The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (21 page)

“Your Majesty may have nothing to fear, but what about your vassals? Will they be strong enough to hold against the Arabs’ assault?”

That was a good point. As the Heavenly Khan, he had the duty to protect his vassals, or they would rescind their oaths and revolt. I waited for the Emperor’s answer.

Silence befell the Audience Hall. After a moment, the Emperor spoke. “Any thoughts, my counselors?”

A resounding mix of voices filled the hall as the ministers argued.

“The Arabs are nothing,” the Duke said, holding his ivory tablet.

“Their emperor had a dream!” the Emperor’s uncle countered. His voice was angrier than usual. Earlier, when they were lining up before the throne, I had noticed he kept a great distance from the Duke, eyeing him in disgust. I remembered the friction between the two. Perhaps I could seek the Uncle’s support?

“I say we consider their emperor’s offer of alliance now and attack the Arabs,” said another voice. It was the Chancellor, Wei Zheng. “We can send the men from the Four Garrisons to the west. There is a good saying: you kill the animal when it’s a cub; you don’t wait until it grows to be a lion.”

“Unwise! We shall defeat them when they come!” the Duke said.

“Only a coward will wait!” the Uncle said, raising his voice. “A true warrior will not wait for a war.”

“And you’re an old man. You can hardly see the stairs ahead of you, let alone find the right path,” the Duke said, raising his voice too.

I heard gasps rise in the hall, and the Emperor’s voice came. “Counselors! Shall I remind you this is a moment for consultation? Consultation! Anyone?”

A moment of silence, and then a wave of murmurs followed.

I pulled away from the screens. If the two most prominent officials would argue like children in front of foreign guests, the rift between them must have been unsealable. Perhaps it was not a bad thing. I remembered clearly that Sun Tzu had mentioned that division bred weakness, and weakness provided opportunity.

The Emperor appeared in the antechamber. I took a tray of apples and went to him. He shook his head and asked for an empty tray. When I returned with one, he took off his bejeweled mortarboard crown and placed it on the tray. Daisy and the other attendants bowed and asked whether he needed any sweetmeat for a snack.

Carrying the tray, I stepped back, studying the crown. What a brilliant piece. There were thousands of pearls strung together to form two curtains in the front and back.

I was so close to the crown, however, that after a moment, the pearls turned dewy with my breath.

It was dark when I reached the garden. The small rock was leaning against the wall, and I could hear Pheasant’s whistle coming from inside. I hesitated. I was the Emperor’s favorite, and soon I might be Most Adored. But the other night, when Pheasant burst into the Emperor’s chamber, we had nearly exposed ourselves.

But I could not resist it. I had to see Pheasant. I put my hands on the wall and pulled myself up. I heard rustling behind me. I jerked around.

A shadow ran down the trail. I leaped off the wall and ran after it.

“Wait, wait!” I followed the shadow as it dashed to a grove. “I know it’s you, Rain!”

The shadow slowed and turned to face me.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

I stopped a few paces away, panting. My throat was tight, and I could hardly breathe. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” And if she told the Emperor about me seeing Pheasant…

“Now I know your secret.”

Her voice was hard, brittle, filled with resentment. I swallowed. “I know your secret too, Rain.”

“Well, what will you do, Talent? You cannot harm me.”

It was true. She was not the Emperor’s concubine, like me. “But you don’t know that, do you, Rain? If the Emperor believes you seduced Pheasant, he might grow angry and expel you from the court. Then you will be disgraced. But I want to tell you I never thought to expose your secret. I wish you would understand.”

“Of course you will say that. What else would you say?”

“I mean it.” She looked hesitant, and I hurried to continue. “What would you gain by hurting me? How do you think the Emperor would reward you if you told him? He may punish me, yes, but what about you? Pheasant will not forgive you. He’ll never forgive you.”

She came closer to me, her shadow slithering on the ground like a sinister beast. “You want my silence.”

“I…I wish…we could be friends.” I knew I sounded dubious, but I would not be the first woman in the court who put up a pretense to get a reconciliation.

“Friends? You stole him from me.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“So we’re even now,” she said slowly.

Relieved, I breathed out. “Yes, we—”

“But we are not finished.” She slapped me.

When I raised my head again, she had turned and walked away. Her pace was assured and steady, reminding me I should not underestimate her.

I turned around and ran back to tell Pheasant about Rain. I could not stay after that. I walked back to my chamber, my mind in disarray.

• • •

I dreamed of Father that night. We were at our family’s grave site, constructing his coffin. I was so small, not yet five then. He cut the planks and hammered the nails while I sealed the seams with fresh pine resin and coated the wood with thick lacquer. Together, we also selected golden grave goods, fifty-five of them, to match his governor’s status. That was my favorite moment from childhood. Then suddenly, he looked into my eyes. I thought he was going to smile, but he frowned.

I awoke. He knew I was seeing Pheasant. He was warning me. Even though he did not speak a word, I could hear him saying, “You’re so close, Mei. So close. You must do what is the best for your family, not for yourself. Don’t lose yourself, Mei.”

A slab of heaviness pressed to my heart. I put my chin on my knees. Had I been in the palace for so long that I had forgotten about why I had wanted to come to the palace? Forgotten about my father?

He was a prudent man who was most concerned about his heir, who would be responsible for his burial rite and carry his name after his death. When Little Sister was born, with Mother in her forties, he realized he would not have a male heir. To ensure he would receive a proper burial when he died, he devoted his time to preparing for his afterlife himself. He selected the best cypress for his coffin, constructed it with me, and when he finished it, he draped the oiled cloth over the coffin to prevent it from decay and placed it on the ceiling joists in our reception hall. He also made his white silk funeral garment, stitched with clouds and pines, symbols of eternal life in Heaven, and purchased white silk slippers padded with goose feathers.

But after the monk’s prophecy, he knew I could still carry his name and, even better, I could bring his legacy to a height even a boy could not achieve.

Would I disappoint him?

I could not let my passion ruin my dream, my father’s dream. Especially since Rain knew my secret.

I had to stop seeing Pheasant.

• • •

I sensed him before I saw him, standing on the other side of the bridge in the garden. Gripping the basket of clean laundry, I paused on the trail leading to the wooden bridge. It was not a coincidence Pheasant had found me. I had stopped coming to the garden, and when I came across him with the Emperor in the Outer Palace, I had avoided him.

“So this is what everyone is talking about,” Plum said, walking beside me and Daisy. She did not notice Pheasant, nor was she aware that I had fallen behind them. “And it’s serious. Even the Emperor cannot stop the gossip. Who do you think is the kingdom’s foe, Mei?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. The prophecy had spread all over Chang’an, and everywhere, people whispered.

“Look, it’s Prince Zhi,” Plum whispered to me. “He’s looking at us.”

Daisy’s bosoms rose and fell dramatically. “So handsome. I think I am going to faint.”

“I forgot to bring the sheets from the laundry. I’ll go get them,” I said. “You can go without me.”

“Are you certain?” Plum asked, unsuspecting. I had not told her about Pheasant and me. I trusted her, but for her own sake, it was better that she did not know.

I nodded and, to make my lie appear real, I retraced the path to the servants’ quarters with my basket.

Giggling, Plum and Daisy passed Pheasant, their hands covering their mouths. They walked to a path near the bamboo grove and disappeared. I stood where I was for a moment and then walked to the bridge.

“Where are you going, sweet face?” He was still standing there, not moving. He looked pale, and the stubble on his chin had grown thick, like a dark cloud. His white tunic was crumpled. He looked as though he had not slept well for weeks.

A pang rose in my chest. “To the wardrobe chamber.” I reached for the wooden rail for support.

He coughed, looking awkward, nothing like the fellow who used to leap off haystacks with grace. “I saw you at the imperial stable a moment ago with my father. They were branding horses. You probably didn’t notice me.”

His voice was hoarse, and each word hit me like a hammer. Of course I had noticed him. But I could not tell him that. I turned to look at the pond under the bridge, where a goldfish leaped, and the water rippled. I dug my nails into the rail. “There were many people there, and the Kashmir horses were of superb quality.”

“Right,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like branding horses.”

I knew it, but I said, “The Emperor does. He told me the horses needed to be branded for their age, speed, breed, and condition, even their agility and stamina.” Pheasant had been the one who had told me that. I bit my lip.

He thrust his head back and ran his fingers through his long, loose hair. “I wanted to tell you. I talked to Rain. She promised she would not tell my father about us. So will you come again?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I know it’s risky. But I told her if she dared to tell my father about us, I would tell him she had seen me too.”

So Rain could not harm me after all, thanks to Pheasant. “It is still dangerous, Pheasant,” I said slowly. “And that night in his bedchamber…”

“I did not say anything, did I?”

“What if it happens again?”

“I swear I would not say a word.”

A raindrop fell on my sleeve and vanished on the surface of the fine silk gown the Emperor had given me. Before me, the bamboos swayed near the bridge, and the sky darkened. It would rain soon. Should I tell Pheasant the real reason I could not see him again? “I don’t know…”

“Besides, have I told you I am not like my brothers? I can choose whom I marry. Before my mother died, she made my father promise my wife would be my choice, not his.”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Pheasant chose me? Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we could be together? I wanted nothing other than to stay with him. He was the one I wanted. But he was not for me. Nor was I for him. “You could never marry me, Pheasant.”

“Why not?”

Because I had a destiny, and he was not part of it. And I was so close… “I’m not worthy of you. Can you not see it?”

“What are you talking about?” He took a step toward me.

I closed my eyes. “Do you remember the story of the girl who flew to the moon?”

“The moon girl?” His eyes grew bright. Too bright. “I thought you were different from the others. You never cared. You did not even know who I was.”

“You are wrong.” My heart wrenched, but I forced myself to continue. “I’m no different from the other girls.” The girls who wished to be an empress. Or Chang E, who wanted her immortality. I put down the basket of laundry and, my hands trembling, I took out the jade silkworm from the scent pouch. “You should keep this. Or give it to Rain.”

He held it in his hand, gazing at the silkworm. I thought he would fly into a rage, lash his anger at me, shout at me, or strike me. I would have felt much better if he had. But he closed his hand over the silkworm. His fist remained clenched for a long time, and when he raised his head, a deluge of anguish had flooded his eyes.

I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I was sorry. I wanted to tell him to forget about what I had said and that I would not leave him. I did neither. Instead, I descended the stone stairs of the bridge and passed him.

And the rain fell on my face like a shower of ashes.

• • •

The Emperor summoned me that night. I painted my eyebrows and beauty marks, whitened my skin with some creamy tincture, and dabbed fragrance under my armpits to make me smell pleasant. Then I put on a transparent silk veil and draped it around me.

It was my night. There would be no Jewel, and he would be all mine. If he continued to summon me for a month, I would replace Jewel. I would be known as Most Adored.

He waited, wearing a loose white tunic and a pair of night trousers with gold threads on the hem. He did not sit on the bed or the stool, but rather on a floor mat surrounded by candles. He seemed to be performing a ritual, one I had never seen before. His hand was shaking, and the flames flickered on his shrunken face—was it lopsided somehow? But that must be the light… I was certain though, he looked haggard, uncertain, even…fearful.

I sat at the outer circle of candles, keeping a discreet distance from him. Daisy had told me he was different at night, but I had not expected to see him act so strangely. In fact, had I not seen him in his elaborate formal regalia and crown in court, had I not seen how calm he was when he gave the order to throw the slave under the horses at the polo match, I would not have believed he was the Emperor of China.

“Wine!” he ordered, handing me a small jug.

I hurried to a table and poured the wine. He took it from my hand and dismissed the other servants who waited in the corridor. “Go!” He gestured me to the bed.

A wave of nervous heat rushed through me, but I did not hesitate. I lay down.

He came close. “Hold this.” He pushed the wine jug into my hands, as if he were asking his groom to hold his belongings before he headed out for hunting. Then he pulled up his robe.

I could not understand why he had given me the jug, but I obeyed, held tight to it as his cold fingers scratched my thigh. I should not complain. I had asked for this. Many maidens had looked forward to this moment. I should have been glad, should have felt privileged and honored that I would become the Emperor’s woman. Emperor’s woman…like Jewel… I wondered how she felt when she came to serve him.

The liquid in the jug swished, wetting my palm as he pushed at me. He seemed to be having trouble, however, grunting and cursing. I stared at the ceiling. The bedposts seemed to shake, and the green balls in the dragons’ mouths appeared as if they would fall out any moment. There were two reflections, the Emperor’s back and my head. We looked small, like insects crawling…

His cursing grew louder, and his breath became heavier. I tensed, worried. I hoped he was not upset with me.

“Turn around!” he barked. A force smacked me, and his hands clamped down on the sides of my face. My ear was rubbed raw, and my jaw was nearly crushed.

What would it be like to do it with Pheasant? Would he hurt me too? I should have been ashamed. I should not have thought of him while I was in his father’s bed…

A loud sound exploded. It was the jug. I looked at my empty hands. The Emperor had snatched it from me and smashed it.

“Useless, useless!” he bellowed, flinging his arm wildly. Another crash. Then another. He breathed hard, his face crimson as though he were about to kill someone. “Get up. I said get up!”

He would not take me. I was too shocked to stand up. He did not like me? Was there something wrong with me? Was I too ugly?

“Wine! Wine!”

I jolted. Quickly putting on my gown, I went to a nearby table. There I found another jug and filled it with wine.

He drained the whole thing and tossed it away. “More!”

I gave him another, and he drank again, streams of wine trickling down his chin. I had never seen him drink in such haste and without grace.

“You, all of you, are useless,” he said. His voice was as hoarse as though a fire had burned his throat, but the fire had died, and there were only blisters and scars.

I remembered the Noble Lady had mentioned that he had trouble doing his duty. So perhaps it was not my fault after all. But I still had something to do with it. I had failed to please him. If I were more skillful, if I were like Jewel, he could have taken me. I could not hold up my head.

“Tell me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Are you a good liar?”

I wondered what he meant, and carefully, I said, “The One Above All, when I was a child, I studied Lao Tzu. He said that Heaven and Earth encompass all things in between, like a bellows, and nourish them with their abundance, whereas a man’s utterances would sound full and pleasing, but they would soon be spent.”