The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (29 page)

He swallowed hard. “I can’t now.”

“Why?”

“You were right. I will ruin you. I have been selfish. This will bring you danger and dishonor. I will not do that to you.”

“I don’t care.” I undid the cords of my bandeau and dropped it too. Cool air swept across my naked chest, but I did not feel cold.

“Mei…” His voice was faint.

I did not stop. I pulled down my skirt and trousers, lifting my bottom to remove them. When there was not a thread left on me, I raised my arms to loop around his neck and pressed against him.

We both trembled.

“I still can’t—” His warm breath touched my lips like a delicate brush. His heart beat the same fierce rhythm as mine.

“Kiss me.”

“Mei…” He was struggling. His breath quickened.

I leaned closer to him, stroking his chest. He breathed fast but still would not hold me. I moved down. He stilled. Then suddenly, I was beneath him on the stone bench.

How strange I felt. I was there but not there. I was high but also low. I was soft but also hard. I was less but also more. I drifted, I flew, I leaped to a world distant and unknown. I transformed into water, I turned into gold, and I relived as fire. Every part of my body seemed to evolve, but I did not know what I would become. I only knew, however, that I was stronger.

Then something deep within me emerged, pulsating, its beats persistent but subtle, like a butterfly’s flutters. It grew stronger and stronger and swept my breath away like the powerful wings of an eagle.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

We stopped to breathe, my face resting in the nook of his neck. We were so close. I could feel his soul next to me, and the seed of sweetness flowered within me.

He brushed my hair aside. “What are we going to do now?”

I squeezed his hand. “You have a safe journey tomorrow.”

His arms circled me tight.

“We don’t have a choice, Pheasant.”

His grip became tighter. I let him hold me, my eyes closed. I would want nothing more than to rest with him and stay with him, but that was not a fate we could have. Slowly, I pried open his fingers, one by one, and I took his hand off my waist. I picked up my clothing and dressed.

“I’ll talk to my brother, Prince Wei. He’ll look after you when I’m gone.” He stood beside me.

“I’ll be fine.” I slipped off the bench and froze.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” I could not finish the sentence, my heart pounding with joy. “Look, look!”

We both looked down. A carpet of luminous light veiled the ground. There was nothing else there, except for the dark tip of my clogs poking under my long skirt.

“I’m standing!” I held on to Pheasant’s shoulders. “I’m on my feet again. I feel my feet!” A wave of painful sensation struck my feet and legs, and I wobbled. “Do you see that? The Captain was wrong!” My knees gave way, and I lurched forward.

Pheasant caught me. “I knew it!” His face beamed with such brilliance and happiness, as if he were the one regaining his strength. “I told you he was crazy. Do you believe me now?”

Joy radiated through my limbs. “Yes, I believe you.” Gazing at him, I cupped his chin with my two hands. “Always.”

He lowered his head. Lingeringly, we kissed.

Somewhere, a night bird cooed. Its soft lilt echoed in the darkness and settled in my heart like a nest.

I wished to stay there a bit longer. I wished the night would never end. But then came the servants’ voices, brusque and strident, tearing the night’s silence. I gave Pheasant one last glance and limped away.

the
Eighteenth Year
of
Emperor Taizong’s Reign
of
Peaceful Prospect

AUTUMN

I often thought of that night as the night my life was forever altered, and I also realized I was a terrible student. I had memorized Sun Tzu’s lines of how to succeed in the Nine Situations, how to attack by fire and water, how to cultivate tactical dispositions, and how to use spies to excavate the enemy’s deep secrets. But I had failed, tragically, to understand myself.

Yet I did not have regrets, and if Father had been alive, I would have knelt before him and begged for his forgiveness. I could not fulfill his wish, no matter how splendid the vision was, and no matter how perfectly my destiny had been designed. I was only an ordinary woman, saddled by an ordinary woman’s weaknesses and tears.

I knew now: love and destiny were two wild horses that could not be curbed. They galloped in different directions and ran down different paths where streams of desire and hope would not converge. To follow one was to betray the other. To make one happy was to break the other’s heart. Yet I supposed that was part of life, a lesson we had to learn. To grow up was also to give up, and to build the future was to dissolve the past. The only thing we could do was hope for the best, to believe that the horse we chose would find us a safe destination.

• • •

On the surface, everything remained the same. I tended the wardrobe chamber, gave instructions to my helpers who delivered the garments, and slept on the mat in the Emperor’s chamber with Plum, Daisy, and the other Talents on our nights. On occasion, I followed the Emperor to the Audience Hall. He did not dismiss or scold me.

But something had changed. He strolled past me as if I did not exist. His gaze swept the faces of the attendants, but he did not see me. When he ordered wine, he never turned in my direction as I bowed to present my tray. He did not call me to keep him company when he sat alone in the ring of candles. It seemed he had banished me to an invisible corner where he would not set his sight.

After the New Year, I would be nineteen, but I had ruined the chance of a lifetime.

Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened if I had not run after Pheasant. I also wondered what would have happened if I had never met Pheasant or fallen in love with him in the first place. I would perhaps have become Most Adored a long time ago.

Pheasant moved out of the palace a few days after we said good-bye. The Emperor had given him a house outside the palace. The servants whispered about the woman the Emperor had chosen for him. She was from the prestigious Wang family and had a love for animals. Many believed she was a good choice.

And, to my great dismay, the shameless Rain, more wicked than anyone I knew, even Jewel, gave birth to a baby boy, for she had lain with Pheasant after I left him last year. I did not sleep well after hearing the news. I hoped the Emperor would punish her severely for having an illicit relationship with Pheasant, but he did not. Because she bore a precious son, the Emperor not only forgave her, but also ordered the celebration of the birth with great pomp. He even decreed that Rain serve Pheasant from now on and become an official member of his household. She was to be his concubine.

Suddenly, Pheasant, my Pheasant, the love of my heart, was a husband of another woman, a father with a newborn son.

On the night when the palace celebrated Pheasant’s son, the Emperor danced, laughing, spilling too much wine. I stayed in a corner while Pheasant drank with the others. When court protocol forced me to toast to him, I approached his table, knelt before him, and congratulated him.

He raised his head, his eyes two deep wells of anguish. But there was nothing we could say, with Rain sitting at his right, holding her newborn. I held my head low and poured wine into his cup.

The amber stream cascaded like a waterfall of tears.

• • •

The Emperor retracted Taizi’s allowances and forbade his activities in the Archery Hall, the imperial stables, the libraries, even the parks. Neither was he welcome at any formal gatherings. The heir retreated to his residence and spent all his time hosting wrestling tournaments. Sometimes, when I woke in the night, I heard the men’s boisterous laughter and drunken shouts echo in the distance. I thought about how tenderly Taizi had bound his lover with the strip of cloth and how his hands had trembled when he’d heard the Emperor’s order. I understood the hollowness in his voice, and I knew his pain was as real as mine.

And the Emperor, oh, he had changed as well. He even lost the last vestige of handsomeness. His cheeks sagged, and the right side of his face seemed somehow longer than the left side. He could not hold his sword anymore. The blade lay at his fingertips, but he simply could not reach out and hold it.

Still, he summoned us to his chamber, following the bedding schedule, but when I, together with the other Talents, went to his chamber, he always sat in the circle of candles, holding the goblet with his good left hand. As always, he did not trouble to bed us or ask us to seduce him. Rather he ordered us to stay in a corner far from his stool. Walking in front of him was forbidden. When someone did, he would hold his head and cry out, “Shadows, shadows!” as if they gave him a terrible headache.

He also ordered his dress maids—not me, never me—to read poems or summoned his musicians to play percussion and windpipe music until dawn. But he listened to none of these—his snore was louder than the music. And as soon as their recitals stopped, he woke with a start. It seemed he was afraid of going to sleep.

His nights with other ladies went worse than mine, I heard. He cursed, kicked, threw things, and when the ladies begged him to stop, he would jerk back, as though suddenly awake, and then he would weep. Sometimes, in his exhaustion, he would curl up in his oversize bed and doze, and then in the morning, when I received the linen sheets from his chambermaids, they were often soiled and stained with his essence.

Why had he changed so? Was it because of the ghost of his brother? I would never know, perhaps, and I was careful not to talk about the Emperor with Plum or Daisy.

• • •

“Perhaps, the One Above All, it is time to revisit the Art of Bedchamber.” The Taoist astrologer’s voice resonated through the Audience Hall as I waited in the antechamber.

I wished the audience would end quickly. I had lost interest in the Emperor’s governing strategies and the events happening in our kingdom. When I listened, I felt a thick, lethargic stupor clouding my head. It seemed to me the Emperor was not interested in audiences either. These days, he did not come to the audience very often. When he did, it was short and tedious, and his ministers had to wait outside in the corridor rather than inside.

The Emperor’s meeting with the astrologer was unplanned. He had complained of an ache on his face, or inside his mouth, which he did not seem to be sure. So he had consulted with imperial physicians, and the physician Sun Simiao had prescribed him pills for a toothache. But the Emperor had also summoned the astrologer for his opinion.

“The cure of a man by a woman is the true cure in the universe. Many practice it, but few succeed,” the astrologer said. “The essence escapes, a man’s spirit weakens, and a woman, in return, is strengthened.”

“I have no sickness other than a toothache,” the Emperor replied. His voice was low and weak, carrying a slur with which I had become familiar. “Tell me a good remedy for it.”

“Yes, the One Above All. May I elaborate? If the essence is contained, a man enjoys good health and a strong mind. Woman’s yin, thus, succumbs to man’s yang.” The astrologer droned on, and even though I could not see him, I could imagine his sesame-speckled beard shaking as he spoke. “Suppose a man copulates with ten women without losing his essence. His mind is greatly strengthened, and all sorts of dreams—of woman, of demon, or of any forbidden vision—shall be expelled, and thus the curses of the roaming ghosts shall be dissolved.”

“What did you say?”

The sharpness in the Emperor’s voice made me raise my head. Around me, the other attendants glanced at one another. The voices from the corridor dimmed somewhat, as though the ministers, who waited outside for their turn, were alerted as well.

“The One Above All, dreams of all sorts are curses of those ghosts who roam on the dark side. They strive to break into the mind’s barrier, enticing man with their secret wishes.”

“You exaggerate.” His voice was still slurred, but now it had turned hard.

“When a man’s mind is weak, his defense is lowered. The ghost succeeds when a man releases his essence in a dream. That, the One Above All, is the ultimate calamity to a man.”

If he had seen the sheets I had collected, he would not have said that. But it was too late.

“I think your calamity befalls rather sooner than you think.” The Emperor roared, “Captain!”

Outside the Audience Hall, the Captain answered.

“Stitch up this man’s lips, so he can never utter another word in his life again.”

Some footsteps pounded on the other side, and soon, a prolonged scream pierced the hall. I covered my mouth, as if the needle had pierced my own lips. Another hysterical cry. Then a string of heartrending wails. The ministers waiting in the corridor murmured, but none of them dared to object or enter as the astrologer’s screams slowly succumbed to whimpers. I went to the antechamber’s door and peered out. The poor man, stumbling, stepped over the hall’s threshold and rolled into the corridor. A pitiful thing, like a sacrificial animal, saturated in blood.

“Resume the audience!” the Emperor ordered, and the ministers trickled into the hall. One by one, they presented their individual cases, as if they had seen none of the blood, as if they had not heard the astrologer whimper nearby.

The usual solemnity, though thicker than ever, descended on the other side of the hall, and I leaned against the pillar behind me, wondering what the astrologer would do with his lips stitched. By now, I was sure, words of his punishment were already flying. And by the time the audience finished, all the people, the ministers, the scribes, the servants, the guards, the ladies, and even the people in the kingdom would question the Emperor’s sanity.

And that would not be the end of it. From now on, nothing would be the same, because even though we could not speak of it, we could feel it, the moodiness of the Emperor, hanging above our heads like an invisible sword suspended in the air and threatening to drop when we least expected it.

A sudden scream rose in the hall. I jolted and rushed to the side of the screen and peered through the gap of the folds. I could not believe my eyes.

The Emperor was trembling, violently, not just his hands or his arms, but his whole body, as though someone we could not see was angry at him and shaking him. White foam gushed from his mouth, and his eyes rolled upward to the ceiling. Then, as the ministers cried out frantically, he stood up and threw out his arms as though trying to order people to calm down, but a spasm ran through him, his legs buckled, and his head snapped to one side. He tumbled from the throne.

• • •

The court physicians were quickly summoned. The Emperor was swiftly removed and carried to his bedchamber. By dusk, everyone in the palace was whispering.

“The Emperor is haunted!”

“He is poisoned!”

“He is dying!”

“He is dead!”

If I had not accompanied him to his bedchamber, I would have believed them. But it was true. The Emperor looked dead. He did not respond to our cries or the probing touches of the physicians. He did not open his eyes, or his mouth, or wave his arms. He simply lay there, his face contorted, his hands bent, and his breath faint.

Day and night, the court physician Sun Simiao paced around him, feeling his pulse, examining his eyes, and listening to his breathing. Occasionally, the Emperor’s arm jerked and his mouth twitched. But he would not open his eyes.

The Duke asked the physician if someone had poisoned the Emperor. Sun Simiao shook his head, looking adamant. “This is not poisoning,” he said. What was it? He would not give an answer.

But all the same, rumor shook the palace like a great storm. The Emperor would not live to the end of the moon, it said, and something restless, something ominous, began to drift in the air. It hung low on the servants’ lips, the guards’ arched eyebrows, and the ministers’ uneasy coughs. It followed me, haunted me, like a stench that refused to dispel.

One day, I went back to the Audience Hall to fetch the Emperor’s belt, which I had forgotten, when I heard whispers from a corner in the adjacent corridor. I stopped to listen. Ever since the Emperor’s mysterious sickness, the Hall had been almost abandoned. Who would be meeting there?

“All morning, a flock of crows cawed on a pine tree in the Western Market, and all the fowl nearby died mysteriously.”

The voice sounded familiar. I peered through the gap of the doors. A minister with a stooped back, Chancellor Wei Zheng, was talking to a man holding a cane. The Emperor’s uncle.

“It’s Heaven’s sign!” The Uncle’s eyes grew as large as polo balls. “He’s not going to make it. He is going to die! I talked to a fortune watcher too. He predicts his days are numbered.”

“No, no. It’s only a rumor… He is only forty-six, a man of great strength—”

“A sick man on the verge of dying, my old friend, and it is his due.” The Uncle shook his head. “We should not have supported him when he conspired to kill his brother. Now the ghost heir is punishing him. Next will be us! We must do something, or we are all condemned!”

I could not leave. I had to listen.

“My old friend, do not work yourself up. This is a dark moment. It shall pass. We must stay calm,” Wei Zheng said.

The Uncle knocked his cane against the ground. “We’re only fooling ourselves, my friend, you know better than this. We shall take this opportunity to right what we have wronged. This is our moment. We will make history again, just like the old times. We will choose our own emperor and kick out the Turkic clown. What do you say?”

A moment of silence.

“I would not have risked speaking to you if I were not confident. All the ministers resent him. He ordered the stitching of an astrologer’s lips, remember? Our reverend astrologer! The man who watches Heaven’s signs! I’m telling you, my nephew has lost us! Listen, my friend, I’m going to tell you something very important. We have received everything we need. The khans are with us. The khans! You know well they dislike him and his arrogance. They have agreed this is the time. They will attack the borders at our signal. Yes, on our signal they will surround him, just like the old times.”