed horses, and he had held her so carefully, always with a tender look in his eyes.
I ran down the bridge and went after him. “Pheasant. Wait. Pheasant.”
He turned, raising the lantern. “Mei? Is that you?”
I stopped in front of him. I did not know what to say. “Why did you come here? I thought you were with the Ladies.”
“It feels good to come out. It’s quiet. What are you doing here all by yourself? Where are your maids?”
“They are sleeping.” With the lantern’s light, I could see all the signs of grief on his face I had not noticed before. His eyes were smaller, bleary, rimmed with sadness. His skin was pallid even in the red light, and his face slackened. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his jaw was sharper. Yes. He had grieved. It was simply that I, drowning in my own grief, had failed to see it. “I could not sleep.”
“Me either.” He lowered the lantern, spreading a pool of red light between us. “You know I am still searching for her.”
“I know.”
“I’ll find her.”
I nodded.
We both fell silent.
Then to my surprise, he put down the lantern and pulled me into his arms. His chin resting on my head, his breath warming my hair, he held me tightly. “I thought…” He paused, then spoke again, his voice gentle. “I thought you would never speak to me again. I thought… I was so worried about you.”
He still cared about me, after everything that had happened. Tears ran down my face. I should have known. We had shared our youth, loving each other in secret, and we had gone through so much—doubt, suspicion, isolation, rebellion, and separation. We should have been strong; we should have gotten through the trial of losing our beloved child. Together.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Pheasant.”
“Do not blame yourself.”
I nodded. I would stop blaming myself. I would stop blaming him too, and I could not let anguish push us apart, for our deep love, our shared bond to our child, in life or in death, would never change. And even though the loss of our daughter would leave a hole in our hearts that could never be filled, we could not let the void swallow us. “You shouldn’t either.”
His hand flew to his eyes, and he turned away. His shoulders trembled, and I held him. A spasm burst through his body, shaking him and me. Then he howled, loudly, the voice of fury and frustration piercing the night’s darkness. I held him tight, my heart close to his. I let him be. I would be here for him, as he had done for me.
And perhaps, even as death broke our hearts, in the dust of cruelty, our love would heal us both and make us whole again.
Finally, he buried his head in my hair, and his voice was all pain. “I could not do anything right. Why? Why? I tried. I tried. So hard…”
I shook my head, but it had just occurred to me how difficult these days had been for him. In silence, he shed the tears of his failure; in loneliness, he swallowed his grief. And at the same time, he stood tall and remained strong in front of the guards and ministers, searching for the child murderer and trying to fight against the Regent.
“And our daughter…our daughter… I found her first,” he wailed. “My little girl…lying there before me…”
I could not hold back my tears. “I know, I know.”
“And you were right. I killed her. Did I not kill her? I proposed to divorce the Empress. I should not have done that. I killed our daughter.”
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s not yours. You had to…” I shook my head, showering his robe with my tears. But how strange. For the first time since my child’s death, tears released me.
“But I’m sorry, sweet face. I can’t kill them all. I simply can’t. I’m not my father.”
I wiped my face. “I know. You must do whatever you believe is right. You are the Emperor, after all, Pheasant.”
He kissed my forehead. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.” For a moment, we stood there, not speaking, not moving, only embracing. Finally, he picked up the lantern on the ground. “It’s cold here. Your hands are freezing. You want to go inside?”
I nodded, and with the light of the lantern illuminating our path, I walked down the trail toward our bedchamber. “Come. Let’s go warm up. How’s your arm?”
“Sore.”
“Will you whip me for biting you?”
He shook his head. “The whip is only for my enemies.”
I smiled, stepping over a pile of snow. “Now perhaps we will have a good night’s sleep.”
For I needed it, and I believed Pheasant needed it too.
But there was silence. I turned around. Pheasant was not following me. Standing near the bamboo grove, he held the lantern in one hand, his head raised toward the sky, frozen. I followed his gaze.
The sky was dark as usual, and the moon looked strange, with a white halo encircling its edge. It would storm soon, perhaps, or snow.
But Pheasant was not worried about the weather, I knew, for near the moon, in the distant dark fabric of the sky, a bright stream, like an arrow, shot downward. Another followed. Then another.
Shooting stars.
This was what the Regent had been waiting for, the sign of Heaven rescinding its approval of Pheasant’s reign. With this heavenly sign, all the rebels in the kingdom could place a claim to the throne.
I put my hand on Pheasant’s arm. I did not look at his face, but I could feel him and his fear standing next to him like a vengeful ghost. “We should go,” I said gently.
We had not yet reached the pond when urgent footsteps and pounding erupted at the entrance to the garden. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty, emergency!”
“What is it?” Pheasant shouted, racing toward the entrance.
“You must go to the watchtower now, Your Majesty!”
33
Violent screams rang outside the carriage as we rode through the Outer Palace. The commotion grew louder as we approached the watchtower near the palace gates. As soon as the carriage stopped, Pheasant leaped off to greet the General, who strode toward us.
Dawn had not arrived, but near the watchtower, it was as busy as though it were the middle of the day. Groups of eunuch servants were racing around, banging on pots to frighten the evil spirit that caused a moon eclipse, even though we had seen only shooting stars. Near the wall stood rows of bowmen holding crossbows, the long, steel-headed arrows ready on the strings. Behind them were axmen, swordsmen bearing wide-bladed sabers, men holding torches, and guards carrying long spears. All suited in golden armor and scarlet leather boots, they looked strong and well fed, and I was glad.
But some were glancing at me with a questioning look that worried me. I recognized one of them, Ca
ptain Pei, who had escorted Pheasant and me to the market when I tried to save Prince Ke and the princess’s husband. His bald head glowing white like a snowball and his two ears sticking out like two round fans, Captain Pei met my gaze and put his hands on his hips as though to challenge me.
I swallowed. I could explain, of course, but would he believe me?
“What is it, General?” Pheasant said to him.
“Your Majesty, Luminous Lady.” He gave us a curt nod. “You may come up to the watchtower and take a look yourself.”
Pheasant went ahead, taking three stairs at a time, and I followed. The top of the watchtower was as wide as the Heavenly Street, and many torch holders and archers were standing near the brick rampart, their backs facing me. The wind was strong here, slashing my face, and my eyes started to tear up. I pulled my fur cape tighter and hunched my back to stop the chilly wind from entering the folds near my neck.
Then I looked down.
In the dark, the city looked like a dried mulberry leaf with lots of burning holes. And those holes, glowing red, were spreading. Some seemed to be bonfires, and some were men carrying torches, marching through dark alleys toward the palace. A group of palace guards below the watchtower, holding torches too, shouted and charged forward. The two clashed. Men’s cries, muffled in the distance, drifted up to us, and sparks of fire burst, smoke billowing in the air.
It was all happening so fast. The shooting stars had just occurred, and the people were already responding. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. But it was true. The Regent’s plan had succeeded, and soon, he would gather all the rebellious people and his hired mercenaries and attack the palace, since he could claim that Heaven had given him permission to revolt.
And all of that started because of the lie about me.
I stared at the glowing tents and the blazing fire in the distance. Where was the Empress? What was she doing? Had she seen the shooting stars? Was she celebrating the heavenly signs with Zhong? Was she glad the rumor she had spread was ruining me and Pheasant’s reign?
I wished she were dead.
“Do you know who those rebels are, General?” Pheasant took a torch from a man near him. He held it in front of him to get a better look at the people below the watchtower. Some snowflakes drifted above his head, spreading white speckles on his fur hat. He let out his breath, and a cloud of white surged in the air and vanished.
“Some rascals, encouraged by the Regent, no doubt,” the General said, facing the city. “Some could be the rogue guards who serve him.”
“Rogue guards.” Pheasant struck the brick rampart, a splash of snow bursting from his hand. “I should have arrested him when I had a chance.”
The General, standing still, did not speak.
“Do we have enough men?” Pheasant gestured toward the palace guards below him.
“Enough to secure the front gates,” the General said and turned around. “But, Your Majesty, it’s time for you to leave the watchtower. It’s too dangerous.”
“I am fine.” Pheasant shook his head. “General, do you think the Regent will truly attack the palace?”
The General was silent for a moment. “The question, Your Majesty, is rather when.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. I pulled my cape tighter and walked behind the torch holders and the archers standing by the rampart. I could not imagine what would happen if the Regent were to break into the palace. Pheasant, Hong, and I would all be in danger. Many people, many innocent people, would be slaughtered.
The Regent was too strong, supported by those rogue guards, mercenaries, and the frightened people who were easily manipulated. He knew the palace’s layout and was well versed in war strategy. He was a formidable enemy, more frightening and destructive than the Empress.
I thought of the night when Taizi and Prince Yo revolted. I could still see the kneeling women by the tree stump, their blood-smeared faces, and the severed heads rolling on the ground. I could hear the dirges the women sang and their screams, and I remembered seeing my friend Plum near the tree stump…
I shivered. This could not happen. The imperial palace would not suffer another rampage.
I had to stop this. After all, I had started it.
But how? How could I stop the bloodshed? How could I defeat the Regent and his army? I was only one woman. Unlike my friend Princess Gaoyang, I did not know the art of fighting or the art of wielding weapons. But even if she had been here, she would not have been able to stop the Regent’s army.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, scanning the soldiers standing near the wall. There, I found Captain Pei.
“General.” I turned around. “Do you believe the rumor?” I did not say what rumor, but he would know what I referred to.
He gave me a quick glance. The wind sent his red cape flying behind him, and his birthmark, which often looked dark, seemed to shine like gold in the torchlight. “It is only a rumor, Luminous Lady.” His voice was softer than I expected.
I nodded. Ever since I told him I had given him a second chance in the palace, he had not seemed so cold to me. “I know, but will the guards and the people believe me? Will they believe their emperor’s words?”
He held the hilt of his sword. “A good sword serves his lord; a good swordsman believes in his lord, Luminous Lady.”
I could count on his faith in Pheasant. I supposed I should have been happy to hear that. But what about his men? Could he speak for them? “What will you do, Pheasant?” I asked him.
He turned around to scan the rows of bowmen, axmen, and swordsmen. “The palace must have peace, and my kingdom must have peace. I must do anything I can, Luminous Lady. Anything I can.”
So must I, I said to myself silently. So must I.
• • •
For the next few days, Pheasant rose early and went to the Audience Hall. I was not sure how many ministers would be present or how many petitions he would hear. Most of the ministers avoided the court, and the ones who came to the audience these days looked fearful and lacked energy. They often gossiped about the riots, and no one seemed to care about the taxes on grain, salt, or silk.
Pheasant spent his afternoons on the watchtower, scanning the city and meeting with the General. They had divided the guards into two large groups, one to safeguard the front gates and the other to guard every corner of the palace. Nearly a quarter of the Gold Bird Guards had turned rogue, and that meant we had not only lost a vital number of forces, but also needed to fight the very men whom our guards had trained with.
A few days later, someone broke into a weapon storage chamber and stole all the weapons. The General was incensed, furious that his men would now stand with only clubs in their hands. Soon everyone in the palace learned of the news, and people began to panic.
And Pheasant spoke fewer and fewer words.
I pondered what I could do to stop the bloodshed. I read and reread The Art of War. Perhaps the ancient master Sun Tzu would offer me some advice. Perhaps he could help me stop the disaster. While I was reading, I thought about the Regent. What was his weakness? How could I defeat him before he attacked?
And the Empress. What could I do to defeat her?
Hong was ill again and cried constantly. The physicians believed he had a stomach ulcer and instructed me to feed him tonics mixed with rhubarb root each morning, and honey water with licorice before bedtime. I worried that someone had poisoned Hong, and I hoped that the Empress’s evil hand had not reached my son.
One afternoon, I was reading The Art of War when I saw Apricot pick up Hong’s clothes in a corner. She stood up, wincing. I put down the scroll.
“Come and sit with me, Apricot.” I patted the side of the bed. “Let me see your back.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she obediently untied her coat and pulled up the back of her robe. The scabs looked crimson i
n the red light, and I remembered how Pheasant’s back had looked when he was once beaten by his father. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but I could not. I should not admit my fault before the people who served me. “You were beaten badly.”
She put down her robe. “I should have died for my mistake. I deserved to be beaten, Luminous Lady.”
Her voice, to my surprise, was gentle and without bitterness. I did not know what to say.
“Luminous Lady was beaten too,” she added.
“Yes,” I said sadly, remembering how the Empress had ordered her guards to beat me when she discovered I had returned from my exile. “I had forgotten about that.”
“The Empress is evil, Luminous Lady. I shall not forget that, and I will not forget that she took our precious princess’s life.” Apricot’s eyes glittered. “And Princess Gaoyang’s too.”
I felt my eyes moisten. I had punished her, but she bore me no grudge. She was faithful to me. She would never betray me. I blinked quickly to make my tears go away. “You have grown, Apricot. How long have you served me now?”
“It’ll be four years this year.” She smiled proudly.
She would serve me many more years, and I would be proud of her and her devotion. I wanted to stroke her hair, but I stood up instead. “Come, gather Hong and the others. Let’s go visit the Emperor.”
• • •
I wanted to know what his plan was. Perhaps he and the General had figured out something to stop the Regent before his attack. I could not find Pheasant on the watchtower and instead found him in his library, where he was studying a scroll laid out on the vast lacquered table.
I ordered my maids to wait in the yard in front of the hall, while Apricot carried Hong to the corridor and awaited me there. After I lost my Oriole, I kept Hong with me whenever I could.
“Excellent. You are here,” Pheasant said and waved away the attendants lined against the wall. “Come and take a look at the scroll, sweet face, and read it to me.”
“It would be my honor, Your Majesty,” I said, moving closer to the scroll. The hall was dark, even with the candlelight, and I traced the characters, each in perfect lines and elegant form, with my finger. “On the sixth year of the Reign of Eternal Glory, I, Emperor Gaozong, the Emperor of our kingdom, the son of Emperor Taizong, do hereby denounce Li Zhong, the adopted son of Empress Wang, as my heir. He has no right to claim the throne in the time of my reign or after the time of my death.”
Empress of Bright Moon Page 30