The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology) (33 page)

Lights—shining and brilliant—pierced my eyes. Dots of red, green, and orange swirled before me. It was morning. The sky looked clean, tinted with a shade of indigo the silkworm workers used to dye the threads. For a moment, I thought that what had happened the previous night was a nightmare. Then I looked around me.

A forest of head-pierced stakes sprouted in front of me, while sharp blades, severed limbs, and headless bodies littered the ground. A few paces from me, some guards, holding their legs, groaned; near them the ministers, their hats askew, their beards speckled with blood, slumped against the wall, like me; and farther along were the ladies and eunuchs, their arms supporting one another, limping along the wall.

We had survived, but we would never be the same, or feel the same, or think the same of the life in the Inner Court again.

“Hey, there,” a voice said beside me. His hands held my shoulders.

“Pheasant.” I faced him, my heart warm with happiness. “You’re here. You saved us. You came! I was so worried about you.”

“It’s over.” He slid down the wall to sit with me.

“I know. I saw it all.”

“I was too late.” He drooped his head, his face speckled with blood.

I touched his sleeve. “What happened to you? Why did Taizi say he did not see you?”

“I was kidnapped by the Pure Lady’s men, right after I left you.” He grimaced. “I thought they would kill me. But the Captain came out of the feasting hall. The men were frightened. They hid me behind a tree and tied me up. I don’t know why the Captain would go to the Eastern Palace—”

“I told the Emperor about Taizi’s plot.”

“You did?”

“Please don’t be angry. I was worried about you.”

“I suppose I must thank you. If you hadn’t, the Pure Lady’s men would have killed me.”

“So the Captain saved you?”

He shook his head. “He didn’t see us. But the lady’s men saw him and were worried something was wrong. Two fled to warn her, and the rest ambushed the Captain. Only one man was left to watch me. I kicked his manhood when he was distracted and escaped. I came across the Captain so I told him about Taizi’s plot.”

It was then he heard the bell tolling from the watchtower, Pheasant said. He knew the palace was being attacked, but he did not know it was Prince Yo, and while he fought against the rebels with the Captain, the Emperor had ordered the Duke to hold the front gate and had gone himself with his uncle to subdue Taizi. But the Uncle deceived him, leading him directly to the Pure Lady and Prince Yo.

I gazed at the guards who were throwing some bodies into a wheelbarrow. I recognized the Pure Lady’s gown. The body of her son, Prince Yo, was next to her.

“Where is Taizi?” I asked carefully. Somehow I pitied him. Unlike Prince Yo, he was not evil. Perhaps he had never even cared about the throne; perhaps he had cared about his lover more than anything. He had made a choice too, and Pheasant was right to love him.

“The imperial physicians are caring for him right now.”

So he had survived. I hoped he would recover soon. But he would need to pay, either with his life or something else.

Pheasant stretched out his legs. With the wall against our backs, we stared at the gruesome scene without saying anything. He reached for my hand.

“What a night,” he said. “So many lost their lives. Is this worth it?”

His words, tinged with sadness, drifted in the air. His face was serious and weary, marked with lines of determination and sorrow that did not belong to his age. I wished I could say something to make him feel better.

“I don’t know,” I said.

He squeezed my hand.

“And the Emperor?” I asked finally.

Pheasant nodded at a group of people under a tree. They hoisted up a stretcher upon which the Emperor lay. He had lost his hat, his robe was torn, and his whiskers, curled in a sad shape, stuck to his cheeks. When the porters passed us, I could see he was trembling, his right hand bent awkwardly to his chest, his eyes closed. Then suddenly, he opened his eyes and gazed at me. Instantly, I looked away and shied away from Pheasant, my throat tightening. Would he order my death?

Nothing.

“I have to go.” Pheasant rose. “Will I see you…again?”

Of course. I would run through a forest of fire to meet him if necessary. I wished to tell him just that, but then I remembered the people around me. I dipped my head. “Yes, Prince Zhi. Yes.”

He walked to follow the stretcher, a waterfall of golden lights covering his back like a cape. Near him, the branches of the elms and oaks swayed gently. A soft whistle rang as a gust raced down the street, sending a wave of fetid air toward me. I covered my nose. When I put down my hand again, the breeze had changed to a breath of fresh morning air.

Greedily, I inhaled. Thinking about Pheasant’s question, I asked myself,
Is it worth it going through all this trouble for him?

I had risked my life and pleaded with the Emperor. I had stumbled across the blood-soaked ground. I had watched people lose their heads and knelt before a tree stump, waiting for my own death. I had almost been beheaded. I had survived, and the Emperor had simply gone away.

It was worth it. I had made my own destiny.

Before me, the sky brightened, the hue of indigo dissolving, replaced by an intense shade of milky white.

• • •

Soon after, the punishment for the rebels was announced. The Emperor’s uncle was beheaded, along with all his immediate family, including his wife, his wife’s family, his concubines, his concubines’ families, their children, their grandchildren, and their families. Their family’s estate, their wealth, their titles, and their yearly allowances were confiscated.

The Pure Lady’s entire family line was eliminated. All of her blood-related kin—her parents, her grandparents, her siblings, her siblings’ families, their children, and their children’s families—were beheaded.

On the day of their deaths, I heard, the execution grounds in the Western Market were flooded with rivers of blood.

Because Pheasant begged for Taizi’s life, the Emperor banished him to the southern edge of the kingdom, where he would live in oblivion, but at least he was still alive. His household, however, was disbanded, and all his women and servants became slaves. All his associates, tutors, aides, and even the wrestlers invited to his bouts were all beheaded.

I heard Chancellor Wei Zheng had died that night too, but no one seemed to be aware of his involvement in the revolt, and the Emperor decreed a generous funeral and sent condolences to his family. Secretary Fang had a minor injury to his shoulder. It took him a month to recover.

The Duke survived. When the Emperor ordered him to hold the front gate, he had taken some guards with him, but by the time he’d arrived, the gate had already been broken into. He had been forced to pull back and never quite faced the rebels himself. Nonetheless, he was rewarded for his stalwart support. When I saw him days later, he did not have a scratch or a bruise on his face. I suspected there was more to the story as to what really happened that night. Perhaps he had hidden in a latrine.

I told Prince Ke about his mother. The poor prince’s delicate face crumpled, and his willowy frame doubled over. When he went to fetch her body, he cried like a child. My eyes growing misty, I recounted to him how brave the lady was at the moment of her death. I did not tell him what she had said about poisoning Jewel. It was better for him not to know.

The wind of the rebellion did not die off easily. A few months later, one of the Emperor’s vassals in the northeast, a Koguryo general, encouraged by the rebellion, murdered the obedient boy king the Emperor had groomed and proclaimed his own dynasty. The Emperor, infuriated, decided to start a punitive war and led the army himself. Unable to mount a horse, he put on his breastplates and a cape, hiding his useless right arm, and rode in a cushioned carriage to the eastern border while he ordered the Captain to lead with the cavalry.

The Captain proved to be the most vital force on the battlefield. His cavalry broke through the rebels’ front line, leaving many dead and entire villages engulfed in fire. In three months, he took over ten forts, driving the Koguryos all the way back to the heart of their land. It was said that the Captain was so fierce, the mere mention of his name would send the rebels fleeing. But when the army arrived at Anshi Fort, the final stronghold of Koguryo, the army was threatened with food shortages and brutal winter weather and was forced to withdraw. Finally, the Emperor returned home, without touching the rebellious general’s flag.

Nonetheless, a song of victory was sung across the kingdom to praise the Emperor’s valor and supremacy. Indeed, the Emperor had taught his vassals a lesson, people said, and the ministers cheered.

But the Emperor, haggard, sickened by the weather and rough traveling conditions, would never walk on his own again. Unable to see well or stand on his own feet, he was carried in a stretcher draped with thick curtains when he attended the audiences, and for the next two years, he spent many months in a mountain spa in hopes of regaining his health.

When he was well enough, he took Pheasant with him to the Audience Hall, and he asked Pheasant to sit with him, dine with him, and together they watched polo games and laughed.

Naturally, people whispered. Would the Emperor name Pheasant his heir?

For the disgraced Taizi had died in exile, and with two sons gone, the Emperor had to choose one among his remaining sons. Two were toddlers, and the others were borne by women with low ranks; thus, they were out of consideration for the throne. Only Prince Ke, Prince Wei, and Pheasant were serious contenders. Both princes, Ke and Wei, were senior to Pheasant, and the succession rule favored them, but Pheasant had saved the Emperor’s life.

“Of course, Prince Zhi shall be the heir. He saved us, every one of us,” I once heard the sweepers saying under the eaves. “What did Prince Wei do?”

Even the Duke made a formal petition to the Emperor. It was time the kingdom chose a new heir, he said, and the heir should be the eighth living prince, Prince Zhi.

And then, on a warm summer night, after the Emperor returned from the mountain spa, for the first time since the rebellion, he ordered all of us to attend a feast. Even though he did not declare it openly, his meaning was clear.

He would announce his heir.

the
Twenty-Second Year
of
Emperor Taizong’s Reign
of
Peaceful Prospect

SUMMER

The music of zithers, lutes, flutes, and chime bells filled the hall, and Lady Obedience, leading a group of dancers, twirled in the open space between the tables. The feasting hall was crowded with ministers, princes, titled ladies, and servants.

Sitting near the end of the hall with the other surviving Talents, I peered at the Emperor. He slouched at the feasting table in the center of the hall, for he was easily tired and could not sit for long periods these days. He wore a bejeweled mortarboard, the crown reserved for audiences in the Audience Hall, and his face, clouded with grave sullenness, remained crooked. But he looked somber and at ease.

My heart clenched in anticipation. Would the Emperor choose Pheasant? Would he announce it now?

The three princes, Prince Ke, Prince Wei, and Pheasant, sat near the Emperor, but as it had often appeared lately and against the traditional seating arrangement, Pheasant sat closest to the Emperor. And the Duke, who had often been serious and scowling, grinned, his hawkish nose looking less sharp. I wondered if he had succeeded in persuading the Emperor to choose Pheasant as the heir. He certainly wanted that, for he was his uncle, and he would be a powerful man if Pheasant became the Emperor.

Secretary Fang sat with the other ministers. They ate heartily, although they looked expectant, their eyes flicking from the Emperor to Pheasant, Prince Wei, and then Prince Ke. Even the servants, pausing in the midst of serving, cocked their heads, glancing from the Emperor to the princes.

The only person who seemed detached from the crowd was the Captain. Standing a few paces behind the princes, he was not eating, nor was he looking at anyone. His purple birthmark smeared across his face like a pool of dried blood, he stared at a pillar silently. I wondered what was in his mind. During the rebellion, his sword had slashed many rebels’ throats, and it had slashed more when he broke into forts in Koguryo. The Emperor had promoted him, praising his might and loyalty. He was now the General, the commander of all armies in the Four Garrisons, ninety-nine legions of Gold Bird Guards, and all the cavalry. He was the sharpest sword the Emperor would ever have.

I looked at the titled ladies gathered around me. None of them were smiling, but they all looked calm, as though they were not concerned about the announcement of the heir. I thought of Pheasant’s wife, Lady Wang, whom he had been married to for almost three years, and Rain. Both were living outside the palace and had not been invited to the feast tonight. If they had been here, they would certainly have been excited.

The servants placed some saucers filled with cooked leeks, stewed donkey meat, and slices of marinated tiger meat on the Emperor’s table. The leeks would improve his appetite, and the meat would repel evil spirits and lift his mood. But he did not touch them. I was not surprised. He had long lost interest in eating, and these days, he dined only on soft, glutinous rice cakes.

Finally, the Emperor cleared his throat. The hall quieted, the music ceased, and only the scent of food and wine drifted through the air.

“Ministers, I have gathered all of you to witness the crucial moment of our kingdom. I shall announce my heir today and show the kingdom what a capable son I have.” The loose skin on his right cheek swayed visibly, and his voice was a slow, slurred drawl. Those who had not seen him lately would have been surprised at his indistinct voice, but I could tell he had put great effort in enunciating the words, and I could also tell the effort was costing him strength. He was having a hard time catching his breath. “From this moment on, our kingdom shall rejoice, for I declare one of my sons has proved himself, for all his valor and honesty, as a worthy heir of mine. Come up, Pheasant.”

Pheasant hesitated. He looked around, pushed away his food, and slowly, but steadily, walked to the Emperor’s table.

My heart raced faster. I had mentioned the rumor of him being the heir when we were alone together, and he had shrugged it off. But the moment had come.

“Look at all these people; look at their faces, Pheasant. And remember them. They are your servants, your advisers, your family. Understand them, understand them well, for one day, you will need their help to rule. Everyone”—the Emperor, his hands shaking as usual, held Pheasant’s shoulders—“here, I give you my heir, the future Emperor of Great China.”

The crowd roared. Waves of praise poured out of their mouths, and joyous shouts filled the hall.

My heart bloomed with happiness. Pheasant. The future Emperor of Great China!

But he looked shocked, and a shadow of panic raced across his face.

“What do you say now? You have made me proud, Pheasant,” the Emperor said, his voice less grave, his face softening with what looked like a smile. “Now sit with me and drink.”

A servant filled a goblet with some wine, and Pheasant drained it. “Father, ministers.” He paused. “I hope I will not disappoint you.”

“Praise our prince!” Secretary Fang stood and bowed. “It is our fortune to have a valiant heir!”

The other ministers all bowed, beaming with joy. Pheasant bowed back to each of them, one by one, and when he was done, he straightened, smiling, looking relaxed.

The Duke ordered the musicians to play again, and immediately, the hall was alive with the notes of zithers. Colorful ribbons whirled, and long dancing sleeves twirled. Everyone nodded, praising what a wise choice the Emperor had made.

The Duke laughed. Of course he was pleased. His enemy was dead, and Pheasant, one of his nephews, was the heir. Pheasant would be kind to him, paying him the respect and prestige that was due to an elder. And with the Emperor still unable to hold a calligraphy brush, I suspected the Duke would be indispensable for a while.

My heart swelling with happiness, I sat and watched. I wished the Noble Lady could have been there. She would have been surprised, but she would have been gracious and given Pheasant her blessing. I knew she would.

Rain, and Pheasant’s wife, Lady Wang, would rejoice too when they heard the news. I had yet to meet Lady Wang, but I would meet her very soon, whether I liked it or not, because once the announcement of Pheasant as the heir was heard by the whole kingdom the next day, both Lady Wang and Rain would relocate to the Eastern Palace, and Lady Wang, as the wife of the heir, would take over the Eastern Palace.

A few hours into the feast, the Emperor retired. The candles dimmed, the servants yawned, and the ministers fell asleep at their tables. When no one seemed to notice us, Pheasant nodded at me and slipped out. I followed. We went to a corner near a bamboo grove behind the hall.

“Ah, so good it’s quiet here,” Pheasant said as I sat next to him. The wall felt cold against my back, but I could feel the warmth from Pheasant’s arms.

“My emperor.” I dipped my head toward him.

He took a flask from his belt and sipped. “This is madness, isn’t it?”

He did not look happy. I searched for his eyes. “You will make a righteous ruler, Pheasant.”

The Emperor had once said Pheasant could not rule the kingdom because he had too much love. But he was wrong. An emperor with love did not rule a kingdom; he conquered it.

“I don’t know… It’s a serious business to rule a kingdom, Mei. I did not wish to believe it when they talked… But now…”

“You saved us. You saved everyone.”

He shrugged. “Anyone would have done the same, not just me. But Father doesn’t think so. He wants me to be the heir. He is adamant. He will announce the news to the whole kingdom tomorrow. He even promised me that he would build a Buddhist pagoda for my mother, as I requested.”

“Buddhist pagoda?”

Pheasant nodded. “Yes, I want to pay respect to her. My uncle recommends a Taoist abbey, but I want a Buddhist pagoda. After all, she was a Buddhist, and I think she would like to have an official Buddhist building dedicated to her.”

I turned to him, touched by his kindness. Buddhism, after all, was not a popular religion in our kingdom and was looked down upon by the nobles, but if Pheasant wanted to honor his mother and offer his support, perhaps people’s view of the religion would change. And many Buddhists, for sure, would benefit from that. I remembered the monastery where Mother stayed and how it was falling apart. “That is a fine idea, Pheasant. I am certain people will like that.”

“I hope so. The years have been hard on us. The rebellion, wars…”

“I know.” I sighed, leaning back. So much had happened. So many people had died…and I had nearly died too, and now Pheasant was the heir. Who would have expected that? For all the talk, the prophecy was wrong after all…

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I was thinking about the prophecy.” When I had overheard the Uncle talking to the Chancellor, he had mentioned the Wu Man, and he had believed it was Prince Yo…

“Don’t believe it; it’s just gossip. If it had been true, Prince Yo would have lived.”

“You’re right. He was not the one.” I considered the clue again. The Wu Man, the Uncle had said. Could it be possible I was the person who would end the Emperor’s reign and rule the kingdom? Could it be possible that Tripitaka’s prediction about my fate, made so long ago, was correct after all? But then why had the prophecy mentioned a man? I did not understand it, but the thought of me being the one in the prophecy was frightening. I shivered.

“You look like you’re freezing. Come on, drink. You will warm up.” Pheasant handed me the flask. “What do you say we finish this?”

I decided to forget the prophecy. “Is that a challenge?”

He laughed. “Do you wish to have some food? I bet you are hungry. I did not see you touch anything.”

“I was too happy.” He was right. I was starving. I drank some wine and gave back the flask. “I want to ask you something, Pheasant. Will you tell me the truth?”

“What do you wish to know?”

“What will you do when you become the Emperor?” His father was stable, for now, but the rebellion and his ride to Koguryo had crippled him. It was possible he would never recover…or he could have another mysterious attack, and then he might never wake up. The forbidden thought leaped into my mind, and I hastened to smother it.

Pheasant gulped some wine and wiped his mouth. “I will make your wish come true. Any wish.” Then he put up one finger.

“Only one?” I laughed. The sensation of the alcohol, or perhaps the prospect of a beautiful future that I had never imagined before, brewed in my head.

“Yes, make it good.”

“I would like to have a copy of
The Art of War
.” I wanted to read the master’s words again and explore all those direct and indirect methods. Who knew? I might understand them better this time.

“Done. I shall steal it for you.”

“I’m counting on you,” I said. “But seriously, is this what you’re going to do when you’re the Emperor? Steal?”

“No, of course not. I will order you to drink the whole flask, get drunk, and lie down with me.”

I did not get a chance to speak before he pulled me into his arms. I gazed at him. A surge of euphoria filled me, and my head felt light with sweetness. I raised my head to kiss him. He tasted like wine, but he was stronger and more savory than any spirit.

After a while, we lay together, our arms behind our heads. It was so dark, and I could see only the two red lanterns near the feasting hall. Flute notes lingered and drifted toward us, growing faint, and finally it was lost in the wind.

“Look.” I pointed up. “There is the moon. So bright.”

In the sky, the stars blossomed like silver flowers floating in a black river, and the clouds flowed slowly, like spilled ink. The full moon, bright and serene, cast a luminous net around us. What a fine night it turned out to be.

“Remember once when we were in the garden?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I told you about the story of Chang E, who wanted immortality rather than her husband. You said she was foolish.”

“I said that?”

“You forgot?”

“Well, I still think she is. But never mind that now.” He stroked my shoulder. “When I become the emperor of the kingdom, you will be the empress. The empress of bright moon.”

I turned to him. What about his wife, Lady Wang? But I knew Pheasant did not care for her, and he looked so serious, and I knew I should trust him. “You mean it?”

He squeezed my hand and nodded.

I smiled. His voice wove around me like a spell of promise. The empress of bright moon. I liked the sound of that. Father would have liked it too. I was twenty-two years of age. It was not too old to be an empress, was it?

Above my head, the stars flickered like shiny seeds. Near them was the moon, inside which the fabled palace radiated. It did not look so lonely or distant; in fact, it looked closer, and it seemed to walk toward me, approaching me, beckoning to me. All I had to do was reach out and touch it.

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