The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (30 page)

The Emperor’s vassals, the Eastern Turks and the people in Tuyuhun, had remained silent after the polo game, but the prophecy and the rebellions within the kingdom had surely reached their ears too.

“The khans? It’s unlikely. Didn’t Taizi quiet them all when he defeated the Western Turks?”

“That’s true. The vassals respect the heir. They do not like how the Emperor treats his own son. That is why they will join us.”

A sigh. “Which khan?”

“All of them! They are displeased with the yearly tributes demanded by the Emperor. It is too much. They cannot afford it. Have you seen last year’s breed? A poor batch of skinny horses! Besides…” He cupped his hand over Wei Zheng’s ear and whispered.

“What? She is part of this?”

Who was she? I pushed closer to the door.

“Yes! The Pure Lady—and what an extraordinary woman she is!—has hired mercenaries, bought the rebels on the borders, and even recruited men near Chang’an. She has prepared everything…”

Blood rushed to my head. I could not believe my ears.

“But why? Why will she take such a huge risk… Yes, I know, I know… Of course I know about the prophecy… What?”

“It is true, old friend.”

“I… This…this is hard to believe…”

“There is no denying it, my friend. Prince Yo is the man. He is the one who will destroy this dynasty. Remember the sign that says my nephew’s dynasty will end and his foe is coming?”

“Yes, yes. But how can he be the man in the prophecy?” Wei Zheng’s jade pendants clinked against each other as he leaned closer to the Uncle. “How can you be certain?”

“Think about it! Recite the prophecy.”

“He comes when the stone turns flesh, the animal weeps, the birds cry thrice from Heaven. Then the Wu Man comes…”

The Wu Man? What did it mean? The sound “Wu” contained numerous homonyms. Depending on the tones, each sound indicated different meanings. Of course, my family’s name was Wu too, but I was not a man…

“Think about his rank in the birth order!”

A pause. “He’s the fourth son…”

“Yes, and now add the infant boy who died before him!”

Wei Zheng had a sharp intake of breath. “He would be the fifth…”

The word
fifth
was pronounced as “Wu.” I covered my mouth, nearly gasping. So the Wu Man in the prophecy meant the Fifth Man, and the Uncle believed Prince Yo, the exiled prince, was the real man in the prophecy.

“Do you understand what I’m talking about, my old friend?”

“That…that is…unexpected… But…but the Emperor told me he had eliminated the threat. He drowned two hundred men whose surname bore that sound of ‘Wu.’”

His words struck me. The trip to the Forbidden Park, the two dead guards, the Black Boy—black was also pronounced “Wu”—and Fifth Girl. The Emperor had killed them, believing they were his foes.

“He drowned the wrong ones! Now the augury says his rival is coming, upon three signs! If it’s not Prince Yo, who could it be?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Wei Zheng’s pendants jingled.

The Uncle stepped closer to him. “This is Heaven’s design. He exiled him, and now he can’t touch him. He’s protected. All we need is a signal from the lady. A signal! Then everything will change. What are you waiting for, my old friend?”

“Let me think it over. Let me, my friend.”

Wei Zheng reached for the lion’s head on the railing and shuffled to the stairs. Together, they descended.

I pressed against the door, my heart pounding. The belt was wrinkled in my grip, and my underrobe was soaked with perspiration. If they knew I had been eavesdropping, the Uncle and the Chancellor would not let me walk out alive. But planning a revolt! The Uncle and the Pure Lady must have been insane. But perhaps I was wrong. They had chosen a good time after all, now that the Emperor was unconscious…

I had to tell the Noble Lady as soon as possible. It seemed the Uncle would put everything in motion soon…

Taking a deep breath, I stepped from the antechamber.

“What are you doing here?”

Startled, I twirled around. The Captain stood behind me, frowning.

My heart pounding, I scurried down the stairs.

“Come here!” he shouted. “I need to talk to you.”

I ran as fast as I could. When he was out of sight, I slowed down, in case other people grew suspicious of me. It was not until I arrived at the Inner Court that I began to worry he would report my eavesdropping to the ministers.

“The Uncle?” the Noble Lady asked after I told her what I had heard.

I nodded. “With the Chancellor.” We were in a dire situation indeed. The physician Sun Simiao could not tell us when the Emperor would awake, or if he would awake at all. If Prince Yo attacked the palace, no one would be able to lead the Gold Bird Guards and defend us…

“I never would have imagined this. I thought the old man would have accepted his fall from favor by now. How could he plot such an abominable crime? With the Pure Lady?” She stroked her neck. She was wearing another gold necklace, and I could see a scar had formed around her neck where the Pure Lady had yanked her necklace off.

“He must be desperate. Did the Emperor suspend his duty in the court again?”

The Noble Lady sighed. “Worse than that. He wanted him to retire.”

“Retire?” That was no different from exile.

“The Emperor had drafted the edict, but he fell sick, so he did not announce it. The Duke has decided to follow through with the Emperor’s decision. The Uncle’s retirement will be official next month. He must have sensed something, or perhaps a scribe told him.”

Since the Emperor’s sickness, the Duke had taken charge of collecting all petitions and state matters. When there were some urgent matters, he had made decisions on behalf of the Emperor.

“Of course, the Duke hates the Uncle.” And the Uncle would not be squeezed out easily; after all, he had made considerable contributions to founding the dynasty.

The Noble Lady nodded. “I didn’t tell you about this, Mei. A few weeks ago, I caught the Pure Lady conversing with the Emperor’s uncle during a gathering in the Outer Palace. She handed him a piece of paper. The old man read it rapidly and then spat on the paper and smeared the words with his forefinger. He nodded, agreeing with her about something.”

“Did you hear anything they said?” I asked.

“I did not. I didn’t give it much thought, but the way he smeared the words was peculiar, and I could not forget that afterward.” She paced in her room, looking thoughtful.

They must have been plotting then. “What should we do, my lady?”

“I know the Pure Lady never forgets a grudge. But planning a rebellion?” The Noble Lady seemed immersed in her own thoughts. “How clever she is to choose the Emperor’s uncle. The old man is bringing about his own doom because of his feud with the Duke. Now he hates the Emperor too.”

“He’s still powerful in the court.” Even the Chancellor seemed to side with him.

“That is why this is unthinkable.” Still in deep contemplation, she stroked the box that contained her spiders. It was not spring yet, and the weavers were not working for the season. “Did he say when they would revolt?”

I shook my head. “He said they’d send a signal.”

“What kind of signal?”

I shook my head again. Whatever the signal was, we had to find it before it was sent out.

“We need proof.”

That would be the challenging part.

“We must act quickly. I will talk to Ke. You must not tell anyone about your discovery.”

Since Taizi had been dishonored; Prince Ke was the most favored. If he proved the Pure Lady’s treachery, no doubt the Emperor would claim him as the heir.

I nodded. “I won’t.”

“It’s for your own safety.”

“I understand.”

“Meanwhile, you must keep an eye on who the Emperor’s uncle contacts and listen to their conversations if possible. You may learn more details about his plan.”

I was not certain I would do better spying this time. “What are you going to do now, my Noble Lady?” I would have liked to hear her thoughts, and if she could lay out her plans with me, that would have been even better.

“We must not waste a single moment,” she said, ignoring my question.

• • •

One afternoon, the Duke, who had come to see the Emperor in his bedchamber, ordered me to go to the Emperor’s library to fetch some ink and calligraphy paper. As soon as I turned onto the path near the building, I knew I was being followed. I walked faster. The large figure behind me walked faster too. I stopped and spun around.

The Captain.

My heart jumped to my throat. Had he seen me eavesdropping on the Uncle and the Chancellor? Had they ordered him to arrest me?

“Stop right there.” He stood before me, the purple patch spreading on his cheek like a shadow. He did not look as menacing as I had expected, but his voice was emotionless. “I have a message for you.”

I stiffened. “What message?”

He took out a roll of paper as small as my finger from his pocket. “It’s from your mother.”

“What?” I snatched it and unfurled the roll.

It was Mother’s handwriting. She was well. She had sought shelter in a Buddhist monastery. I covered my mouth, relief washing over me. “She’s safe! She’s in a monastery. A Buddhist monastery.”

I wondered where the monastery was. In China, the nobles studied Confucianism and worshipped Taoism, and Buddhism was a foreign religion that was looked down upon and appealed mostly to women, outcasts, and the lower class. There was no official Buddhist temples or monasteries in Chang’an, and the religion did not receive support from the Emperor or the palace. Relying mostly on themselves, the temples and monasteries were often located in remote places and remained isolated.

“Destroy it. Before anyone else sees it.”

“I will.” I composed myself. Secretary Fang had searched for Mother but found no trace of her. The Captain, the man in charge of the Gold Bird Guards, had nothing to do with the search. “How did you find her? Why are you helping me?”

“Not helping you,” he said, turning to leave. “Your mother found me. I knew your father. We went to war together. He was a good man.”

“Wait!” I followed him. “How can I see her?”

“You can’t,” he replied without looking back. “Leaving the palace without permission is against the Emperor’s law. I’m his captain. Don’t forget.”

But I had to see her, and I could not wait any longer. She was already at the age of Knowing Heaven’s Mission. If I delayed, I might never see her again.

How could I leave the palace? I could not ask the Emperor, who was still unconscious, and even if he were awake, I would not dare to ask him. Who could help me? I gnawed my knuckles.

I went to look for Eunuch Ming. I could not find him. “He died,” one eunuch told me when I inquired. “Stomach ulcer. Died two months ago.”

I passed the bustling servants who delivered hot water to the other ladies, and I paused. Of course. I could ask for their help. The servants who purchased the groceries in the market had the freedom to leave and enter the palace every morning. They used an exclusive entrance near the kitchen on the west side of the court, where neither ladies nor guards would set foot.

“I’m not going to the market tomorrow.” The pockmarked eunuch shook his head as he shuffled in front of a stove. “I can’t help you.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make it clear,” I persisted. “I won’t get you into trouble. I’ll wear kitchen staff’s livery when we leave. On our return, you can pile the vegetables on top of me. No one at the gate will know.”

“I’m too busy.”

“I’ll make it worthwhile, I promise.” I took out two silver ingots. He peered at me. I added one more in desperation.

“Come here at the hour of
chou
tomorrow.” He snatched the silver from me and stuffed a greasy robe into my hands. “Don’t be late. It’s a long drive to the monastery you want to go to, even with my mules.”

• • •

We left the palace three hours after midnight. By the time we reached the mountain outside the city wall, the dawn’s pale light shone on the edge of the horizon. I climbed out of the grocery cart.

The mountain was so immense, I could not see its top where the thick fog floated. Some steep, narrow stairs, covered with green moss, wound around the mountain and vanished behind towering junipers. And there, high on a cliff, perched a small building: the Buddhist monastery.

I climbed the stairs, imagining my reunion with Mother. We would embrace, we would laugh, we would cry, but most of all, we would be ourselves—a daughter and a mother. I thought of her tenderness and wisdom, and my limbs became alive with energy, and my heart pumped with happiness. Oh, how I missed her. Mother! My tree. My mountain. I should never part with her again.

I reached the monastery. It looked worse than it had in the distance. It had mud walls, a thatched roof, and the front door was a thin, wooden board where many termites crawled.

A nun with her hair wrapped in a skintight cap answered the door when I knocked. She was the abbess, she said, and she gestured to the back of the building when I told her I was there for Lady Yang, Mother’s maiden name. I passed the small courtyard and reached the kitchen door. There, I composed myself and then pushed it open.

Facing me was a small dining table, but no stools. Near it, a sliver of sparkling sunlight lit up a neat trail of dust on the dirt floor. In the corner, water bubbled in a pot. Its sonorous simmering almost soothed my nerves. Almost. Stooping under the low doorway, I held the door frame, my heart racing faster than when I had climbed the steep stairs.

I did not see Mother.

“May I be of service?” a voice asked near the cooking pit. A Buddhist nun put down a handful of dried mushrooms and walked to me.

“I’m looking for my mother. The abbess told me she was in the kitchen,” I replied, disappointed.

“We are all Buddha’s children,” the nun said.

Out of courtesy, I nodded, although I was in no mood for the religious talk. Behind the kitchen, someone dropped a bucket into a well. Perhaps Mother was fetching water. She must have worked as a kitchen helper while she sought refuge in the temple. Hardly containing my excitement, I bowed to take my leave.

“You’ve grown up to be a true gem, a woman with astounding beauty and grace,” the nun said. “Your father would be so proud.”

My head hit the door frame. “Mother?”

She looked shorter, and her long hair, into which I had often buried my face, was gone. Her face, which had refused to shed the tears of a hard life, looked leathery and bore marks of the sun and the wind. She looked so different from the graceful noblewoman I had remembered, but she was indeed my mother.

I threw my arms around her. I had been lost, and now I was home.

“It has been so long.” Mother patted my back. “Five years, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I nodded. So many things I yearned to ask her. Why had Qing banished her? How had she come to the temple? Had she heard anything from Big Sister? “I was so worried about you, Mother. What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like this?”

“I have found profound comfort and solace in following the path of Buddha. Five years of solitude draws me closer to nature and far from the human world. I did not expect to see you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again either, Mother.” I touched her cheek. “You’ve lost weight.”

“And you have grown.”

“I know.” I gazed at her, preparing for her next question. She would ask me about how I was doing at the palace. “Everything is fine,” I would say. But she did not ask. Instead, she went to a small niche above the stove where families prayed to their ancestors. Her hands pressed together, she closed her eyes and murmured.

I stared at the small figurine sitting in the niche. Tears blurred my vision. Mother had not forgotten Father; she kept his altar in the temple’s kitchen.

“I must confess something to you, Mother.” I went behind her.

She would be disappointed, but she had to know: I would not become the empress.

“To him, the true warrior for all souls.” Mother pointed at the white figurine in the niche.

It was not Father, but rather a monk, sitting underneath a tree with leaves shaped like palms. “When he returns, he’ll bring salvation and spread the true messages of Buddha. He shall deliver us all.”

The pious tone of her voice stunned me. Mother had become a devout Buddhist nun. I bit my lip.

“Buddha returns?”

“No,” Mother said. “The great monk. The warrior who broke the Tang’s law to embark on a pilgrimage to India, the birthplace of Buddha. His only companion being a horse, he will return and bring us the true words of enlightenment and nirvana. I pray for that day to come.”

I squeezed out a smile to please her. But in my heart, I wanted her to love me, not an unknown monk. “Don’t you want to know how my life is in the court, Mother?”

“You don’t remember him, do you?” she said, as if not hearing me, and her fingers busily pushed the wooden beads of her rosary. “You’ve met him. Tripitaka.”

I remembered the name. “Yes.”

“When he left for Buddha’s land years ago, he passed by our home. Your father asked him to read our family’s future. It was he who foretold your future and your father’s death. Do you remember?”

Of course I did. I turned away to stare at the bubbling pot. “Did you know, Mother.” I swallowed. “Father died because of me.”

The beads stopped flowing.

“I could not remember it all these years, but now I do. It was not an accident. I was there when the beast came. Father died to protect me.” I choked on my words. “It was my fault. If he had not died, we still would have lived in Wenshui. Little Sister would have been alive, and you, you would be home too.”

“You were there?”

“Forgive me, Mother.” I buried my face in her lap, unable to keep back my tears. “I brought down our family.”

“So that was why he cried out for you.”

“What?” I raised my head.

“Your father came to me in my dreams. Your name was the only one he mentioned. That’s why I asked the Captain to deliver the message to you, so I could talk to you. I met him in the market. He and your father fought in the war together. He remembered me.”

“What did Father say?”

“Father said not to blame you.”

I gazed at her. “He…forgave me?”

“I did not understand that at first. Now I do.”

I burst out in tears again. “That’s all? Did he say anything else?”

She shook her head.

I sniffed. A weight lifted off my shoulders. “He forgave me…just like that?”

Nodding, she stroked my hair. “Let all that was gone be gone. Worry no more, child.”

Tightly, I hugged her. She was all I had, and I wanted to stay with her, sweep the floor with her, fetch water from the well, cook for her, eat with her, watch her hair grow, wash her stole, and talk to her until we fell asleep.

“You should return to the palace,” she said gently.

“What about you?”

“I’m happy here.”

I straightened and looked around the dirt floor and cracked walls.

As though reading my mind, she said, “When you’re older, you will understand this—what happiness means. It is an illusion men promise to deceive themselves. I have learned so much from Buddha. All people lead a life of torment and suffering, from infancy to death, and after death, the souls suffer an eternity to make amends.” Her fingers pushed the beads of her rosary. “It’s true, child. Life has no worth, no meaning, no happiness.”

I drew back. “What about family? They are not illusions. They mean something.”

“What do they mean? Family, children, love, and honor. Where do they lead us?”

I could not find a word to say.

“They are only secular ties and deceiving vanities that pull us like a yoke and force us to mill. Remember, in the end, nothing is important, and all return to dust.”

“Dust?”

“I pray all shall come to peace. I pray all the lost shall be found.” A chant came at the door. The abbess appeared, her hands pressed together. Mother rose and returned her a similar gesture.

I watched them. Their motions were smooth, their expressions calm and identical. Mother did not need me. She did not need my embraces, my love, or my protection. She was at peace, on her own terms. Or on Buddha’s terms. It did not matter.

After a while, I bowed to Mother and the abbess. I wished them good health, promised I would visit again, and took my leave.

I stepped out of the monastery. The opaque mountain mists shifted around me. A falcon screeched over my head and vanished in the stands of mountain pines on a distant cliff. I thought of Father, his forgiveness, and Mother’s retreating to the religious world, and slowly I walked toward the stairs.

Under my feet, only a few flights stretched, the rest hidden in the thick clouds of mists. A single misstep and I would plunge into the rocky depth.

But I understood it now. Somehow, sometime in our lives, we all needed to find a path through the clouds of our destinies and walk down. Alone.

Slowly, I descended the mountain stairs.