by Shan Sa
Night fell, but I dared not move. As I held his hand in mine, I was his last link with the world of the living. There in the flickering candlelight, with his hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and dry lips, he already looked like a pallid corpse. A cold current suddenly ran through the palm of my hand, and I heard muted music, a tinkling of crystal, silver bells and jade flutes.
Little Phoenix’s face relaxed. Smoothed of their suffering, his motionless features had all the elegance of sculpted marble and the beauty of an enigmatic mask. His half-open eyes continued to watch the gods as they gathered invisibly around him. His lips were drawn out to the corners of his mouth, already in an expression of rapture.
I waited for the divine music to fade before rising to my feet. Eunuchs opened the doors of the palace wide. In the lantern light, I saw no hint of white snow in the square courtyard, so full was it of princes and ministers prostrating themselves on the ground. Town criers chorused the words I murmured: “The Emperor of China has risen up to Heaven. The greatest empire in the world has been orphaned.”
The people dressed themselves in the white of mourning. Music, laughter, and banquets vanished from every household. For seven days the Court carried out the simplified version of the twenty-seven ceremonies for putting the body in its coffin. For seven days the city of Luoyang rang to the sound of lamentations, esoteric prayers, and Buddhist recitations. For seven days incense dispersed from ritual basins and columns of gray smoke haunted the sky.
In his will my celestial husband had not specified where his tomb should be built. But as he stood at the top of the Gate of Celestial Law, his gaze had led me to understand that he wanted to return to his birthplace. Against the advice of ministers who wanted to bury him close to Luoyang, I rushed a delegation to Long Peace: Ministers of Human Affairs, engineers from the Department of Major Works, and experts in geomancy from the Funerals Department.
This commission sent messengers back to me with sketches and descriptions of the sites they had inspected. On my very first reading, I was drawn to Liang Mountain to the northeast of Long Peace, a site whose astral position corresponded to the number one and to the element of the heavens. It backed onto a chain of lush green hills and, on its eastern side, looked out over the Mountain of Nine Horses where the Eternal Ancestor was buried, while on its western side it quenched its thirst in the River Wu, a limpid source that barred the route to any demons from the Shades. The plain around the River Wei came and prostrated itself before the mountain’s southerly face that was defended by two hills, the towers of celestial archers.
A second delegation went to join the first, and they confirmed the prognosis: The mists that rose up from the vegetation on Liang Mountain were the breath of the dragon. It dominated this earthly world and drew on the energies of the sky. It would be a glorious site for a tomb and a guarantee for the Empire’s eternal prosperity. I summoned the Great Astrologer Li Chun Feng to my palace and asked him to proceed with the verification. As I would join my husband later, once I was dead, the time and place of our births were converted into numbers and added to those of our children and our ancestors, then divided between the Five Elements, and combined with the twenty-four astral houses and the twelve terrestrial branches. The mathematical calculations lasted three days and three nights, and the results proved to be in agreement with the ideal suggested by the geomancy experts.
The work started as soon the thaw began. Every evening my soul flew westward to a subterranean palace that was growing in the belly of Liang Mountain. The dark, dank galleries grew longer, making their way slowly and painfully to the center of the Earth. The imperial chamber was positioned in the unfathomable depths of life, in the heart of a labyrinth of corridors set with trap doors, arrows and poisons to steer looters toward the false tombs. Frescoes were drawn: Gold, silver, ochre, violet, faces, bodies, and gowns appeared along the whitewashed corridors. I ordered a fresco representing the imperial parade with its thousands and thousands of men and horses. Along the way to the celestial kingdom, even my sister and my niece found their places behind my retinue.
Ramparts were built around the mountain-tomb. A scale model of Long Peace was built district by district with, right in the centre, a sacred citadel dedicated to religion and offerings. The sovereign’s personal bed clothes were transported to a palace identical to the one he had occupied in his lifetime, recreated at the top of the mountain. All along the Divine Way, the central axis of the funeral town, I positioned statues of lions, winged horses, and ministers accompanied by our sixty-one vassal kings.
I disobeyed the ancestral tradition of erecting a commemorative stela for a sovereign, and I built a granite monument on which craftsmen engraved an epitaph of eight thousand characters, a long poem in which I spoke of my celestial husband’s life and glorious reign.
On the fifteenth day of the fifth month, the imperial procession set off for the west, led by my son, Future. All along the way, dignitaries, merchants, craftsmen, and peasants set up altars. There was an endless succession of paper houses decorated with gold leaf. White flags, ribbons of hemp, and funeral money fluttered in the wind and blotted out the sky.
The horses had no plumes, and princesses went without their jewels. The musicians played funeral airs as they walked. My husband’s hearse, covered in a white sheet and drawn by one thousand soldiers in mourning, moved away in a cloud of dust.
I ordered the annalists to compose the Book of Events, depicting his reign, transcribing his audiences and conversations, narrating his hunting expeditions, and describing how he harangued his warriors. For posterity, they drew up the portrait of a great sovereign.
I closed the residential palaces—the Palace of Ten thousand Sources, the Palace of the Fragrant Cinnamon Tree, and the Palace of Celestial Offerings—they were only so many wonders, so many painful memories, and worthless luxuries.
Who had Little Phoenix been? Eternity would not have been long enough for me to find an answer. He was the motionless core of a vast world, staying still while life spun slowly round him. When I thought I had grasped the flame within him, seen into it, possessed it, it was already far away, glimmering, extinguished.
EIGHT
Future ascended to the throne and inaugurated a new reign. He awarded the august deceased the posthumous title of Lordly Ancestor, appointed his first wife’s eldest son as Supreme Son and took up residence in the Inner Court. To make space for him, I had to send Little Phoenix’s concubines to monasteries, scores of middle-aged women prostrating themselves on the steps of my palace before leaving in tears.
The bustle of these upheavals broke the silence that had enveloped the Forbidden City since its master’s death. The austerity of mourning gave way before these women who were eager to display their youth and beauty. The First Lady, who was now Empress, made her stamp as an arrogant mistress. She attempted to prove that my time had passed, and it was her turn to shine. She was impatient to play the same role I had had alongside the previous emperor.
I pretended not to hear Emerald and Ruby criticizing the intrusion: “The Empress is competing with the imperial concubines for the most sumptuous gowns.” I turned a deaf ear to reports that the Empress had driven out my old female officials and recruited girls in their prime. I became furious when I discovered that she was fond of women and had made overtures to Gentleness. Her game of love disguised a plot. By seducing my secretary, she attempted to discover my secrets.
My anger was compounded by my despair at my son’s mediocre abilities in the Outer Court. Through my husband’s death, I had been elevated to the position of Supreme Empress, and, as Mother Regent, I now had it in my power to issue decrees. My presence during audiences guaranteed some continuity in political orientation and ensured that the make-up of the government remained stable. The two thrones had now been reversed throughout the Forbidden City: I now occupied the seat of honor. The very first day after the period of mourning ended, the Emperor tried to demonstrate his independence. In the Council meeting, he
reeled off a series of grandiose ideas that made the Great Ministers blench in horror. We had to send troops to the western border and exterminate the nomadic tribes to preempt their attacks; the rebellious state of Korea must be made to bow before the Empire—three hundred thousand troops should be sent there! The palaces of Luoyang were too confined—the Forbidden City needed expanding, and two polo grounds should be built!
I sat on my throne, silenced by my shame. The Great Ministers openly refuted these impetuous suggestions. After the floods, the earthquake, and the epidemic, the north was reduced to terrible poverty. In some regions, people had resorted to cannibalism. Military expeditions should only be carried out by professional troops. Any major works had to be delayed, not to say cancelled. Piqued by these harsh words, the Emperor turned to me: “These men are deliberately contradicting me. Supreme Majesty, you don’t need me here to govern; I’m leaving!”
My third son had had a very difficult birth. For ten whole days, I had battled with the pain, refusing the doctors’ advice that I should sacrifice him. It was only thanks to the prayers of the peripatetik monk Xuan Zhang, who had brought us the Great Sutras from India, that this seventh prince of the imperial household had come into the world. Just one year after he was born, Future had received the crown of the Kingdom of Zhou and the seal of the Great Governor of the province of Luo, which included the eastern capital. At twenty, he had become King of Ying and Great Governor of the province of Yong that surrounded the town of Long Peace. For many years, he had attracted attention on the polo ground wearing his floppy hat at a jaunty angle, with his sleeves rolled up and shrieking at the top of his lungs, or at imperial banquets where he would dance gracefully to the tune of The Snows of Early Spring. He was a fervent enthusiast of cock fighting and organized tournaments with his brothers, provoking my celestial husband’s anger because the latter saw a perverse hint of fratricide in this cruel sport. After Splendor’s premature death and Wisdom’s dismissal three year’s before the Emperor’s death, the title of Supreme Son had fallen on this boy who had grown up in the shadow of his two elder brothers. Men reveal their true qualities once they have risen or fallen. Emperor Yang of the previous dynasty, for example, had been a humble and thrifty heir, but had proved to be a despotic and extravagant sovereign. Future had once been a naïve, enthusiastic child, but now that he had been crowned, he was revealing his appalling nature as a pretentious and impulsive man.
My husband had entrusted his people and his empire to me. The Yellow Land devastated by four years of famine was like a vast arid field that needed sowing with new hope. Instead of helping me rebuild it, my son could think only of exploiting the privileges of being Emperor. The young Empress had an ill-fated influence over him; it was she who was encouraging him to set himself free.
A few days later I was informed that the Great Secretary Pei Yan wished to have a secret meeting with me. I sent Gentleness to find him, and he took an underground passageway to reach my calligraphy pavilion. When he saw me, he prostrated himself completely, from head to toe. I was curious to know why he used this salutation that demonstrated total submission, and I ordered him to speak without delay. That very morning, he said, the sovereign’s private officials had come for him to take him to the Palace. Future had dictated two decrees to him. In the first, the son of his wet-nurse was granted a noble position in the fifth imperial rank, and in the second, the Sovereign Lady’s father was appointed Chancellor and made a member of the Council of Great Ministers. All imperial orders had to be approved and published by the Imperial Secretariat, and Pei Yan had tried to dissuade the sovereign, explaining that such unreasonable promotions would encourage the political ambition of the Empress’s family. Future had been so irritated that he had thrown his ink well at the old man, shouting: “I am the Emperor! I do as I please! I shall not only name the Empress’s father Chancellor, but I shall also offer him my empire! No one will be able to stop me!”
“Supreme Majesty,” Pei Yan wailed, “the Empress Wei Xuan Zhen’s noble father was military attaché in the province of Pu. When his venerable daughter was elevated to the position of Heir’s Wife three years ago, he was promoted to governor of the district of Yu. He has not yet completed his term of office. As he is a man of no particular merit, his extraordinary elevation through the imperial hierarchy would awaken suspicions among officials. Your Supreme Majesty once wrote A Warning to Relations from Outside in which she denounced abuses of power by the families of empresses. Could she now bear to see Lord Wei admitted to the Council of Great Ministers and allow the Empress’s clan to take command of Court? The word of a Chinese Emperor is irreversible. For him to announce before his minister and servants that he will give his Empire to Lord Wei amounts to a solemn undertaking that must be respected. Supreme Majesty, dark clouds have come to eclipse the sun. Earth is shaking with fear. Birds are circling over the Forbidden City, afraid to settle. The Tang dynasty is in danger!”
I remained silent. Pei Yan inched closer to me on his knees and prostrated himself.
“Supreme Majesty, the rightful Emperor wants to give this throne conquered by his ancestors to an outsider. This betrayal is not mere negligence; it is a crime that must be punished! The previous sovereign often used to say that all human beings are equals in the face of justice. May your Supreme Majesty apply the law!”
“Lord Pei, please give me one night in which to think.”
That evening I ate little. After a long period of prayer, I felt cleansed of all the mire of this earthly world. I took Gentleness with me and climbed to the top of the tower at the observatory. Up there the air was piercingly pure. The moon threw her icy beams over the astronomer’s spheres. In the last three years, the celestial area representing the throne had become darker and darker. That evening I saw through a light veil of clouds that the stars were almost extinguished.
On the sixth day of the second month in the era of the Sacred Heir, I invited court officials to undertake the morning salutation in the Palace of the Crimson Zenith, which was usually reserved for the annual Great Veneration. When Future sat on his throne, I took the seat to his right. He immediately sent a eunuch to ask my serving women why I had called him there and whether we were expecting a visit from a foreign king.
The jangling of weapons reverberated around the hall as men climbed the steps to the palace. The Great Secretary Pei Yan and the vice-secretary; the Great General of the cavalry of the Left, overseer of the imperial Forest of Plumes Guard of the Left; and the Great General of the leading army, overseer of the imperial Forest of Plumes Guard of the Right; came into the audience hall in battle dress.
Pei Yan took a scroll from his sleeve and read out loud the decree I had dictated to him in secret the previous evening: “My son, the Emperor Sacred Heir, the fourth Emperor of the Tang dynasty, has turned his back on the teachings of the previous sovereign by neglecting his sacred duty and by dishonoring his ancestors. His actions have tarnished the reputation of imperial authority. Exercising the power passed on to me by the Emperor Lordly Ancestor, I shall therefore withdraw his crown. He shall be disinherited of all his noble allowances and positions and will bear the simple title of King of Lu Ling.”
Pei Yan stowed the scroll in his sleeve and climbed onto the stage. He pulled the sovereign from his throne.
“Mother!” my son cried in astonishment. “What mistake have I made?”
Instead of questioning the legitimacy of my actions, Future was behaving like a child found in the wrong.
“You offered the Empire to Wei Xuan Zhen,” I said icily. “That was your mistake!”
“It was said in jest, mother.”
“An emperor does not speak in jest before his subjects.”
“Venerable Mother, forgive me! I shall not do it again!”
The man who had reigned for two months over the world’s greatest empire broke down and wept. Princes and Great Ministers remained prostrate at the foot of the stage in the hall. My eyes swept over them looking for my fou
rth son, Miracle. He crouched with his forehead to the ground, shaking from head to toe.
THE KING OF Yu was called to my palace. When I informed him of the date of his coronation, he stammered: “Venerable Mother, Empress Supreme, our dynasty was founded fifty years ago by the Emperor Lordly Forebear. Since then, the Emperor Eternal Ancestor and my Sovereign Father allowed peace and virtue to triumph over the world. Such a past poses a challenge for their successor. As the youngest in the family, I have never wished for the crown. I have not prepared myself to reign. The honor and power you want to bestow on me are too heavy to bear, and your son has neither the knowledge nor the strength necessary to take them on. To disappoint you would be a crime that your son dares not commit. I would rather remain King of Yu. I beg you, Supreme Mother, choose another candidate!”
Of my four sons, Miracle was the most like my husband. At twenty he still had a pale face and a naïve expression, and his voice reminded me of Little Phoenix’s as a young man when he too refused to be emperor. A man who does not like power will suffer from its cruelty. He would be unable to raise his hand in punishment or to untangle the web woven by good and evil. He would be unable to subdue the relations and dignitaries who pose a constant threat to the throne.
“You are my last son,” I sighed. “You shall receive the sacred seal of the dynasty. I have no other choice. You must accept your duty.”
Miracle’s beautiful face was bathed in tears.
“Supreme Mother, my second brother, Wisdom, has been banished for three years. The months of loneliness, the harsh terrain of the south and the weeping of the wind have taught him the error of his past ways. His heart is full of pain and regret. I am sure that if you call him back to the Capital, you will see he has changed completely. He will prostrate himself at your feet and ask your forgiveness. Supreme Mother, I beg your clemency, forgive him the mistakes of youth! He would be a sovereign worthy of your respect.”