The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (2 page)

When we returned home, a group of men waited in front of my house, their torches roaring in the night like flaming trees, and the black smoke stretching in the sky like the shadowy cobweb of a monstrous spider.

I recognized the magistrate, wearing my father’s hat. My heart sank. He had taken Father’s position. I knew the law well. No matter how much Father loved me, I was not his son, and thus I could not inherit his governorship. But there had to be another reason the magistrate was there. I stopped Mother and my two sisters, holding them close to me.

“Old woman,” the magistrate said to Mother, his hands on his hips, “take your worthless girls with you and get out of here.”

I could not stand this man or his utter disrespect of Mother. I stood before him. “Do not speak to my mother like this. If anyone needs to leave, it’s you. This is my home.”

“Not anymore.” He sneered. “It’s mine now. Everything belongs to me: the house, the treasure, and all the gold. Now, I order you to get out of my sight.” He waved, and his men lunged toward us, pushing us to the road.

“How dare you.” I struggled, trying to free myself from the arms that clamped on my shoulders. “You scoundrel!”

A sharp pain stabbed me as the magistrate drove his fist into my stomach. I was stunned. No one had ever struck me before. I dove toward him and kicked with all my might. But another blow fell on my back, and I tumbled to the ground, my vision blurred with pain. For a moment, I could hear only the echoes of loud slaps and my sisters’ frightened cries. I shook my head and struggled to rise, because at that moment, I saw that Mother, her hand on her face, fell beside me and gasped. Instinctively, I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her, shielding her as more blows rained down on me.

• • •

Finally, all the kicks and commotion died off, and the gates of my home closed behind me. From inside came loud laughter and cheers.

Our servants came to us, all one hundred of them, bearing sacks on their shoulders. They helped me sit up, and then one by one, they bowed, weeping miserably. As they turned around to leave, I watched them, a lump in my throat. I had known them since I was born and called them aunts and uncles, but they had to leave. It was just as the proverb said, “When a tree falls, wretched monkeys have no choice but to scatter.”

Pushing back my tears, I turned to my mother and sisters, who sobbed beside me. I held them, trying to comfort them, and I swore I would protect them and take care of them, but I knew there was nothing I could do to take back our home. I could beg the nobles who had served Father to help me, but the greedy magistrate, whose words were law, was their superior, and no one would dare to defy him.

I did not know where we could stay either. All the family members on Mother’s side had died in the war, and Father had no relatives in Wenshui. I could ask to stay with neighbors, but we would be like beggars, relying on people’s charity. In the end, Mother said we should go to Qing, my half brother, who lived in Chang’an, the city where Emperor Taizong’s great palace was located. The eldest son from Father’s previous marriage, Qing was a greedy gambler who hated me and the last person from whom I would seek help.

But I decided to listen to Mother. We would go to Chang’an, for once I got there, I would seek every opportunity to see the Emperor and beg him to return our house and belongings to us.

The night grew cold. We huddled together under a tree to keep warm. I was hungry, exhausted, and my body was sore from the beating, but I could not shut my eyes as the night’s wind whipped my cold face.

At dawn, Mother sought out a traveling caravan that passed our town and paid them with my jade bangle. Together with my two sisters, I limped to the carriage and climbed in.

My chin knocking against the carriage’s window frame, I watched my home fade into the distance. I had drunk Wenshui’s water, walked on Wenshui’s muddy road, and grown up in Wenshui’s air. Now I had to leave.

• • •

Father used to say that Chang’an was the most glorious place under Heaven, and many people flocked to the Emperor’s city like moths attracted to light. Everyone—merchant, poet, mercenary, and prostitute alike—went there to realize dreams of fortune and decadence. It was also the destination of the Silk Route, where merchants from as far as Persia, Kucha, Kashgar, and Samarkand brought rare perfumes and hard-to-find luxuries for trade.

But when we approached the city wall near the Jinguang Gate, the scenery before me reflected none of Father’s description. The gray ramparts, looking like the jagged teeth of a demon, sprawled endlessly in the distance. Around me, many merchants, their faces netted with wrinkles and their lips parched with thirst, faltered on the road in fatigue, and the leaves of persimmon groves near a lake shriveled, looking on the verge of dying.

Once we entered the right gateway, the view of the city surprised me. White stone bridges arched in the shape of half-moons, stands of green willows edged deep ditches, vermillion-colored canoes and indigo-hued dragon boats floated on placid canals, and the enormous walled buildings—the residential wards, Mother told me—stood next to one another like fortresses.

I shielded my eyes to block the bright sunlight reflected from the canal. I did not wish to blink, unwilling to miss anything. The streets were as wide as the sky, and maples, elms, oaks, and junipers were spaced out neatly at the sides. Everything seemed organized and orderly; even the horses stopped nickering, as if awed by a silent code of obedience.

Two streets ran parallel to my left. On the far side, people ambled to exit the city, while the middle lane was unoccupied. Soon, a group of horsemen in hats and boots trotted along that street. At first I thought they were the Emperor’s guards, but when they drew closer, I realized they were noblemen. They were better dressed than anyone in my hometown, their hats thick with stripes of fur, their silk sleeves dropping low to their boots. In Wenshui, everyone greeted me on the street, but these people passed us as if we did not exist.

“Where is the palace?” I asked Mother.

“Look over there. See that red wall? That’s the palace wall,” Mother said, her arms around my sisters. Big Sister was sleeping, but Little Sister, who was born with a weak heart, moaned deliriously. She had fallen sick during the journey.

I stroked her shoulder to soothe her, and when she calmed down, I moved closer to the window. The vermilion gates, studded with bronze balls, were tall and wide, but I was not impressed. They looked similar to our own front gates, but as the carriage moved along, I realized how enormous the palace entrance really was, and it did not have just one, but three entrances—left, middle, and right. The middle one, reserved only for the Emperor and the late Empress—I remembered what Father had told me—was the grandest. It had one arched bridge in the front; two prancing stone kylins, the mythical unicorns; and two watchtowers standing on the top of the wall like pavilions floating in the air.

Father had said that the palace contained 9,999 rooms, an auspicious number to suggest the longevity of the kingdom. Each room was covered with marble, and each pillar was carved with dragons and inlaid with jade and ruby. Day and night, the chambers were filled with the sound of lutes and zithers, and the palace women often sauntered about in rainbow-colored gauze robes adorned with perfumed girdles.

And Emperor Taizong, for whom all the melodies were sung, for whom all the buildings were built…I wondered if he had received Father’s petitions. Would he summon me? If he wanted, he could find me easily, since the city kept strict records of who entered the ward and who lived with their kin.

We finally arrived at Qing’s house, a small building of packed mud with a thatched roof. The moment he saw us, he asked for Mother’s coin pouch and our jewelry. That, I knew, was the only reason he was allowing us to stay.

That night, we shared a bamboo mat in a small room with Qing’s two concubines and eight children. I hardly slept. Before dawn, a tattoo of drumbeats rose, the opening signal of the neighboring Western Market. I dressed and left Qing’s house quietly. I wanted to see the palace. I would not be able to enter, but perhaps by some luck I would see Emperor Taizong, and with Father’s contribution to Emperor Gaozu and the dynasty, surely Emperor Taizong would grant my wish and return our house to us.

Outside Qing’s ward, the noise from the market echoed through the thick morning fog like thunder. I paused, shocked to see so many people around me. Vendors chased customers with flaccid quail, rabbits, and pit vipers flapping against their shoulders. Merchants dug their feet into the packed earth and pushed carts laden with bolts of silk. The fortune-tellers paced around, bamboo cards in hands and clouds of coppery dirt at their heels.

I pushed through the crowd and arrived at the Heavenly Street that extended all the way to the palace’s front gates. An army of palace guards stood there, checking a throng of ministers holding emblems of a fish: the palace’s admission token. Only those bearing the token were permitted to enter the palace. There was no sign of the Emperor.

Disappointed, I turned around and walked back to Qing’s house.

• • •

Living in Chang’an, I heard rumors about the palace all the time. People said the Emperor would summon fifteen maidens, the Selects, to serve him in the Inner Court that year, and the priority would be given to the high-ranking nobles’ daughters. My father, a governor, had been of high rank.

I hoped the Emperor would summon me; it was the only way to meet him. And life in Qing’s household was miserable. He was poorer than any of my father’s servants. Many days went by without food, and if I was lucky, I ate the burned rice crisp scraped from the bottom of the pot. Big Sister was forced to marry a low merchant in the south so she would not burden us, and Little Sister grew sicker. I made some pickled cabbages and sold them at the market to get her medicine money.

Then one day, my luck changed. Gongs clanged outside Qing’s house. A man holding a banner entered the gate. Behind him stood a carriage and a man who looked like a large gourd, with a potbelly, fat torso, and small head.

“All kneel,” he ordered as my neighbors, Qing, and Mother gathered before him. Not sure what would happen next, I knelt beside Mother, holding Little Sister in my arms. The gourd man spread out a scroll with gilded edges—the emblem of an edict.

In a singsong cadence, he read, “On the eighth month of the thirteenth year of the Reign of Peaceful Prospect, I, Emperor Taizong, the Emperor of China, the One Above All, the Conqueror of the North and the South, the ruler of all land and the seven seas, hereby do decree that the second daughter of Wu Shihuo, the former Governor of Shanxi Prefecture, the man who provided meritorious services to our kingdom, is to be chosen as one of the fifteen maidens who shall enter the Inner Court. Here, I give my decree.”

The crowd gasped, and people surrounded me, shouting their congratulations. I nodded happily, for Father’s petitions had been heard, and I would go to the palace, just as he had wished. Yet I could not smile when I looked at Mother and Little Sister. I would need to abandon them; I had not thought of that. And my sister was so sick. Who would take care of them when I was in the palace?

Later, after everyone left, Little Sister dozed off, and I sat on a bench with Mother. She dabbed her eyes.

“These are tears of happiness,” she said.

She sounded pleased, but I could still hear pain in her voice.

I did not want to leave her either. In the palace, I would not see her face when I woke in the morning or hear her voice before I went to sleep. I would not be able to wrap my arms around her or listen to her breathe.

“I don’t have to go,” I said, even though I knew I had no choice. No one dared to defy the Emperor.

She shook her head. “You have to. This is for the best.”

My heart heavy, I went behind her and rubbed her shoulders. Her back was hurting her in those days, and I had learned how to ease her pain. I held her shoulders with the strength I was born with, and I kneaded with all the misery and helplessness that bled from my heart. With my thumbs, I circled over her shoulder blades, the top of her shoulders, and then to her back. Under my fingertips, I felt her slack skin and hard bones—solid, resolute, comforting. Like love.

Then I knew. Nothing would ever separate us, be it palace or graveyard.

I eased the pressure and gently tapped her back with my fists. She relaxed and sighed in relief as she always did.

“The Palace Escorts will fetch you in one month. Then you’ll start a new life,” Mother said.

“A new life.” I nodded and looked around the courtyard, where cracked walls enclosed the small space. Before me, a pool of hogwash leaked under a bucket, and near the gate stood a broken spindle and a cooking pit built from mud. That place was not my home, but a reminder of what I had to do for my family—I had to help my mother and sister escape that terrible place, and I had to take care of them. It was possible, since I had been summoned to serve the Emperor. For if I won his favor, I could reclaim my family’s home and restore my family’s fortune. I could perhaps even fulfill Father’s wish for my destiny—to become the most powerful ruler in China.

I went around and knelt before her so I could have a better look at her, at the face that had always looked composed but was recently carved with grief and fear, the face of home, the face that I would die to protect. “Will you take good care of yourself, Mother?”

“I will,” she said, her calm eyes seeing through my soul, and gently, she pulled me closer to her. “Mei. You’re alone, you have no one to help you, and in your heart, you have too much metal and not enough water. Do you understand what kind of place the court is?”

I knew my words would not soothe her, so I said, “Mother, do you remember that Father used to teach me Sun Tzu? He once explained to me the difference between an ordinary fighter and a good fighter.” He had quoted the master’s words and told me to memorize them: “‘To lift a feather is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear.’”