by Shan Sa
According to the Book of Rites, this ancient celebration was carried out by emperors who had accomplished some extraordinary earthly feat. The Annals recorded that—after the Yellow Emperor and the mythical sovereigns—only two emperors had dared take the steep path up Tai Mountain and aspired to saluting the skies: the First Emperor, who had unified China, and the Martial Emperor of the Han dynasty, who had conquered the Barbarians and extended our territories as far as the setting sun.
During his reign, the Emperor Eternal Ancestor had intended to make this sacred pilgrimage, but the fragile state of his convalescing empire had forced him to abandon the plan. I begged my husband to carry out this unfulfilled wish. The ancients said that Tai was the sovereign of all mountains, that at its summit a door opened into the celestial world. I dreamed of grasping the mysterious power of mountains: As they reared up impetuously, the earth joined the sky.
My enthusiasm could not sweep aside Little Phoenix’s scruples; like every son crushed by the weight of a daunting inheritance, he was wracked with despondency and doubt when he had to surpass himself. He said that his crown had fallen to him by accident, and, as a simple mortal and a humble servant of the Empire, he wondered: Was he invested with the Celestial Will, was he worthy of being the one and only initiated person on Earth, was he the sublime sacrifice that the people made to the gods, and was he the Savior of the World? Up there in the mists and the eternal wind, would he not be dizzied by his own ascension and his solitude?
My eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, Majesty, you are this providential son. You have been chosen by the gods to incarnate goodness and generosity; you are the sovereign who will drive out poverty and suffering on Earth!”
The Emperor wept too. He was haunted by a painful childhood deprived of a mother’s love and a distressing adolescence shattered by scheming and fratricide. He could not free himself from the demons coiled within his heart and chose to huddle in the shadows of the Forbidden City.
Two years later, the Palace servants found the footprint of a griffon15 on the imperial steps to the Pavilion of Perfection. The Ancient Books described this sacred animal’s appearance on Earth as a harbinger of victory and peace. I saw this extraordinary event as a divine sign: I had to bear my husband up to the highest point in life, to the pinnacle of humanity.
The news sent a thrill of excitement through Court officials. I secretly encouraged learned courtiers to send petitions to the sovereign calling for him to climb Tai Mountain. Soon provincial governors, district administrators, chiefs of southern tribes, and western kings joined in unison to make the same request. The sovereign could not decline the invitation of the heavens or his people’s request. He was persuaded.
IN THE THIRD month of the fourth year of the Virtue of the Griffon, the Emperor transferred his Court to the eastern capital and arranged to set out with foreign kings and tribal chiefs from the world over. My august husband conducted an extraordinary deliberation during which ministers and scholars used the annals and the books of doctrine to establish the protocol for the ceremonies. They chose sacred melodies and dances and agreed on the list of participants and officiators. I planned the construction of the imperial route and the erection of altars; I renewed the armies’ ceremonial uniforms and took measures to prevent skirmishes along our borders and avoid a possible coup in the capital during the Emperor’s absence.
The ritual for the petition began in the tenth month. During a solemn audience the Supreme Son, the kings and great lords, followed by the Great Ministers, magistrates, advisers, Governor Delegates and foreign princes, all presented their official requests to the sovereign, asking him to make the ascent of the sacred mountain. After refusing three times to demonstrate his humility, my husband announced to the world that he had decided to undertake the pilgrimage. I immediately sent my congratulations to the sovereign, along with a letter in which I disputed the ancestral law that banned all women from the ritual ceremonies. I demanded the right to be the second officiator for the Sacrifice to the Earth.
“According to the rules of the Rites, two ministers will assist the sovereign during the Libation to the Earth. Man is the incarnation of the celestial breath and woman represents earthly powers. Eternity is the product of the transmutation born of the union between Heaven and Earth. How can it be that women should be excluded from the sacrifice which pays homage to her original element? During the ceremony, the shades of every empress will be invoked in prayers for fertility. Is it conceivable that the spirits of these august deceased should appear before strangers, all of them men? Without their honorable presence, the ritual would be incomplete, and no blessing would be granted. It is true that, in China’s history, no woman has ever been admitted to the supreme Service of the Empire. Should we persist with a shortcoming of the Ancients to the detriment of the future?”
When my letter was read in public during the morning audience, it shocked the Court. I saw amazement and consternation on our ministers’ faces, but the sovereign found my arguments irrefutable: He expressed his approval, and the debate was closed. I would be the first woman to discover the mysteries of these celebrations.
On the twenty-eighth day of the tenth month, there was a chill northern wind, and the coral-colored sun hung in a crystal clear sky. Luoyang was deserted: The main avenue was covered in wet sand, and it gleamed like a golden sword laid down by the gods.
Men in yellow brocade marched slowly from the Southern Gate of the Forbidden City. They held signs with the words “Make way, keep clear” written on them in powdered gold, and they shouted to announce the beginning of the imperial procession.
There was a succession of parades for different dignitaries: first the Administrator from the district of Ten Thousand Years, the Governor of Long Peace, the Great Lord Overseer, and the Minister for Armies; then the Great Generals of the Golden Scepter of the Right and the Left. Both wore purple brocade, black breastplates with red lacing, and gold-plated helmets; they were mounted on horses with plaited manes and tails. They each carried a quiver of twenty-two arrows on their backs, and sabers hung from their leather belts in sheaths inlaid with precious stones. Behind them came an escort of four horsemen holding the lance adorned with yak hair as a symbol of victory.
Two lieutenants of the Golden Scepter headed up a square formation of forty-eight soldiers with scarves wound around their topknots, bronze breastplates, crimson trousers, quivers on their backs, and sabers on their belts. They were accompanied by twenty-four armored foot soldiers.
A group of standard bearers held their banners aloft in the wind, displaying the Crimson Bird, the god of the south.
Then came the procession of six carriages with roadmen marching before them. Each carriage was drawn by four horses and carried fourteen coachmen. The first measured the distance; the second established the direction; the third was decorated with white cranes; the fourth bore the flag of the phoenix; the fifth transported the Great Seer and dispelled evil; the sixth was driven by a soldier of the Golden Scepter armed with a crossbow and was covered in wild animal skins.
Then came two lieutenants of the Golden Scepter and their twelve mounted lancers and archers.
Next came the troop of imperial musicians: twelve drums, twelve golden kettledrums, 120 large drums, and 120 long horns. Small drums, a choir, pipes, and Tatar flutes were lined up in groups of twelve, while 112 flautists with larger flutes marched ahead of the two drums setting the rhythm. Then came the bamboo flutes, pipes, mouth organs, more Tatar flutes, and mouth organs made of peach wood. Then there were another twelve drums, twelve golden kettledrums, 112 small tambourines, and 112 bugles. Twelve more drums decorated with feathers headed up a square formation comprising a choir, pipes, and Tatar flutes. All of them began to play the solemn melody of the Emperor’s Departure.
Then came the parades of banners. The two Palace Overseers rode ahead of the Great Librarian and the Great Annalist. The sovereign carriages of Geomancy and of Measures were escorted by roadme
n and followed by twelve drums and twelve gold drums.
Then came the procession of long-handled serrated sabers and behind them two rows of twenty-four imperial horses.
The flag of the Green Dragon, the god of the east, and of the White Tiger, the god of the west, swished apart to reveal two lieutenants leading two square formations of twenty-five cavalrymen, twenty of them lancers, four crossbow carriers, and one archer.
Following this was the procession of ministers and councilors from the Great Chancellery, the Great Secretariat, the Office of Supreme Affairs, and the Office of Overseers, all riding two by two.
Two generals headed up twelve divisions, totaling 1,536 men, arranged according to the color of their uniforms.
Two lieutenant-generals from the Imperial Guard commanding sixty soldiers from a division of reinforcements, two lieutenant-generals from the Cavalry in charge of fifty-six horsemen, and four lieutenants leading 102 foot soldiers made an impressive sight.
Then came the parade of the Jade route: the Jade carriage towed by thirty-two coachmen dressed in emerald green was accompanied by five more carriages, the General of One Thousand Bulls, and the two great generals of the Guard of the Left and the Right bearing imperial sabers; behind them were two imperial horses and two Gate Keepers holding long-handled sabers.
Then there were two soldiers bearing two banners of the Imperial Gate, escorted by four men on foot, all wearing tunics in imperial yellow. There were twenty-four sergeants from the regiments that guarded the Gates trotting between six rows of soldiers from the cavalry and reinforcements, and twelve rows from the regiments that guarded the Left and the Right.
Then followed long-handled fans made of feathers from venerated pheasants, borne by horsemen. Then the imperial litter with its eight bearers. Next there were four small fans, twelve fans of precious feathers, and two parasols covered in flowers. Four men marched ahead of the imperial vehicle which, having been designed for just such elaborate large-scale journeys, dripped with gold and precious stones and looked like a legendary reptile. It was made up of a sequence of platforms covered with giant palanquins and connected with hooks so that the whole train was articulated and flexible. It proudly displayed its two hundred coachmen in their black scarves, yellow tunics, mauve trousers, and purple belts and its countless horses harnessed in the most beautiful jewels in the Empire. As they reached the wide road covered in wet sand at the gates of the city, the reins were released: Every shaft and axle began to creak, and the train set off across the universe with a roar of thunder.
It was followed by the Palace eunuchs carrying the sovereign’s personal belongings and twenty-four horses from the imperial stables; by a procession of lance-bearers, feather fans, painted silk fans, and yellow parasols; and by a musical rearguard of hundreds of instruments.
The pavilion of the Black Warrior was first in the march-past of crimson banners, lances decorated with yak hair, and sticks topped with peacock feathers.
Then there was another yellow banner escorted by two Palace Overseers and their four assistants. The Rectangular carriage, with its two hundred coachmen, traveled ahead of the Small carriage with sixty coachmen, followed by imperial scribes and red, emerald green, yellow, white, and black banners carried by the eight soldiers from the Regiments of War of the Left and the Right.
After the procession of the Regiments of Vehemence came the parade of the Path of Gold, the Path of Ivory, the Path of Leather and the Path of Wood.
Followed by a procession in the following order four carriages celebrating agriculture; twelve magnificent vehicles drawn by oxen; the carriage of the Guard of the Seal; the carriage of the Golden Scepter; and the carriage of the Leopard’s Tail, a symbol of Majestic Fear;
the two hundred guardsmen of Vehemence in breastplates, carrying shields and bearing weapons of war in their right hands;
the forty-eight guards horses; the twenty-four standards of sacred animals with their armed escort;
the procession of the Black Warrior, the god of the north, divided into armored troops in five colors;
the Empress’s parade with her horsemen, footmen, officers, musicians, eunuchs, and ladies-in-waiting (their numbers all predetermined by the Rites);
in strict hierarchical order, the processions of imperial concubines, each scrupulously respecting the prescribed number of long-handled fans, the color of her clothes, and the ornamentation of her carriages;
the parade of the Supreme Son with his regiments and troops of musicians, followed by his wife’s parade;
the processions of kings and those of their wives;
the processions of the county kings and those of their wives;
then the processions of princesses;
the processions of imperial Great Lords and those of their wives;
the processions of ministers and the processions of the Barbarian kings, tribal chiefs, and foreign ambassadors;
at the back came the animals from the imperial Park: tigers, leopards, elephants, rhinoceroses, stags, ostriches, and birds in aviaries, and the builders, cooks, wet nurses, scribes, tailors, silversmiths, cupbearers, doctors, pharmacists, grooms and horses, slaves, and beasts of burden.
For half a moon, more than one hundred thousand people came out of the town of Luoyang and set off on the imperial journey that traced one perfect straight line across the wintry plain. During the day the processions moved forward in a powerful river of brightly colored waves. At night the bivouacs and camp fires transformed the land into a starry sky. Never in the Annals of the dynasties had such a display of magnificence been recorded: An entire nation was migrating to the east, toward the ocean.
So we could join the sun!
HOW COULD ANYONE forget Tai Mountain with its snowy peaks challenging the skies? How can I describe its immaculate grandeur that reduced the imperial procession to a narrow black thread? Long after we left, the sights and sounds would still come back to me in the depths of the night: the mysterious ceremonies, the huge altars shaped like discs and squares, and the sacred dancers with their painted sleeves twirling between the smoke and mist. In my dreams I heard the mountain’s hoarse breath mingling with the chiming of sounding stones and bronze bells. I pictured the camp fires outside tents covered in sheets of gold, the flames flickering in antique basins, and the torches erected along the Sacred Path, an endless string of vertical lights. The sovereign’s request for prosperity had been engraved onto a golden blade, and at the top of the mountain, he sealed it behind a rock. There in the howling of the wind and the falling snow, I abandoned a part of my soul. Tai Mountain already belonged to the past, but its magic lived on. I had found something more precious than the celebrations: the loneliness of a former life, a fragment of shattered reminiscences, and a quest for a true origin.
Our pilgrimage turned into a roaming progression across the northeast of the Empire. When we reached Confucius’s homeland, the Emperor paid homage to the Sage. As the Court headed north to the birthplace of Lao-tzu, it made offerings to this founder of Taoist thought who was an ancestor of the imperial household. Our return journey was overrun by a radiant spring and its blossoming trees. In the Palace of the Joined Jade Disc, Little Phoenix and I wrote a commemorative hymn together. It was engraved onto a stela that would be erected at the top of Tai Mountain, among the celestial clouds. How long would that stone monument glittering with powdered gold withstand the cruel weather? After a thousand springs and autumns, after the snow had covered Earth ten thousand times, it would crumble into dust. The imperial route would be eroded away, the turmoil of one hundred thousand men marching jubilantly would dissipate. From Luoyang to Long Peace, the magnificence of the present was already being swallowed up in the vastness of the skies.
This sanctification had marked the high point of a cycle that would, inevitably, fall into decline. The ascent of Tai Mountain had given me strength, but it had left my husband somehow damaged. Like a warrior who has won his victory or a poet who has written his most inspired odes,
he decided to renounce speech and actions for silence and contemplation.
Since my niece’s death, my husband no longer had a favorite. When he honored my bedchamber, it was to find an older sister’s consolation in my arms. As he aged, his distress took the form of fits of mysticism. His health was failing: As well as the frequent migraines, he suffered from arthritis and chronic dysentery. He spent more and more time confined to bed, and his absence became the norm for the outer court. During the audience, he resigned himself to playing a symbolic role in the morning salutation and let me lead political debates from behind the gauze screen.
He dedicated himself to his passion for medicine, he built up a huge pharmacy in his palace and would go to sleep surrounded by the smell of bitter herbs. He actively oversaw the compiling of an encyclopaedia of medications and even went so far as to receive herbalists and sorcerers to discuss the beneficial effects of plants. His fascination for alchemy and immortality pills was long-held, and he became fervent in these obsessions. He had altars and magic furnaces built. Like the First Emperor and the Martial Emperor of the Han dynasty, he dreamed of transmuting the body into pure spirit. The red cinnabar that he took failed to cure his illnesses, but it changed his personality. He was sometimes sleepy and sometimes feverish, sometimes full of dreams and sometimes despondent; his days of dejection were punctuated by periods of hyperactivity.
He now slept with adolescents, both boys and girls. According to Taoist medicine, their virginal bodies could rebalance his vital fluids and restore his vigor. In his search for cures, he dragged the Court on journeys with him. New cities were built. Up in the mountains, our palaces snaked between the clouds. As he listened to monkeys howling, tigers roaring, and birds chattering, his earthly sufferings were washed away. He was dazzled by tall waterfalls tumbling from rocky peaks and by rainbows hovering over ancient trees. He bathed in hot springs and explored deep caves and underground rivers, already tasting the indolent existence of the gods.