Forest of a Thousand Lanterns

by Julie C. Dao

  “Once there was a rabbit who was attacked by a dog. It lay near death with its leg broken. A boy found it and brought it home to his mother, and together they nursed it back to health and shared what food they had with it, though they were poor. The rabbit soon healed, and when the boy set it free again in the field, it dropped nine seeds into his lap. He gave them to his mother to plant in her garden, and that night, a beautiful tree sprouted from the earth, its branches growing nine white fruits that glowed like the moon.”

  Xifeng put down her needle to listen and noticed Lady Meng doing the same.

  “The boy and his mother were overjoyed, thinking the fruit would be delicious. But when they opened them, they found not sweet nectar, but gold, silver, and jewels, more than enough to make them wealthy for the rest of their lives. Their neighbor saw their good fortune and decided to earn it for himself. So he went into the fields and broke the leg of the first rabbit he found.”

  “Imbecile,” said the steel-haired woman, and they all laughed.

  “This rabbit gave him nine seeds, too, after he nursed it back to health. But the tree that grew for him was much taller and bore only one enormous fruit. When he cut it open, an old man jumped out and told him to follow. Together, they climbed the tree all day, and when night fell at last, he saw that the old man had taken him to the moon. There, they found another tree in which jewels grew like fruit. ‘If you can cut this tree down,’ the old man said, giving him an ax, ‘everything on it will be yours.’ But as it turned out, the tree was enchanted and couldn’t be cut down, and the greedy man spent eternity in vain. So you see, the lesson of the fable is to . . .”

  “Never break a rabbit’s foot,” the other woman interrupted, prompting more laughter.

  “Why didn’t the man climb the tree and retrieve the jewels?” Lady Meng asked plaintively. “He could have gotten himself the same reward as the boy and his mother.”

  There was a silence, and then the storyteller said, “There were no branches, I suppose.”

  “But he had all eternity to figure it out. He could have made a rope ladder or something.”

  Xifeng saw the women exchange amused glances, even the ones who had accompanied Lady Meng. The girl had completely missed the point of the story.

  The rosy woman cleared her throat and rose. “I’m going to fetch some water. I’m a bit parched from all of this storytelling.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Xifeng offered. “I’ve run out of silver thread.”

  As they walked, the woman whispered to Xifeng about Lady Meng. “I pity her. She hates it here and the Emperor knows it. They say she’s desperately lonely and has turned to wine for solace. She talks to herself and wanders at night when she ought to be sleeping.”

  Xifeng remained silent, not wanting to engage in gossip.

  “The Emperor never spends the night with her and I think our friend Lady Sun had a hand in that.” The woman shook her head. “His Majesty will likely send the poor girl to a monastery soon. He’d do it faster if he knew how she felt about the Crown Prince. Oh, it’s common knowledge,” she added, seeing Xifeng’s surprise. “His Highness was kind to Lady Meng when she first arrived, lonely and homesick, and she took a shine to him. She prefers the Emperor’s stepson to the Emperor himself, but the prince is too careful to . . . oh!”

  She cried out as they turned the corner and came face-to-face with none other than the Crown Prince himself, leaving his mother’s apartments with a retinue of eunuch guards. He looked the same but for the elaborate robes he now wore and the slight pallor of illness. His raised eyebrows showed he’d heard the woman’s last words. She wrung her hands, flustered, and Xifeng congratulated herself on not having joined in the gossip.

  “You’re the lady I was hoping to see,” the Crown Prince told Xifeng. “I asked my mother where I might find you.” He glanced pointedly at the lady-in-waiting, who scurried away in mortification, and chuckled. He turned his gaze on the guards, who stepped back twelve paces to give him privacy. “I’m glad to see you making friends, and you look better than ever. I’ll have a good report to bring back to Wei.”

  “Please tell me how he is.” She might have felt shame at the longing in her voice if she hadn’t been so eager, but the prince stroked his thin beard indulgently.

  “He’s learning more quickly than I anticipated and has made it his mission to improve all of the swords in our service. He works hard, but he seems forlorn, and I think I know why.”

  She lowered her eyes, her face warming. Wei missed her, too.

  “He heard I was visiting my mother today and begged me to give you a message,” His Highness told her with a grin. “I’m as bad as any of these gossips; I can never resist a love story. Take this and hide it well. I don’t wish to bring trouble to you, and neither does Wei.” He shifted so that the guards couldn’t see him hand her a thin scroll, and Xifeng gratefully tucked it away, warming to the young prince. She understood why Lady Meng had been drawn in by his kindness, if the gossip were true.

  “How can I ever repay you, Your Highness? You gave Wei and me our positions at the palace, and now you’ve made me happy again.” He waved away her thanks, his pallor a bit more pronounced. “But are you well?”

  “I haven’t been sleeping much.” He ran a hand over his weary face. “Bohai has come every day this week, pinching and prodding and feeding me bits of herbs. I hope to be well enough to lead the Imperial Army on the first carnival day. My stepfather likes a big production.”

  “Will Wei be in the procession?”

  The prince leaned against the railing. “He might. Will you be watching?”

  “That depends on Her Majesty.”

  “I’ll speak to her,” he promised. “You shouldn’t miss a minute of your first Moon Festival. I wouldn’t know much about it, though. My brothers and I were always expected to work.”

  “Are the other princes in the Imperial Army as well?”

  “My middle brother commands the Silver Banner. He ran away to fight rebels and expand our territories when he was seventeen. He’s been gone two years. Sometimes I fear I’ll never see him again. The conflicts in the east grow more tiresome, but it is Dagovad at the helm of the dispute. My brother’s men are only there to help.” He rubbed the worried lines on his forehead, then gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sure this is more information than you wanted to know.”

  “Why does the Great Forest serve the interests of Dagovad?” Xifeng asked, and he looked surprised, but not displeased.

  “Dagovad breeds the finest horses on the continent. Our cavalry relies on their mounts and their queen’s good favor, and she knows it, too.” The prince sighed again. “As for my youngest brother, he should be learning from me, but is always ill and abed. So there is only ever me, ready to do my duty. I tell you a throne is a greater imposition than it is a gift.”

  Xifeng watched him pick absentmindedly at the railing. She had never imagined a prince not wanting a kingdom. “What would you do instead, if you could?”

  The Crown Prince allowed himself a small smile. “Go adventuring with my brother in unknown lands. Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.” He looked down at his folded hands. “I was twelve when my father lay on his deathbed, mortally wounded in war. His marriage to my mother had been happy, though they were first cousins matched for political reasons.”

  An image of Empress Lihua’s face appeared in Xifeng’s mind, younger but no less careworn. “Your stepfather is a cousin as well, isn’t he?”

  “A very distant relative. Still, he shares our blood, and his boldness and intelligence made an immediate impression on my father. I was too young to assume the throne then, and my father was forced to choose a successor or risk leaving behind a vulnerable kingdom with no regent. So Jun was crowned Emperor and my mother became his Empress consort. And according to Imperial law, any sons she had with him—the living Emperor—wo
uld displace my brothers and me in the line of succession. My father was content with this.”

  “But why, when another man’s sons would be closer to the throne than his?”

  The Crown Prince gave another humorless smile. “My mother is fragile and no longer young. My youngest brother’s birth almost killed her. Bohai assured my father in private that she would likely never carry another child to term, despite her hope for a girl. And here I am, still the Crown Prince.”

  But if fate comes to pass—if Lihua dies and I become the Empress—I might give the Emperor a son. The thought made Xifeng feel unsteady on her feet—that with one move, she might secure her position and displace three royal princes. But somehow, as she watched him fix his eyes dreamily on the forest beyond the wall, she didn’t think the Crown Prince would mind. She could never tie herself to a man with so little drive, so little ambition.

  “Sometimes I have these strange dreams . . . dreams in which I never take the throne after all. In which I’m not destined to rule,” the prince murmured. “For me, they are not nightmares but fantasies.” His words raised the hairs on her neck. He glanced at her ruefully. “My mother mustn’t know any of this.”

  “I will not say anything, Your Highness.” Xifeng felt a twinge of sympathy for the Empress. No wonder she longed for a girl; a princess would stay with her in the city of women instead of fighting in wars far away or becoming wrapped up in kingly duties.

  “I know she’s lonely. The Emperor dotes on her, but he’s often . . . distracted.” The prince peered at a woman in the gardens below: Lady Meng, who had left her sewing and was walking in odd, looping circles. She looked up at them, clearly keeping watch. “I suppose we should be thankful he only has two favored concubines and not two dozen, as my father had.”

  Here is my opportunity, Xifeng thought. “I hope I won’t offend you, Your Highness, but you and your mother have done so much for me, and I feel compelled to speak frankly. I’ve noticed one of the concubines taking a great deal of liberty with your mother.” The Crown Prince’s eyes turned back to her, at once keen, alert. “I’ve come to love and respect the Empress. I have no mother of my own,” she added softly, “and I look upon Her Majesty as someone from whom I may seek advice and affection. She saved me from the whip, after all.”

  “I assume you speak of Lady Sun,” the prince said sharply.

  Xifeng related the whipping incident to him, sparing no detail in the way Lady Sun had addressed Her Majesty. “But it doesn’t matter what she’s done to me. I care about her impudence to your mother . . . and dare I say, downright hatred. She considers herself quite the Empress already.” She watched the prince from the corner of her eye.

  A nerve twitched in his jaw. “My stepfather will never put my mother aside.”

  “Of course not, Your Highness. But I worry Lady Sun may be desperate enough to bring about other circumstances.” She lowered her voice and the prince bent his ear closer—once the little fisherman, now the fish on the end of her line. “Her attendants bring ingredients from Bohai’s cupboards every week. She collects them in great amounts.”

  Satisfaction rippled through her as his eyes widened. He could check this fact if he wished; he would learn it was true, though he didn’t need to know the ingredients were for Lady Sun’s beauty rituals. He would hear the story of Kang’s senseless punishment, and connect that incident with Lady Sun to the black spice stolen from Bohai. Xifeng hadn’t told a single lie. All she had to do was plant the seed and let him grow it in the manner he wished.

  “Xifeng, I charge you with the care of my mother,” the prince said grimly. “I can’t always be here. Be my eyes and ears while I think of what to do. Send a eunuch if you need me.”

  “Gladly, Your Highness.” She saw Lady Meng still watching them with an unblinking stare; perhaps they had been talking for too long. “I must return. I am forever grateful to you and pray for your health.”

  The Crown Prince inclined his head. “Until the festival, then. Goodbye.”

  Xifeng crossed the walkway in the opposite direction, unwilling to return to her sewing and the ladies’ chatter. She ducked into an alcove outside the eunuchs’ quarters to wait for Kang, burning to read Wei’s message.

  The familiar, untidy scrawl brought tears to her eyes. He had written only a few lines:

  I love you and I think of you every day. I wish I could run away with you again.

  There was no promise to meet, no hint at a reunion. Just simple words from a heart she didn’t deserve. He didn’t expect to see her again.

  “Xifeng? Are you all right?” Kang appeared on the walkway as she wiped her face, and the kind sympathy in his eyes made her tears flow faster. Xifeng clung to his hand, longing to pour her heart out about her destiny and what it might cost her. But not even Wei had understood. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk the only friendship she had at court.

  “Someone cares for me and I can’t return his feelings. He needs a better woman who isn’t a coward and can love him as he deserves.” She tucked the scroll into her robes, against her aching heart. “My Guma told me he wasn’t for me. I’ve never been able to forget that.”

  “You can’t blame yourself if it’s what she taught you.” The eunuch wiped her tears with a large, gentle hand. “She wanted only the best for you. We must listen to those who raised us. Duty to our elders is the greatest responsibility we have.”

  An overwhelming sense of relief flooded her. “You understand, then. He didn’t know how I could keep Guma’s teachings in my heart and still care for him, too.”

  Kang tilted his head like a benevolent bird. “This is the soldier friend, Wei, you speak of? What if the two of you were to meet?”

  A sensation like feathers fluttered in her chest. “That’s impossible. I can’t be alone with a man. Madam Hong would throw me out on my ear, and the Empress . . . she’s given me a home and protected me from Lady Sun. She cares about me.” Her Majesty’s words ran through her mind like cool water: If you were my child, I wouldn’t let that woman within an inch of you.

  “I know she’s easy to love,” Kang said slowly, “but have a care, my darling. She’s not like us. She doesn’t have to keep her promises, and she likes to make daughters of all the maidens. It doesn’t last, and it isn’t real.”

  “You’re implying the Empress has false feelings?”

  He patted her hand. “I just don’t want you to be hurt if she gives birth to a true daughter. Anyway,” he added, before she could question him further, “I have a plot boiling in this head of mine. I fear I’m something of a romantic. I want to help you and Wei meet.”

  “Stop it,” Xifeng told him, though she couldn’t help the urgent longing to see Wei. He, too, was part of her destiny, after all—that faithful, dependable boy who had always been her moral compass, who had always only seen the good in her. If anyone could keep the creature’s dark whisperings at bay, it would be him . . . But she pushed the hope from her heart. “I’d never forgive myself if you were whipped again for my sake.”

  “You needn’t fear on my behalf, and I won’t make you do anything you don’t wish to. But there are ways.” He rubbed his palms together in delight, and Xifeng found it difficult to maintain her scowl. “And if the Crown Prince is sympathetic, as you say, we can use that to our advantage.”

  “What do you know?”

  Kang gave her the naughty smile of a child stealing sweets. “I know the tunnels better than Master Yu thinks. Getting lost in the passageways all those years of running errands might prove useful after all.”

  Xifeng hesitated. She couldn’t deny the desire to be in Wei’s arms again, in spite of all the risks they would take. “I’ll consider it, my friend. Thank you.”

  He walked her back to the balcony. “I’ll have a plan for you . . . if you need it,” he said, mincing away with a roguish wink.

  She pressed her hands against the
scroll, and despite her doubts and misgivings, she wondered if her fortune might at last be changing for the better.

  On the eve of the first festival day, Xifeng went to the Empress’s apartments to deliver her sewing before supper. Earlier, she had helped carry Her Majesty’s ceremonial clothing to the palace laundresses, who steamed each piece above boiling pots of fragrant lemon-mint water.

  As she walked, she admired the festival decorations: pink paper blossoms adorning the railings, bright silks draped over doorways, and chrysanthemums in overflowing pots. At the Empress’s command, the eunuchs had brought out even more lanterns to hang on the trees surrounding the palace, so it seemed the Great Forest itself would partake in the festivities.

  Xifeng entered the royal apartments, and her mouth went dry when she saw Empress Lihua slumped over the table. The woman’s face was ashen as two maids fluttered about in distress, fanning her.

  “Your Majesty,” Xifeng gasped, wondering if something had happened to the baby. She glared at the maids. “Stop scurrying about like that. If you haven’t anything better to do, put away these clothes. Bring cool water and a cloth.” She enjoyed the way they cowered as she snatched the fan and waved it over the Empress’s fevered face.

  “Don’t worry,” the Empress said faintly. “I’m often this way after a visit from Lady Sun.”

  Xifeng’s fingers tightened on the fan. “What did she want?”

  “Much of the same. Things to increase her importance: my ladies-in-waiting, part of my living quarters, and my place at the Emperor’s side during the festival.”

  As though His Majesty had put his wife aside already. Wrath and a powerful craving squeezed Xifeng’s gut.

  “She accused me of pretending to be pregnant so I could keep my husband’s favor.” A tear slid down the Empress’s face. Her distress curled fingers around Xifeng’s heart. “I know I shouldn’t let her upset me, but to spread such malicious gossip about my child . . .”