The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (8 page)

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

WINTER

Winter refused to leave. Every day after the midday meal, I walked to the arboretum in the back of my bedchamber, where high walls divided the court from the forest in the Forbidden Park.

The air was chilly, and it pressed against my face like an icy veil. Above the tall poplars, clusters of gray smoke gathered and stood still like a pond of shadows. The wind came and the smoke drifted, stretching like a stream, and then it bent again, settling in the sky like a misty bridge I could not cross.

I had heard that Jewel had told the Emperor it was her riddle, and she had given my name because she was worried he would not receive her. But when she took my place and met him, he obviously remembered her. He also seemed interested in her again, and she had stayed with him that night.

Jewel had moved to the Inner Court. Rumors said the Emperor enjoyed her company so much that he took her to all the feasts and festivals. Some even said she had been summoned every week. She would soon be Most Adored. It sickened me to hear.

I tucked my hands into my sleeves and walked, my shadow dragging at my feet. I wanted to think everything through and sort out what I had done wrong. I had been too trusting, too eager to make friends. That was my undoing. As long as we all strove to win the Emperor’s heart, there would be no friends in the court.

Frost moistened the cloth soles of my shoes and sent a chill through my body. I wrapped my coat tightly around me. It had been over a year since I had left Mother. I remembered my last days with her. She had appeared fragile then, her steps slow, her hair gray, her eyes rimmed with worries.

Did her back still hurt? Mother would reach the age of Knowing Heaven’s Mission this year. What if something happened to her and she fell sick? What if she could not wait for me?

I shivered. I must do better. I must see the Emperor again.

I kept walking. I imagined Father watching me, his eyes sparkling with expectation. What would he say to me if he learned of my situation?

“The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy,” Sun Tzu had said. Waiting for an opportunity… There was always next year’s birthday, was there not? I had no idea what I could do to attract the Emperor’s attention, but I had to think of something.

Meanwhile, I had to learn to read people’s faces as well as their words. I had to learn to perceive the dagger hidden behind a woman’s smile and know how to fend it off. And more importantly, I had to learn to deliver a dagger myself.

• • •

Spring finally came. Birds chirped in the Forbidden Park. Rabbits, foxes, and weasels dashed through the bushes, and trees swayed under a clear sky. I went to the arboretum again, pacing between the poplars and the wall. The other Selects gathered around the rocks in the sand garden. They covered their mouths, laughing.

The poplars grew green shoots with thick coats of hair. I snapped off a few, held them, and then let them fall through my fingers. The wispy white fuzz drifted to the ground like a string tugging at my memory, and those images, vivid but puzzling, rolled in my mind like a scroll blown by a gust. There was a pair of yellow, bulbous eyes, the sudden silence of the forest, a shower of leaves and red drops, and a desperate voice.

What did these visions mean? I wished I could understand them, but a thick blanket of fog seemed to shroud my head, and no matter how hard I tried to uncover it, it returned to coat my mind.

But it must have had something to do with Father—it had to—for I remembered clearly that on that same day, Father had died.

“What are you doing, Pheasant? Bring the horse back here. Now!” a man’s voice shouted from the Forbidden Park on the other side of the wall. His voice was deep, rich, and thick with a man’s valor.

I took a few steps back and raised my head. It was the first time since my arrival that I heard a male voice that was not the Emperor. All the eunuchs sounded like shrill, querulous housewives. Who was the man on the other side of the wall?

“I’m trying,” another male voice answered. “But horses are like girls. You can tell them what to do, but they still do whatever they like.”

A different voice. Youthful and joyous. Infused with spirit and good humor. The young fellow called Pheasant. He must have been good-looking. He had to be. Anyone who spoke with such liveliness had to be beautiful.

I stood on tiptoe. I wished to see who these two men were, but the high wall was impossible to climb. I took a few steps farther and looked again. Nothing but the flowing treetops. I listened intently. There was the rustling of leaves and a horse’s grunting. Then nothing.

Who were those men?

They must have lived or worked in the palace, or they would not have had permission to come to the park. Perhaps they were ministers, scribes, or guards. The first man with the deep voice sounded older; he was in command. The second man, Pheasant, seemed to be his groom.

Could the first man with the deep voice be the Emperor’s son? The Emperor had ten living sons, ranging from twenty years old to less than a year.

I waited a bit longer, listening intently, but no more movement came from the other side. Soon, I left the arboretum as well, but I could not stop thinking of the two men.

• • •

A few days later, I had almost fallen asleep when I heard the other Selects whispering on their pallets.

“I cannot wait,” someone said, beginning her nightly chorus with the others. “Only two more months!”

“Me neither,” another added. “How exciting! We will see all those people—the counselors, the ministers, the dukes, and the princes.”

I pricked up my ears. They were talking about the Adulthood Ceremony of our Taizi, the Crown Prince. To celebrate his coming of age, the Emperor would gather all the important ministers and the imperial family members to attend the ceremony in the Altar House. He had also given permission to his women, including us in the Yeting Court, to watch.

I would go to the ceremony! That meant I would see the Emperor again. I wanted to know the date the ceremony would be held, but the girls went on to discuss what to wear and how to shape their hair.

“Look!” a loud voice called out, and gasps rose.

I pulled down the blanket. The Xu Girl and the others were sitting up, peering outside, where a bolt of stark white light flared and flew across the sky like a burning candle. Surprised, I sat upright.

The girls rushed to the corner of the chamber, trembling. Confused, I ran to the doors, opened them, and looked up. Another bolt of light, like a silver fish, swept across the black sky.

A comet.

My hands turned cold. Comets possessed evil power that could bewitch a human’s mind. It was also a sign of Heaven’s wrath and spoke of looming calamity to the kingdom.

Father had often said that an emperor founded a dynasty not by superior military acumen, nor noble lineage, nor the number of decisive battles in which he defeated his foes, but because he was chosen by Heaven. And when Heaven was displeased with the chosen one and his reign, it gave signs, like comets, eclipses, and shooting stars. Disaster and chaos then ensued, the dynasty collapsed, and the emperor’s rule ended.

In
The Art of War
, Sun Tzu had called Heaven’s intention the Moral Law, which compelled people to comply with their ruler. If one lost it, the reign would end. That was what happened to the Sui Dynasty, the empire before the Tang Dynasty. Emperor Gaozu, who had been a general of the Sui’s army, claimed Heaven had revoked its consent to the Sui Emperor and started the rebellion. He was backed by all men he sought to support and then succeeded in overthrowing the Sui Emperor.

I covered my eyes to block the sight of the comet, but in my mind I could see it was like a sword, a mighty blade of fury Heaven used to pierce the heart of the kingdom.

What evil would befall us? A poor harvest? A flood? A drought?

I shut the doors and went back to my pallet.

The chamber was silent. Then someone whispered in the dark, “This is a bad omen.”

“Do you think the Emperor will cancel the ceremony?” another asked.

“It seems unlikely,” the Xu Girl said. “The date of the ceremony was chosen last year, and it would be difficult to change it.”

“So I will still see everyone, then.” The girl sighed with relief.

I rolled on my side, tucking my hand under my head. But I was not ready to sleep yet. Because I just realized an opportunity had presented itself.

I knew what I must do.

• • •

On the day of Taizi’s ceremony, I left the Yeting Court with the other palace ladies, passed the Inner Court, crossed the Chengtian Gate, and arrived at the Outer Palace, where the ministers conducted their daily work. When I had first entered the court two years before, I was inside the carriage and did not realize how vast the palace was, but since then, I had gotten an idea of its immensity. When we left the Yeting Court, it was at dawn, but by the time we reached the Altar House, the sun was hanging on the top of the trees, and I was tired, my legs sore from walking.

“This way, this way.” The palace’s Gold Bird Guards directed us across from the yard in front of the Altar House. Wearing maroon capes and shining breastplates, they looked stern, their eyes scanning here and there. Since the comet, rumors suggesting that the Emperor was unfit to rule had swirled about the palace, and I had heard the news of insurgence from the northern border. It was an important day today, and with all the imperial family members and ministers gathering, the guards had to be extremely vigilant.

We were ordered to stay in a corridor at the end of the yard, perhaps the least favorable place to watch the ceremony. In front of me stood many court ministers, imperial members, Taoist priests, and ladies dressed in different colors of gowns. Jewel might have been among them, but I could not find her. I was still angry, and for many nights I had thought about how to confront her. But to do so would be stupid. There was no point letting her know my anger, since she had the Emperor’s ear. In fact, I must play coy when speaking to her, as though nothing had happened between us.

Standing on tiptoes, I searched for the Emperor, who sat on a raised platform in the center of the massive yard before the Altar House.

He wore a bejeweled mortarboard on his head, a splendid golden robe with rectangular sleeves draped to the floor, and two swords at his waist. He looked different from the dark man dozing on his stool all those months ago. If the man I met in his chamber were a naked cat, the one in formal attire resembled a true tiger. He looked larger, more solemn, more distant, and more frightening.

What could I do to attract his attention?

Taizi, the Crown Prince, cloaked in bright yellow ceremonial regalia, walked to each minister and thanked them for their presence. He had a deep voice that seemed to echo in his chest, and his tone was short and precise.

I recognized that voice. He was the man in the Forbidden Park who had shouted for Pheasant. When he talked to the ministers near me, I studied him. He was the tallest, most robust man I had ever seen. His neck was thick, his shoulders wide, and he towered over the other people by a head. Each time he approached a minister, he cracked his knuckles and then bowed. He also seemed to be uncomfortable in his regalia; each time he rose, he pulled at his sleeves and frowned.

I had heard stories about him. The firstborn of the Emperor and the late Empress Wende, he was twenty years old. He had grown up in the military camp when his father and his grandfather were warring against the Sui Dynasty. A mighty wrestler, Taizi had never lost a bout since he was nine years of age, and I would have said he was built more for wrestling than for ruling.

“He would make a fine ruler,” a lady in a blue gown near me said.

“Not so loud.” An old lady with her hair shaped in Cloudy Chignon elbowed her. “The spies are everywhere.”

I fell on my heels and turned to her. Who would object to Taizi’s rule? “Whose spies?”

“Oh.” The old lady coughed and glanced at me. “I know who you are. You gave the Emperor a riddle. Very clever. You were summoned.”

I smiled to let her know I meant no harm. “Yes, and I may never be summoned again. Who are you worried about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, I should not say this, but have you noticed the Emperor’s uncle?” The old lady pointed at an old man holding a cane. Clearly most revered for his age and rank, the Uncle stood among a group of ministers with high hats who bowed constantly as he spoke, his finger stabbing in the air.

“He does not look happy,” I said. Father had said the Uncle had gone through many battles with Emperor Gaozu and helped found the dynasty. He would have been the one to inherit the throne if the Emperor had begotten no sons.

“For a good reason,” the lady with the blue gown said, pointing at Taizi as he left the ministers to kneel before the guest of honor, a tall man, to receive his three hats—a skintight silk wrapping, a leather cap, and a square black hat embroidered with golden dragons flying through clouds. Each hat carried profound meanings. The wrapping signified his responsibility as a man to himself, the cap to his family, and the black hat to society.

I understood immediately. The Adulthood Ceremony was one of the four most important ceremonies in a man’s life. The guest of honor, who would confer the hats on the heir, was supposed to be the most senior member of the imperial family, who I assumed would be the Uncle, but the man who held the wrapping appeared to be in middle age. “Who’s the guest of honor?”

“That’s the Duke, the late Empress’s brother, the Emperor’s brother-in-law,” the lady in the blue gown said. “He—”

The old lady coughed, and the lady in blue swallowed her words. I did not ask more questions. There was no need. Clearly, the Duke and the Uncle did not get along.

It was getting hot. The morning air turned fetid with the odor of scorched pigskin on the sacrificial tables and musk and camphor from burning incense. Layers of heavy clouds pressed against the roof of the Altar House. It would rain soon.