The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (20 page)

The Emperor asked for me when he had his morning meal, and I stood behind him while he dined. I accompanied him to the imperial library, where he reviewed the petitions—an honor only the second-degree Ladies and Most Adored would receive. While he made decisions and gave grants, I ground the ink chalks in the ink stone. Once, he was in an especially jovial mood and encouraged me to write. I showed off my calligraphy, quoting Tao Yuanming’s “Song of a Serene Garden Life” and Wang Xizhi’s “The Preface of Orchard Pavilion.” He was delighted. He gave me a bolt of silk embroidered with exquisite patterns of thrushes and peach blossoms as a reward.

Everywhere he went, he took me with him. His five imperial stables, the feasting halls, the library, and the Archery Hall. More and more bestowals were sent to my bedchamber: a ceramic bowl with blue flowers, a toy horse with a red bridle, and a vase painted in yellow, green, and white. I shared all the gifts with Plum, Daisy, and the other Talents.

The Emperor liked me. He really liked me. I was his new favorite concubine, and everyone knew it. People in the Inner Court turned their attention to me again. They began to treat me more courteously, and chunks of meat filled my bowl. I was also given the chance to choose whatever color, whatever pattern of silk I liked for my silk stipend, a privilege of which I had never dreamed before.

I knew why he liked me. He liked the girl he had seen that night, the soft, feminine, tempting woman who swayed her hips and arms with charm. If I wanted to keep his attention, I must continue to give him that woman.

I practiced those steps more often. I studied Jewel, the way she smiled, pouted, nodded, and even frowned. I observed secretly how she gave in, how she made a request without making it sound like one, and how her eyes misted up one moment but then twinkled with laughter the next.

I could do all those and more.

I learned how to form my hair into many innovative shapes. One week I would braid my hair in ropes, the next I kept them straight and erect like a rabbit’s ears, and another week I would build twin mounds wound with silk ribbons around my ears. In a month’s time, my fashions were duplicated by the maids and even Lady Virtue.

Plum taught me how to apply makeup. She fussed around me, plucking my eyebrows, applying white cream to my face, and coloring my lips. When I stared at my image in a bronze mirror, I hardly recognized myself. A sheet of whiteness blanketed my face, a red dot smudged the center of my lips, and above my eyes were two lines, shaped like the wings of a fluttering moth—fragile, fleeting, and destined to die.

I looked foolish, like one of the Noble Lady’s maids. But that was the style all the ladies worshipped, and my intention was to embellish rather than distinguish.

Plum asked what beauty marks I would like to paint on my cheeks. I paused to think. I could have a rabbit, a cherry, or a peony, like everyone else, but I decided on a bird. Like the pheasant.

But if someone asked, I would say it was a pigeon.

I also put my womanly figure on good show. I had an alluring body, I noticed, more pleasing than anyone else’s. My bosoms had swelled, and my body was well proportioned. I was not too short like Lady Obedience or too tall like the Pure Lady. When I passed Lady Virtue, I felt her eyes linger on me with envy.

When the Emperor was around, I donned sheer gowns that complemented my curves. I revealed the inner wrist of my hands when I ground ink, and I wore gowns with wide collars that showed my bare shoulders and nape. When he looked in my direction, I let the shawls slip.

A few days later, while we were feasting in the garden, the Emperor asked us to entertain him. Lady Obedience danced, Lady Virtue played the zither, and Jewel, to my surprise, wrote a poem. She recited:

“Cutting the finest qi silk,

White as frosty snow.

I shape a pair of love fans,

round and round like the bright moon.

To go in and out of your sleeve,

and give you cool breeze as you move.

But often I worry the coming of autumn,

when cold draft drives out summer’s heat.

And you toss me in the hamper,

your love and affection forever asunder.”

It was actually Lady Ban Jieyu’s work. The ancient court lady had written “The Sad Song of Round Fans” after she lost her emperor’s favor. I doubted the Emperor knew Jewel had stolen the verse, but it did not matter. I had to do better than her.

I looked up at the night sky where a crescent moon hung. Words came to me:

“Like an unstrung bow,

The new moon stands by,

Don’t say it’s tiny as a moth brow,

When it’s round, it shall illuminate the sky.”

“Well said!” The Emperor clapped his hands, laughing. “I have never heard of a woman with such a fine spirit. Tell me, my fair Talent, what do you wish to have?”

I could not let the opportunity slip away. I leaned over and cupped my hand around his ear. With the fragrance of wine wafting from his breath and his whisker touching my cheek, I told him about Mother and said how much I would like to find her.

“The Secretary shall take care of that. Tomorrow. He will have the notices pasted all over Chang’an.”

Happiness filled my heart. I bowed.

“But you deserve more than this. I have another announcement to make.” He stroked my cheek. “You shall be my personal attendant from now on.”

He had promoted me. Personal attendant. My hours at the wardrobe chamber would be reduced, and I would attend to him while he went to the Outer Palace, where he received foreign ambassadors and dealt with state affairs. I would see him in two courts, the Inner Court and the Outer Palace, a great honor and privilege. Jewel made an excuse to leave the table.

Sitting near the Emperor, I felt dizzy with happiness. Everything was perfect. Mother would be found, and she would be safe and sound, and my future, like the candles before me, finally glowed with radiance.

• • •

On my first day as the Emperor’s personal attendant, I walked down the wide streets of the Outer Palace lined with maples and elms. In my right hand I carried a tray of apples. A few paces ahead of me, the Emperor sat on a sedan carried by four porters. Beside him were seven other attendants, holding parasols and banners.

I was eager to go to the Audience Hall to observe the audience, to listen to the details of state affairs, to learn how the Emperor governed, and most important of all, to find and forge an ally among the men who had the Emperor’s ear. For it was with the support of the ministers that an empress would be born, and it was in the Audience Hall that an empress would reign.

The air was fresh in the dawn’s light. We passed several buildings sitting on raised platforms, where many ministers and scribes knelt at the door, waiting for the Emperor’s passing. In the distance, I could see many majestic buildings, the famous Cuiwei Hall with red corridors and white stone fences, the Zhengshi Hall, and the solemn Taiji Hall, where enthronements for emperors and empresses took place. It was a building with blue roofs and three bridges, each with a long, steep staircase.

We arrived at the vast yard in front of the Audience Hall, a wide, towering edifice. My legs were sore, and my arms had grown tired from holding the tray. But I was excited to see so many ministers waiting for the Emperor. There were also foreign messengers, some in high hats and boots, some in fisherman’s sandals. They all crowded around the steep stairs that led to the hall, for our kingdom, the most prosperous and the most cultured, was also the most powerful under Heaven.

A loud gong sounded, and a court announcer’s distinctive voice pierced the sky. “I hereby announce the Emperor of China, the One Above All, Emperor Taizong, the Conqueror of the North and the South, the great ruler of all land and the seven seas, has arrived!”

All the men kowtowed, heads bowed, backs arched, and hands flattened on the ground.

I followed the Emperor as he ascended the stairs and entered the Audience Hall. He went to his throne, threw his long sleeves behind him, and sat, his hands resting on his thighs. I went to an antechamber at the left of the hall with the other attendants. We would wait for the Emperor there, where he would have refreshments during the audience and change his formal attire at the end of the session. Behind us, the ministers holding their ivory tablets filed into the Audience Hall and lined up along the two sides.

The court announcer began to call out the names of the courtiers. First came the three most powerful men, the Duke, Chancellor of the Shangshu Department; Wei Zheng, Chancellor of Menxia Department; and Secretary Fang Xuanling of Zhongshu Department, then the Emperor’s uncle, then the second-degree courtiers, the third-degree courtiers, and many more. I remembered my grandfather had been one of the chancellors in Sui Dynasty, though I did not remember which department. As I listened to the men’s names, I watched them through a gap between the screens that blocked off the hall, memorizing their faces.

Whom should I approach to win their support? The Duke was out of the question. What about the Emperor’s uncle? Or the Secretary? The Chancellor? Or perhaps the other second-degree courtiers?

After the roll call, the ministers joined to recite the virtues of the Emperor, their voices rising high to the hall’s ceiling. Then the Emperor ordered the foreign messengers to enter. One by one, they stepped into the hall, identified their kingdoms, presented their tributes, and stated their requests. The Emperor received their gifts and granted their wishes. Then a group of fishermen entered. The Japanese, the court announcer declared. They asked the ruler’s permission to stay in the capital in order to study our culture, architecture, and even our clothes.

“Come here, Mei.” Daisy beckoned, standing near many chests that contained the foreign gifts offered to the Emperor. Near her, the other attendants leaned against pillars and dozed. We had risen at the third crow of the rooster and were all tired.

“What is it, Daisy?” I moved away from the screen.

“Look at this.” She held up a medallion and bit into it, denting the soft metal. “The messenger said it was made of real gold. See the man on this medallion? It’s their king. What’s the round bowl thing he’s wearing?”

What else would the king put on his head? “I think it’s a crown.”

“A crown? Looks more like a chamber pot.”

“Why would someone wear a chamber pot on his head?” It had to be a crown, even though it was unlike anything I had seen. I took the coin from her hand. It was inscribed with some squirmy letters like a child’s scribble. They did not have the straight edges or corners of our characters.

“I don’t understand. The king doesn’t have jewels on his crown, but the coin is made of real gold.” Daisy flipped another medallion in the air. “Do you think this kingdom has plenty of gold?”

“It’s possible.”

“It’s from Byzantium. Have you heard of it? Such a funny name. It sounds like a name for a pagoda. Where is the kingdom, do you think?”

A book in the library had mentioned that shallots often thrived wherever a gold mine lay, that wild onions grew near silver deposits, ginger, and copper. Wherever Byzantium was, it must have grown lots of shallots. But I had no desire to explain, because the announcer had just introduced the kingdom’s messenger. I returned to the screen and peeked out.

“The servant of our great Basileus, the King of Kings, Heraclius.” A man in a white robe stepped toward the throne. “Hail to Your Majesty, from our kingdom, Byzantium, the most ancient civilization of the world.”

He was accompanied by a man with long, grizzly hair and a thick, messy beard, who looked like a merchant and also served as a translator.

“Boast not, young man, boast not. No country is more ancient than mine. Byzantium, that’s how you call it?” The Emperor’s voice echoed in the hall. “It is young. Founded in the year 324? My country dates back to one thousand years ago.”

“The glory of Your Majesty has reached to the heart of our realm. That is why our Basileus sent me here,” the messenger said.

“What do you want? Trade, vassalage, or protection?”

“We are not here to seek vassalage, trade, or protection, Your Majesty.” The messenger bowed. “Our Basileus, the King of Kings, Heraclius, offers Your Majesty an opportunity to rule half of the world. Heraclius, our Basileus, rules the West, and Your Majesty, the East.”

I was intrigued. An offer of alliance? I pressed my eyes closer to the screen, trying to see the Emperor’s reaction.

He looked contemplative. “I heard Khusro II, from the Sassanian Empire, had launched a massive campaign to battle you Byzantines. Isn’t it so that your king lost the cities of Damascus, Jerusalem, and the city near a river, called Egypt?”

“That was twenty-five years ago.” The messenger’s voice was thick with an accent, but even so, I could hear the tinge of amusement in his tone. “Our Basileus crushed the Sassanids and recovered all the territories that Your Majesty is aware of. And by the grace of God, he returned the True Cross to the sacred land of Jerusalem.”

“Do not talk about God with me. War is man’s business, not God’s,” the Emperor bellowed.

The messenger coughed and spoke rapidly in a low voice. Gasps rose in the hall, and the ministers murmured, as if stunned by the message.

“So you say the Sassanian Emperor is no more?” The Emperor stood up.

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

“Who destroyed them?”

“That is why I’m here, Your Majesty.” The messenger handed a scroll to the Duke, who stood near the throne. He presented the scroll to the Emperor, who took it and unrolled it.

A map. I took a deep breath. Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
had mentioned that with a map, an army could drive through the enemy’s territory as if it were their own backyard. I had never seen one before.

“The men on horses, the Kingdom of Circumcised Man,” the messenger said. “My Basileus dreamed they would conquer vast lands in the west and east, bound by one prophecy.”

“Who are they?”

“They are called the Arabs.”

“A small tribe.” The Emperor rolled up the map.