Empress

FOUR

One afternoon in the spring, the groom entrusted a Turkish colt to me. The wild animal charged around the outdoor manege, whinnying, jumping, but however furiously he twisted and lurched, I stuck fast in the saddle. When he slowed down, exhausted, I reinforced my every order with a crack of the whip.

I did not realize that this commotion had attracted a good many spectators. When I leapt to the ground, a eunuch ran over and told me that Princess Sun of Jin and the King of Jin wished to give me their compliments.

On the far side of the enclosure, I found a girl in boy’s clothing, and the young king, who wore a tunic of willow-green brocade embroidered with golden lions over a second tunic in daffodil yellow. The princess’s eyes shone, and she could scarcely conceal her admiration. The king flushed as he accepted my greeting. He had beautiful elongated eyes and was shy as a little girl.

The princess, a happy fluttering creature, chattered constantly. She asked me the secret of my courage, then she wanted to know everything about me: my name, age, and position. The king listened. When he heard that I was from Bing, he emerged from his silence and told me that the sovereign had appointed him the great governor of that glorious province.

“When my noble grandfather, Emperor Lordly Forebear, was a mere military governor, he encouraged his children to practice the martial arts,” he confided solemnly. “And so, when he rose up against the Sui’s corrupt Court, my honorable sovereign father, my uncles, and my aunt, Princess Sun of Ping, brandished their swords and rode at the head of their armies. As the descendant of those intrepid warriors, I am preparing to conquer the world. When I am older, I shall subjugate the Barbarians of the dark kingdoms, and I shall impose China ’s supremacy over the entire world!”

The young king’s ambitions were in contrast to his slight frame and the fact that his forehead was still covered by a youthful fringe. But I looked into his face-the face of a dreamer-with envy. I too would have preferred to die on a battlefield than to wither slowly in the Side Court.

“May we call you Heavenlight?” asked the Princess. “Father calls me Little Bull and my brother Little Phoenix.”

She turned to the king and asked: “Heavenlight could use those secret names? Would you agree?”

“I give you my permission, Talented One. But do not tell anyone.”

The gynaeceum had produced fourteen sons and twenty daughters for the Emperor. Two of the boys had died very young. In keeping with Court custom-ever wary of pretenders to the throne-the remaining princes were required to leave the Inner Palace as soon as they received the royal seal, and they went to live in their official residences in the noble district of Long Peace. But Little Phoenix and Little Bull were the children of the Empress of Learning and Virtue. Her untimely death had robbed them of the only protection they had in the Forbidden City. United in their grief, they had become inseparable. The emperor had taken pity on them and had made a special decree allowing the young king to prolong his stay in the Inner Court.

I did not know what had led the other to me, and I could not explain how this friendship began, but it would become a pact of life and death. The princess was nine, the prince eleven, and I was fourteen. They were fascinated by my strength and saw me as an idol, a protector. I sympathized with their bereavement, which reminded me of my own. I missed Little Sister. I would give my time and my patience to this princess to appease the sorrow.

I shared a love of horses and archery with Little Phoenix. Together we plotted the routes of his future expeditions across geographical maps. Through him I lived my dream of being a man, of being strong and free. In time, this weakling who strove to look so aloof and proud admitted to me how alone and afraid he felt. His elder brothers had left the Forbidden City. The eldest, who was his full brother, was ensconced in his Eastern Palace playing the part of an authoritarian Supreme Son. He would not tolerate being outshone by his younger brothers. The favorites in the gynaeceum tried their best to distance Little Phoenix from the sovereign, who was so busy with affairs of state that months could go by without his speaking to the boy. Little Phoenix was shy and self-effacing. He had to settle for living in an imaginary world where he now included me in his great conquests overseas.

Puberty is a fleeting moment of beauty. When Little Phoenix was fourteen, he lifted his fringe from his forehead and tied his hair in a topknot. After his coming of age ceremony, the ministers pointed out to the sovereign that it was no longer suitable to keep this man in his gynaeceum. Little Phoenix left us and went to live in his royal residence. A few months later, he arrived at the Outer Court in the robes of an imperial official and began taking his part in political life. The Great High Princess of Shared Peace arranged his betrothal to one of her granddaughters, a young lady of high birth from the Wang clan in the province of Bing, whose grandfather had been a Great Minister in the Wei dynasty of the west and whose uncle had recently married a County Princess.

After her beloved brother left, Little Bull was a broken creature. My young princess was wasting away, and I was tormented by her cruel question: “Why does human life have to mean constant separation?” The day the king was married, Little Bull shut herself in her room and spoke to no one. She weakened under the weight of her melancholy. As the winter began, she succumbed to a violent fever; three days later, she escaped to the heavens.

I saw the king again when her body was ceremonially placed in her coffin. He had grown: Beneath the white linen tunic, it was now a man who wept in sorrow. He appeared at the far end of a path even though I was trying to avoid him. His voice now had the deep resonance of an adult’s.

“I killed her,” he said, stamping his feet in anguish. “I killed her!”

We were both guilty; we had both been loved. I forgot propriety and cried with him in the whistling wind.

The snow of my eighteenth year fell around us and covered the ground.

BEYOND THE NORTHERN Gate, the Imperial Park -the vastest domain under the heavens-stretched out to the west, its forests teeming with game and its rivers rich in fish. In the autumn, when the sun-scorched leaves turned to ochre, the ground reverberated to the sound of horns and drums, making dogs bark and tamed leopards roar. Horsemen bearing banners and standards appeared like the furious clouds of a rainstorm. The banners would part, and the emperor would appear beneath his yellow satin parasol, astride his favorite mount, drawing back his bow adorned with gold carvings. When he galloped like this, his solid body seemed to lose its weightiness and become lighter. The Master of the World was supple and agile; he was once again the invincible hero who had subjugated the Empire by force of arms.

Banquets were held on the banks of the river. Whole boars and stags were spit-roasted, and bets were taken on the Turkish generals as they wrestled, stripped to the waist and oiled with animal fat. Kings and ministers took part in Tatar-style dancing, and the Emperor deigned to beat out the rhythm on a tambourine.

On that particular day, drunk and in high spirits, His Majesty called for the horse called Winged Lion, which had been a gift from the King of the West. Generals and captains came forward in turn, each hoping to drink from the cup promised by the sovereign to whoever could master this huge beast with the golden mane. Drums rolled, and the enraged Winged Lion snorted and bucked, arching his back and launching himself into a full gallop only to stop dead in his tracks, throwing his rider to the ground.

Cries of amazement and disappointment filled the air. Inflamed by this cruel game, the Emperor ordered for his sleeves to be rolled up and prepared to take up the challenge. The Great Ministers threw themselves to their knees:

“His Majesty must take care of his divine self.”

“It is not acceptable for the sovereign to put his life in danger.”

“The sages would condemn such foolhardiness.”

“Majesty, do not forget your responsibilities to the State!”

Unsure how to proceed, the Emperor tapped his foot on the ground and looked around him.

“Well, is there no one who can master this horse?”

Hearing these words, I stepped forward and prostrated myself on the ground.

“Your servant requests permission to try her luck!”

For the first time, the sovereign turned his eye on me. Amazed and amused, he asked: “My generals were unable to control this beast. Young girl, are you not afraid to die beneath my mount’s flailing hooves?”

I replied more calmly than I would have believed possible: “Majesty, creatures of violence must be mastered with violence. I shall make so bold as to ask for three tools: a whip, a hammer, and a dagger. First, I shall give him a lesson with the whip. If he disobeys me, I shall blow him on the head with the hammer. If he still rebels, I shall slit his throat.”

The Emperor roared with laughter. He praised my attitude and told the Supreme Son that it was an excellent metaphor for the strategy he applied to the Tatar people. The very next day he summoned me to serve in his inner palace. Dressed in man’s robes, with my tablet and ink pot attached to my belt and my calligraphy brush through my topknot, I joined the ranks of the secretaries.

THE PALACE OF Precious Dew was displaying its beds of irises and orchids. With its ceilings as high as the vault of the heavens, its curtains of pearls, its screens inscribed with calligraphy, and its succession of sinuous galleries, it was a labyrinth of intrigue. Its countless doors opened onto a little corner of sky, a sloping roof, a window in the shape of a crescent moon, a rockery smothered in the twisted limbs of a wisteria or an emerald pond around which white cranes flitted. Each of these ingenious touches meant that every guest felt that the Son of Heaven favored him alone.

From my position behind screens of gauze and sliding doors, I could watch the endless streams of jealous concubines and princes hoping to find recognition. Taoist monks and doctors argued over the pile of immortality. When ministers and generals appeared and disappeared at the entrance to secret passageways, I knew that, somewhere in the Empire, rebel heads would roll.

The poetess Xu was having difficulty standing up to the combined forces of her rivals. Following her miscarriage, the Delicate Concubine had withdrawn from the Emperor’s entourage and now led a sad and solitary life. The Gracious Wife was still struggling valiantly to maintain the sovereign’s favor. I was now half a head taller than the woman who had introduced me to the delights and horrors of love. Her eyes had lost their languid mistiness, and her leaden face exhaled an air of repeated debauchery. Her sugary words were sibilant nonsense. I could not believe that I had been enslaved to this monster.

But I had learned to play games the way women do. So as not to have her as an enemy, I flattered her with well-placed lies. My promises kept her desires at bay, and I no longer abandoned myself to her. First love is a crossing to another world.

I sometimes met Little Phoenix, who came to offer his greetings. He would manage to shake off the following of eunuchs and slip away with me behind a column or a tree. He would give me secret presents bought at peasant fairs: a wooden comb, a terracotta doll, a little horse made of sugar. These very ordinary trinkets were priceless in our Inner City. In exchange for his presents, he insisted that I listen to him describe his inextricable affairs with his young mistresses and I give him my advice. I watched my king growing up with a heavy heart. He was no longer the fevered adolescent who dreamed of magnificent battles against the Barbarians. His adult life was a succession of female conquests in which any feeling of glory disappeared the day after the victory. Still dissatisfied in his search for an ideal woman, he abandoned himself wholeheartedly to pointless suffering and transient happiness.

He too was a prisoner of the forced inactivity of the imperial court; was there a better drug for him to find than love?

One afternoon Little Phoenix appeared at the entrance to the manege where I was schooling a horse. He called for his usual mount and galloped over to me.

Still far away, he called: “Did you know that the King of Qi, the son of Wife Yin, has led a revolt against Sovereign Father? He’s killed the Governor Delegate of his province-kingdom and proclaimed himself Emperor. Sovereign Father is furious. His ministers have approved an immediate repression. The armies of nine counties are marching toward the rebel cities!”

When he was closer to me, I could see tears on his cheeks.

“This morning at the Emperor’s audience, my elder brother, Supreme Son, and my second brother, the King of Wei, each accused the other of being allied to the insurgent. I thought they were going to fight before the sovereign. Heavenlight, my brothers are going mad!”

The Supreme Son and the King of Wei, who was second in line to the throne, were both born of the Empress of Learning and Virtue, and their rivalry in the Imperial City went back to their childhood. As the Emperor grew older, he was losing patience with the eldest, who preferred debauchery to study, and his affection was turning to the younger son who seemed more serious and intelligent. Seeing his title threatened, the heir became even more bullish and vindictive. As he drew close to his goal, the King of Wei became increasingly nervous and vapid. Their hatred for each other spread throughout the Court, and partisan clans had formed. Both camps slandered each other before the sovereign who, distressed by the conflict, could not reach a decision. The heir wanted his younger brother dead to secure his position; the King of Wei cursed his elder brother who held a place he did not deserve. Each of them secretly resented the sovereign for defending his adversary, and each of them was quite capable of seizing the throne by launching a coup. Princes turning to fratricide and usurping thrones was the curse of our dynasty!

Little Phoenix interrupted my thoughts: “After the audience, the heir’s carriage held mine up as we turned a corner. He demanded that I speak ill of his enemy in front of Father. Later, I received a visit from the King of Wei in my palace. ”Neutrality is a sign of weakness punishable by death,“ he told me. What should I do? How can I take either part? They are both guilty of sowing the seeds of unrest in the Palace. One of them is colluding with the rebels and has betrayed us. Heaven-light, I don’t want to be involved with any plotting and scheming! I’m afraid!”

I tried to reassure him: “Your uncle the Great Chancellor Wu Ji, the brother of the honorable late Empress, has the sovereign’s ear. In the past, he took his Majesty’s part when he confronted his brothers; today he best understands the tragedy of the situation. The sovereign is too closely involved to act, but I know that he has instructed Lord Wu Ji to conduct a secret enquiry. Soon we shall know the truth. Your brothers are trying to frighten you. They are the ones who are dying of fear! Don’t trouble yourself; no one will have time to do you harm.”

The atmosphere at the Palace of Precious Dew darkened. The Emperor was sullen and silent; he refused his favorite entry to his palace and condemned his servants to beatings for the least oversight. At night he would call for a slave, a little sweeping girl he had discovered one day, and this provoked acute indignation amongst the Court ladies.

The rebel province was overcome by the imperial army’s attack. The King of Qi was brought to the Capital in chains. A decree from the sovereign stripped him of his position, his title, and his nobility. Now deposed, reduced to the state of commoner and imprisoned, he received the order to commit suicide.

The enquiry conducted by Wu Ji revealed a conspiracy against the sovereign led by the heir and supported by members of the imperial family and high dignitaries. In prison the Supreme Son confessed his crimes. He lost his title and the right to wear the insignia of nobility. His eldest son was stripped of the mandate of Imperial Grandson. Both were exiled. Their chief accomplices were the King of Han, who was the sovereign’s brother; the prince consort Dou He, whose father had been one of the twenty-four veterans who founded the dynasty; the son of the High Princess of Vastness Zhao Jie; the Minister for Human Affairs; and Ho Jiun Ji, the great victor of the Gaochang War. All of them were imprisoned and had to wait until the autumn for their capital punishment. Except for the imperial princesses, the female members of their families became slaves in the Side Court. Their male descendants were granted the Emperor’s clemency; he did not want to see any more heads severed. They were whipped and banished to the south of the Mountain of the Extreme.

Little Phoenix would come to me in the middle of the manege and confide his distress in me. He was deeply affected by this series of condemnations and seemed more helpless than ever. One day he broke down in tears.

“There are arrests at the audience every day. The guards rip the headdresses and ivory tablets from conspirators, then drag them from their places amongst the officials. My heart beats so fast I fear I will pass out. Heavenlight, all these men have sworn loyalty to the sovereign-how can they break their word? My uncles and aunts grew up with Father; why are they trying to assassinate him now? If it had only been Elder Brother who rebelled, I might understand. But why these crowds of traitors, these hordes of conspirators? People have always said that Father is a good and fair ruler and that he is one of the best sovereigns the Empire has had. Why would his inferiors want to overthrow him?”

“Highness, from the snatches of conversation I have overheard between the sovereign and his confidants, I have learned that most men are hungry for power and wealth, that the smallest promise of obtaining them can make men change their minds. Ambitious men like that confuse their own interests with the future of the Empire and cannot distinguish between a good sovereign and a bad emperor.”

My explanation was not enough to calm Little Phoenix. He went further: “I have also heard that half these people are condemned without proof. They are guilty simply of being the friends of the conspirators. Why has Father become so cruel!”

“Highness, promise me you will not say those words before anyone else. You must silence these thoughts in front of your brothers. Your compassion might be denounced. You in turn would be suspected of being allied to the conspirators.”

“Oh, Heavenlight, I regret Empress Mother’s death more than ever. She would know how to soften Father’s harshness and how to heal my uncle’s murderous madness!”

“Highness, wipe your tears, you who dream of being a conqueror, do not be conquered by pity. The sovereign must defend his crown for he has built a powerful empire and made the people happy. Tomorrow, free of these troubles, he will strive again for the prosperity of the dynasty. Compared to this substantial task that benefits millions of individuals, the hundred or so men who are to be decapitated count for nothing!”

Little Phoenix sighed: “Now that my brother the King of Wei has removed his opponent, the title of heir automatically falls to him. He’s a suspicious man, a grudge-bearer. His accession will be the beginning of the end. He will kill all his brothers to keep his crown.”

“The Emperor has not yet announced the name of his successor. This delay proves that he is hesitating, that he has another possibility in mind.”

“What could this other possibility be? The King of Wu, the son of Precious Wife?”

“You, Highness!” I cried indignantly. “Your uncle Wu Ji, the head of the Great Ministers who faithfully keeps alive the memory of the Empress of Learning and Virtue, would never let the child of an imperial concubine accede to the throne. Your heart is pure and your generosity vast. You would be a good and fair sovereign; you would bring prosperity and peace to the Empire.”

Terrified, he shook his head. “There is such madness in your ideas! The King of Wu has been reciting poems since he was four years old. He is the child prodigy, Father’s favorite. I’m just an ordinary prince. I have no desire to reign. My brothers are fascinated by power, but it disgusts me. I would prefer the perilous campaigns of an army commander, far from the plotting at Court. I shall go and talk to my uncle who knows Sovereign Father’s intentions. I will concede my place to the King of Wu.”

“From his mother’s side, the King of Wu bears the blood of Emperor Yang of the overthrown dynasty. He will never be sovereign of ours. If you speak now to Wu Ji, head of the Great Ministers, he will think that you are actually maneuvering to be given the title. It is too soon to guess the future and too late to act. Let life decide this for you!”

A few days later Little Phoenix’s destiny played itself out in the most extraordinary way. The dismissed prince wrote to his father from prison: “… Your servant had already been distinguished with the position of heir, what more could I ask for? Slandered and persecuted by the King of Wei, I sought advice from my counselors to find peace. It was these men and their intrigue that drove me to criminal means… If Your Majesty now appoints the King of Wei as successor, you would be fulfilling the wishes of an underhanded man who will have achieved all he was scheming for…”

After reading this, the Emperor realized that nominating the King of Wei would encourage all the princes to covet the title of heir, and the Empire would not know another moment’s peace. The Great Minister Wu Ji then suggested the King of Jin to the sovereign. He was the ninth imperial son, but the third to be born of the late Empress. Little Phoenix, until then forgotten, became the perfect candidate, and the Court, bowing before Wu Ji’s power, upheld him unanimously.

The King of Wei was stripped of his dignity and exiled to the county of Dong Lai. Little Phoenix was proclaimed heir: He rejected the responsibility but, as refusal was all part of the ritual of imperial nomination, no one realized that his intention was very real. When he wanted to offer his title to the King of Wu, the ministers praised his modesty. In the confusion, Little Phoenix received the seal of Supreme Son.

The sovereign had the following pronouncement inscribed in the Imperial Records: “When the heir strays from his duty and when the king plots to have him removed, both fall from grace.”

WHEN THE NEW heir took up residence in the Eastern Palace, one of his concubines brought a son into the world. At sixteen, Little Phoenix was blessed with every earthly happiness.

I congratulated him, and he replied with a melancholy smile.

“I wanted neither the child nor the title. Both events caught me unawares. When I look at myself in the mirror in the morning, I cannot understand why I already have descendants. In Court, after the audience, dignitaries, and minister gather around me, some ask for my opinion; others give me their advice. Before, great ministers could walk past me as if I were transparent. Now they give me deep bows and invite me to their banquets. Even Sovereign Father has changed. Only yesterday he was distant and treated me like a little boy. Now he showers me with his warmth and attention, as he did with the King of Wei before his downfall. Heavenlight, I don’t recognize myself. I feel I have slipped into a stranger’s body.”

“Little Phoenix, the world has not changed. You have grown up. You are no longer a child lost in dreams. You have become a man, a man of destiny! The sovereign has offered you the seal of the future. With your hands and your thoughts, you will rule the world-you will change it. You will be able to wipe away the lies, to right the wrongs, and spread goodness and compassion!”

“Heavenlight, your words are reassuring and encouraging. But when I am far from you, I lose my confidence again. All this responsibility is beyond me. I am not educated enough; I know nothing about politics. The fact that there are three councils, six ministries, and twenty-four departments gives me a migraine. Amongst all the uncles and brothers and the aunts and sisters who are rushing to offer their loyalty, I cannot tell who is a friend and who is an enemy. I don’t think I am intelligent enough to recognize the traitors and liars who are twice, three times, even four times my age. I’m frightened of people. I will never be ready to reign.”

“Confidence has a long apprenticeship,” I consoled him. “Like physical strength, it is accrued with experience and exercise. You have modesty and lucidity, two qualities that are essential to becoming a good sovereign. Fear nothing, Highness; the Emperor is keeping watch over your education. The Great General Li Ji is your tutor; he is an honest and devoted warrior. You shall be a great sovereign if you do not retreat in the face of difficulty.”

“All this means little to me. I would be the happiest of men if I could have you by my side,” he said, looking deep into my eyes.

“Highness,” I replied in amazement, “I am already by your side!”

“Heavenlight, are you so very blind?” he asked and ran away.

I was filled with a sweet sadness mingled with anger. I remembered the first time we had met: The boy had been smaller than me. Now he was taller than me and wore the beginnings of a mustache. Was I so very blind? Little Phoenix had become a man. He was no longer a little boy seeking the wisdom and consolation of a sister; the feelings he now nurtured for me were a man’s. He saw me as a woman!

The heir found a thousand excuses to visit the Palace of Precious Dew. He tried to catch my eye, but I avoided him and lowered my eyes. As a Talented One of the fifth rank, my body and soul belonged to the sovereign even though he had never honored me. Little Phoenix was expecting an incestuous affection from me that I could not grant him. How had he dared confuse me with those poor women he had seduced and promptly abandoned? How could he allow himself to consider me as an object of amusement and distraction? I wanted us to be connected by an undying friendship, and he was offering me a transient love that would fade with time.

He managed to follow me to the private washroom. He stood blocking the doorway and spoke: “Why are you hiding yourself? Why don’t you want to speak to me? If I have behaved tactlessly, please forgive me!”

I avoided his eyes and said: “Before, your Highness was a child, now he has become and man and is heir to the Empire. The Ancients say that a man and a woman should keep a respectful distance. I no longer wish to speak freely with your Highness. Let me go.”

“Talented One, you are so formal with me now! Why are you so cold and unkind? And I think of you every day. Here, look, I’ve been to the market to buy the quince jelly you like so much. Don’t you know that since Little Bull’s death you are the person dearest to me? Heavenlight, be kind, give me a smile. Tell me you’re not angry.”

Hearing him speaking like that, I thought I might have misinterpreted his intentions. I regretted being susceptible and ate the delicacy he had put in my hand.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

My conversations with Little Phoenix had lost all their spontaneity. Now that he was Supreme Son, he was careful about his clothes and makeup. His tunics were sumptuous garments gleaming with pearls and precious stones. His face, with its light dusting of powder, looked even more pure and delicate. The perfume he wore made my heart beat faster, and I often forgot what I wanted to say to him. Somewhere deep inside I felt a new kind of happiness. For the first time in that Forbidden City, someone was showing an interest in my life and my death. Little Phoenix said that, without me, he would never overcome his fears and his weakness; he did not know that, without him, I would be just one more unhappy soul among the ten thousand women growing a little older every day in the Inner Palace.

In the Eighteenth year of Pure Contemplation, the kingdom of Korea invaded the kingdom of Sinra on the peninsular. When the King of Sinra called for his help, the Emperor decided to set off on a campaign against our hereditary enemies, the Koreans. On the fourteenth day of the tenth moon, the ceremonial regiments, the imperial guards, the government, and the gynaeceum escorted the sovereign to the eastern capital, Luoyang, where an army of one hundred thousand warriors was to gather.

As the horses galloped on, I looked through the curtains of my carriage and could see troops maneuvering in a cloud of dust on the horizon. That night, the imperial bivouacs stretched out over the entire plain that was turned into an ocean of light by the countless camp fires.

One night, when I was taking out my topknot before the mirror, someone raised the curtain to my tent without asking to be announced. I recognized the heir, wrapped in a thick fur coat. Seeing him, Ruby and Emerald prostrated themselves and withdrew. I understood too late that they were accomplices to this reckless act. The heir was already sprawling on a cushion behind me. He was agitated and told me how he had stepped over drunken servants and slipped through the guards.

I begged him to leave. But he protested: “As I’ve been unable to flee my retinue during the daytime since we left the Capital, it is now half a moon since we have seen each other. Tonight, I decided to take a risk because I have come to tell you something important.”

I could see him in the mirror, still trying to catch my eye. I stood up, put on my coat, and made for the door. He caught the hem of my tunic.

“We are alone. My people are watching the door. No one knows I am here. Listen to me first, then I shall leave.”

“Well then, please, may your Highness move further away from me and sit down.”

Little Phoenix went and sat obediently in a corner. I sat facing him at the far side of the room. He looked at his hands on his knees and said nothing. I watched a candle spilling its tears, and I too was silent. Suddenly he looked up.

“Heavenlight, I am to have a second child.”

I was about to congratulate him when he said: “Those women don’t count. There is only one person who fills my days and nights,” he said, and then lowered his voice before adding, “she is not like all the women at Court: the bland, formal, calculating women. She is spontaneous as a horse, pure as a river, free as the air. I venerate her, and I fear her. I suffer when I think I cannot be one with her.”

He broke off. His eyes were like two dancing flames in the half darkness. Outside the North Wind blew, and one of the watchmen struck the gong. It was late. Then he suddenly started stammering: “I want to teach you what true pleasure is. I know that you would like the abandon, the excesses. I’ll be gentle with you, you’ll see. And you would slowly become a woman. You would be the most beautiful woman in the Empire!”

Tears came to my eyes, but my voice was hard: “Go, Highness. What your Highness is doing is improper.”

He stared at me for a moment, then stood up and slipped away.

LUOYANG, THE EASTERN capital. Along the avenues icicles hung from every roof, and the trees were covered with buds of frost. The River Luo was frozen, a long, winding sigh reaching up to the weary sky. In the Forbidden City, only the winter plum trees braved the cold with their subtle fragrance. I stayed in the pavilions with my hands inside my sleeves and my feet up against bronze heaters, and I learned news of the outside world from the eunuchs. It seemed that regiments had come from the four corners of the Empire and had set up camp beside the town. Their garrisons had turned the countryside into an ocean of banners and horses. Accompanied by the heir, the Emperor would climb to the highest point of the Southern Gate and take command of the soldiers’ training sessions.

At the beginning of January, the peripatetic monk Xuan Zang returned, and this delayed our armies’ departure. After covering tens of thousands of lis and living for seventeen years traveling the western kingdoms, he came back to the eastern capital laden with sacred manuscripts gathered in the land of Buddha. The Emperor received him during his audience, covered him with gifts, and appointed him master monk at the Temple of Immense Felicity. The Precious Wife invited Xuan Zang to the Inner Court, and he stepped up onto a stage of lotus flowers where he gave a speech about the Buddha of the Future, Maitreya, who had promised to be reincarnated on Earth to guide millions of believers toward eternal peace.

But the Emperor and his generals were more interested in the victories of this world. The sovereign was already armed with his golden breastplate threaded with red laces and was leaving Luoyang by the Southern Gate. Three thousand musicians played the tune of the Glorious Departure. Lances, axes, and tridents gleamed; horses and carts whipped up dust that swirled for days without settling.

In the sovereign’s absence, the heir took over regency from his Eastern Palace, and entry to our gynaeceum was forbidden to men. News of the war reached us through screens and partitions. Our squadrons had wound their way up the coast and reached Korea. The city of Peisha fell, and eight thousand Koreans were taken prisoner. The troops of my benefactor, Great General Li Ji, crossed the River Liao and laid siege to a port. The army commanded by the sovereign had met with more grim resistance. The Koreans were brutal warriors and adept archers, and they defended their territories with all the energy of despair.

Neither the war cries nor the smell of blood breached the high walls of the Forbidden City. Spring came back to Luoyang. Court ladies set out in little groups to enjoy picnics by the banks of the river. Peach trees scattered their petals, and carefree peonies rustled in the wind. In the master’s absence, the jealousies and intrigues had stopped, but the favorites began to tire of this peaceful, untroubled existence. I missed Little Phoenix. This separation meant he was with me with every breath I took. Women no longer satisfied my soul’s desire, and their constant, insistent attentions only made me more obsessed with my absent brother.

In the ninth moon, the chrysanthemums in the Palace of Luoyang vied with one another in beauty and insolence. In the north of the Empire, a precocious winter had already set in. Snow fell thick and deep. The cold wore down our soldiers who were still in summer dress; the Emperor was forced to lift the siege, and the army retreated toward the central lands. The arduous crossing through swamplands exhausted the men and their horses. Accompanied by a light cavalry, the heir rode out to meet the sovereign, only to find an ailing man and a defeated conqueror.

The Court returned to Long Peace in the third moon of the following year. Spring had returned, but the Emperor was still bedridden. Every two days, the heir received the morning salutation in his Eastern Palace. The rest of the time he fulfilled his filial duties by his father’s bedside. In the Palace of Precious Dew, we were almost never apart. Being together again was not as joyful as I had imagined. When I was far from him, I hugged the image of him to me. When he was close, I despaired that I would never cross the invisible barrier that separated an heir from a Talented One. I struggled with a thousand contradictory feelings and preferred to say nothing and suffer in silence.

One night the wind changed for the worst, and the sovereign became paralyzed down one side of his body. He grew even more irritable and suspicious. From where he lay in the depths of his palace, he imagined plots brewing in the Outer Court where, he claimed, his prolonged absence was kindling usurpers’ ambitions. He asked Wu Ji to conduct investigations, and the persecutions began again. Soon, a great many imperial officers and state officials were condemned to be beheaded.

Fearing that the Supreme Son might be intriguing against him in his Eastern Palace, the Emperor ordered Little Phoenix to move to the Palace of Precious Dew and to sleep close to his own bedroom. To give some comfort to the prince who was now far from his own concubines, he sent him the most beautiful virgins from his gynaeceum every night. In the evening, before the doors were closed, I watched in despair as these women were conducted into Little Phoenix’s pavilion surrounded by lanterns and torches. I would go back to the Side Court along dark pathways. The trees rustled and tears rolled down my cheeks for no reason.

ONE AFTERNOON, WHEN I was waiting in the sovereign’s bed chamber for him to wake, Little Phoenix appeared and dragged me forcibly behind a screen. He put his arms around me. Unlike women’s arms that were supple and soft, his were strong and muscled. He held me against his chest, a hard flat surface like carved stone, so that I could hear the rapid beating of his heart. He lay his head on my shoulder and his cheek against mine. His tender young beard tickled my skin, and I heard him whisper: “It’s you that I want. It’s you I make love to every evening.”

Little Phoenix deflowered me during the course of a journey to a summer palace. Despite our precautions, our liaison could not escape the watchful eyes of those who spied behind curtains, nor the ears that lingered behind doors. But the Emperor now never left his bed, and the heir regent was all-powerful. Instead of denouncing me, the eunuchs and servant women flattered me as a way of pleasing the future sovereign. I never knew whether the Emperor got wind of the rumors. It seems likely that this lady’s man, who had once taken wives from his own father and brothers, was quite indifferent to an attachment between a son of his and an anonymous Talented One. The imperial Court was a world of constraints and contradictions: It was easy to die for a mistake, and it was easy to break a taboo.

While the Emperor still had plans to invade Korea, his life was slipping away. His belly swelled up like a mountain and made him howl in pain. But this intrepid warrior defied his suffering and dictated an entire book, The Art of Being Sovereign, to his heir. As I stood beside the door awaiting orders, I could hear his dark, determined voice reverberating. Memories of war and political tactics were intertwined with moral and philosophical reflections. The sentences punctuated by groans of pain; the heroic silences and the eerie sighs made me falter with admiration and sorrow.

In the Side Court, people whispered secretly that the astrologers had foreseen a change of reign in this twenty-third year of Pure Contemplation. The favorites removed their jewelry and ripped the pearls from their tunics. They gave their treasure to eunuchs who were financing services in the four corners of the Empire to pray for a miraculous recovery.

There was much talk of the future. But was there any future for the concubines of a dead sovereign? The mothers of kings may have been able to join their children posted in the province-kingdoms, but ordinary women had to choose between living in the funerary palace of the August Deceased, becoming nuns in monasteries, or dying alone in the Side Court.

The heir swore that he would offer me another life. He talked to me of a sumptuous palace and an elevated rank. I did not believe his naive promises. When the sovereign finally floundered along the river of this life, his treasures, clothes, horses, and the laughter of his women, all these beauties, would have to sink with him into the shades and into oblivion. Would Little Phoenix have the strength to save me while a whole world drowned?

Not believing his end was near, the Emperor continued to travel. He escaped the heat of summer in the mountains of Zhong Nan and the frosts of winter beside hot springs. The imperial caravans swayed, lulling weary bodies and awakening the senses. At night, the heir would disguise himself as a eunuch and slip into my tent. He caressed me softly and sweetly. But only very rarely did I let myself succumb to pleasure. Terrified by a fear I could not name, I wept in silence and feigned happiness. After he left, I would lie awake for hours with my eyes wide open. I denounced myself for feeling something. I was afraid of conceiving a child. I was horrified by the thought that I secretly longed for the sovereign’s death. I dreamed of that deliverance even though I knew I would always be a slave to the Forbidden City. I hated myself for using my body as a bargaining tool: I was copulating with the heir to ensure my own future. But could I have any legitimacy in that future thanks to an act of incest? When Little Phoenix held me tightly in his arms, I resented his selfish desire that made him deaf to my distress. As soon as he was far from me, I forgave him for being my downfall and loved him with all my strength. He was my only hope.

The news spread through all of China: The Emperor was in his final agonies. The people were terrified, and inflation began spiraling because of ill-considered buying and because merchants started stockpiling cereals, salt, and bolts of brocade. Our spies in the west and the north spotted movements of the Tatar cavalry regiments. The Empire was waiting for a seismic event, our enemies their hour of victory. Amid all this agitation, I watched my own metamorphosis with displeasure. My breasts were growing, my cheeks had become chubbier, my mouth fuller. My body was ignoring my own unhappiness: I had become beautiful just when beauty would no longer be of any use.

On the twenty-sixth day of the fifth moon in the twenty-third year of Pure Contemplation, in his summer Palace in the Zhong Nan Mountains, the Emperor of the Yellow People with Black Hair completed his earthly mandate and rose up to the heavens to sit amongst the powerful gods. The sun hid behind the clouds; Earth was plunged into darkness. For twenty-seven days, the Imperial City groaned with tears and prayers, and the various ceremonies-calling the Emperor’s soul, bathing him, the clothing ceremonies, laying him in his coffin, and the official closing of the coffin-were carried out with unprecedented pomp and splendor.

On the first day of the sixth moon, in his Eastern Palace, the twenty-two-year-old heir succeeded the late Emperor by putting on the imperial tunic painted with the twelve sacred symbols and by wearing the crown with twenty-four tiers of jade pearls. The music for the celebrations sailed over the red walls and hovered along the deserted galleries of the Inner Court. Bronze bells and sounding stones intoned the knell of his wives and concubines. Stifled tears and pious prayers escaped from every gloomy little room where the scarlet wall hangings had been covered over with white fabric.

I stayed at the bedside of the Delicate Concubine Xu, trying to persuade her not to let herself die. Beneath her linen sheet, she weighed little more than a feather. She spat blood and was wracked by violent coughing. She reached out for me with her frozen, bony hand. We talked endlessly about our first few years in the Side Court, the Institute of Letters, and the late sovereign. I begged her to receive a doctor. She smiled and gave me no reply. I could see in her eyes her determination to follow the master into the next world.

She died a few days later, and her death buried once and for all the intrigues between the Precious Wife, the Gracious Wife, and all the imperial favorites. Rivalries and alliances, loathing and attraction had been dissolved. Their existence had been a pointless tragedy, just as the talent of one prodigious poetess had been.

Every woman in the Forbidden City -beautiful or ugly, intelligent or foolish, refined or vulgar-was fragrant dust. The whirlwind of history would carry them away, making no distinctions.

THE SOVEREIGN HEIR gave the late sovereign the posthumous title of Emperor Eternal Ancestor. The man who had ruled the vastest empire under the skies had lost his final battle. Heroes are damned. No mortal conquers Death.

In tears, the imperial concubines packed their bags. After the sovereign’s burial, they had to hand over their palaces to the new Emperor’s mistresses. The Precious Wife and the Gracious Wife followed their king-sons and exiled themselves in distant provinces. Other favorites resolved to take their vows. Oppressed by sadness and uncertainty, I tried in vain to contact Little Phoenix. He was now the all-powerful Emperor of China. From now on his friendship was a favor over which all men and women would fight. I had written to him, but he had sent no reply. His first wife would soon be recognized as Empress; his mistresses would leave the Eastern Palace and come to live in the Middle Court with their own intrigues. I would have no place in that horde of younger, more beautiful women. Why should I stay at the Side Court and wait for an unlikely summons from a man who would be surrounded by ten thousand beauties?

One night, in my dreams, I saw the peripatetic monk Xuan Zang sitting in the middle of a lotus flower. His eyes stood out from his weather-beaten face with the incandescent brilliance of the sun. When I woke, I understood that Buddha had spoken to me through this image. I had been an apprentice nun at just seven; I was afraid neither of discipline nor of abstinence. A visionary monk had revealed my spiritual vocation to Mother: I should go back to the monastery.

On a date decided by the astrologers, the Emperor raised a great parade and left the Forbidden City. More than one hundred thousand people followed him and made their way to the Mountain of Nine Horses, where the imperial tomb had just been completed. One thousand soldiers drew the imperial hearse, and behind it Little Phoenix and his wives, the ministers and princes, and the princesses and concubines of the August deceased formed a river of white tunics.

One night I was woken by a bustle of activity outside my tent. Two people lifted the curtain and put two lanterns on the ground. A third person came in but was not announced. I rose quickly and prostrated myself before the Emperor.

“Heavenlight,” he said. “I am so sorry I have been silent. My uncle Wu Ji is making my life impossible! With the funeral arrangements, electing a new government, and drawing up peace treaties with Turkish tribes, I don’t have one quiet moment.”

My throat felt constricted.

“I’ve missed you,” he went on. “In my most difficult moments, I have often thought that if you had been by my side, you would have advised and comforted me. Heavenlight, I have come to tell you that I have not forgotten you. I beg you to be patient. Another month or two apart, and we shall be together all the time.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“Too late, Majesty. After the funeral, I have to go to a monastery.”

The smile vanished from his face. He was so taken aback he could not speak.

“Majesty, you signed the authorization. I received Your Majesty’s decree and his gift three days ago.”

“Do you think I read everything I sign? How could I know your name was among the list of concubines who were leaving? Why are you behaving like this? I wanted to be with you until the skies fall in, and you abandon me already!”

Prostrated on the ground before him, I wept.

“Majesty, your servant belonged to the previous Emperor. My inclusion in Your Majesty’s household would have caused such a scandal that Your Majesty’s reputation would have been blighted: It would not be long before people found out that our liaison began when the previous Emperor was still alive; Your Majesty would be accused of abusing his father’s trust. Your Majesty has just taken command of the Empire. Those who harbor dreams of usurping the throne would use slander such as this to weaken you. If Your Majesty is determined to lead his empire to prosperity, then he must forget me!”

“Heavenlight, why did you give yourself to me? Why did you let me believe that we might stay together forever? What does this crown matter! I never wanted to be Emperor. If you become a nun, I shall abdicate, shave my head, and become a monk in the neighboring monastery.”

He clasped me tightly in his arms.

“Heavenlight, I beg you, don’t abandon me. I am the Emperor. I do as I please. I shall execute all those who are against us. I command you to obey your master, your sovereign: Stay, Heavenlight, stay by my side!”

Little Phoenix ’s words wrung my breast with pain.

“Let me leave, Majesty,” I cried. “Leaving this secular life is a kind of death that erases all the impurities of the previous life. There I shall observe the twenty-seven months of mourning. Day and night I shall pray for the soul of the late sovereign. After that time, Your Majesty may call me back to the Palace. Coming out of the temple is a rebirth, and no one would be able to contest my legitimacy. Majesty, it is our only hope!”

The Emperor wept. But he knew that once I had made up my mind, nothing could sway me. He sighed and lay down beside me. With my head on his chest, I listened to his heart beating. I could carry that music to the ends of the earth!

I did not close my eyes all night. My own determination tortured me. Time fled by in the darkness; soon it would be dawn, and this night would be a mere memory. In this world of constant change, who could promise me a happy reunion after my ordeal?

I HANDED OUT my jewels, dresses, shawls, and furs. I offered my trinkets and furniture to the eunuchs. I burned all the love letters, the melancholy calligraphy, and the handkerchiefs still perfumed with the tears of women who had been my lovers.

In the Monastery of Rebirth, I cut my hair-a great black river streamed to the ground. My head was shaved, I was stripped of my clothes down to the last silk undergarment, and I was wrapped in a tunic of black cotton. In the bath I scrubbed myself furiously to erase every trace of my past life, the heady smell of sandalwood, musk, and irises. I renounced everything, abandoned everything. I was prepared to suffer annihilation to be reborn.

As soon as we arrived, the Great Nun lectured the novices: “Children, my women are answerable to a father and his changing fortunes. As adults, they attach themselves to a fickle husband. Sometimes abandoned, sometimes adulated, wracked with jealousy and sick with suspicion, women die of sorrow; they slip away in childbirth and are struck down by illness. Man is woman’s enemy! Fathers barter and haggle to marry us off. Husbands lie and exploit us. Children betray us and kill us! Noblewomen, townswomen, peasant women-all of them are like beasts of burden pulling the cart of a pointless existence. Never think that living out that sort of existence will set you free for your future life. Without prayer, without Buddha’s help, the lives to come will be an eternal repetition. I am often asked how a woman can obtain her freedom. I reply that a woman’s freedom begins when she understands the word ”independence‘-refusing the softness of silk, the delights of fine food, the bands of passion and the enslavement of motherhood- renouncing pleasures, longings, and illusions! Forget your breasts that nourish only sorrow, forget your bellies that conceive only crime, reject the soft caresses that are the source of all pain. Breaking with the home, with men, and with pleasure is the first step toward deliverance!“

I learned later that this Great Nun had been a favorite of Emperor Yang of the overthrown dynasty, and the nuns in the monastery had all served emperors. To erase all memories of Court and to repent of its sins of vanity, the community applied the strictest laws. The imperial annuities that arrived every month meant we could survive in misery. We were forbidden visits by relations or to write letters. We were forbidden to speak to one another or to meet-except during prayer times. There was a constant succession of lectures and confessionals. The senior bonzes, elderly withered creatures themselves, toiled to extract the youth from our bodies as if it were gangrene.

The wind howled a mournful funeral song. High walls as white as shrouds surrounded the temples with their curved roofs. There were scrubby clumps of grass along the path where we let the sheep and goats graze. There were no mirrors, no sheets of gold. There was no face powder, no perfume, no laughter. There were no birds in cages, no red carp in bowls, no soft silken carpets, golden floor tiles, marble basins, or pillars of fragrant wood. There was no red, or pink, violet, or yellow. Wan was the color of nuns, black the soot from the tapers, gray the cotton dresses, blue the sky, and green the forest that hemmed us in.

My bed was a plank of wood. No more meat or wine, no more drunken happiness, no more poetry improvised by moonlight, no more musical instruments being played, no more picnics beside the river, no more cranes flying upward, black silhouettes against the velvet skies. Every night without these pleasures chafed me. Their gloomy silence incited me to tortuous meditation.

The first winter was harsh. I was cold. Ruby and Emerald, who had followed me and become nuns, had chapped hands from washing my clothes in freezing water. I stole the lamp oil to rub into their wounds. Morning prayer was held when it was still dark. We recited the sutra, a muted droning, despite the bouts of coughing. In the palace, we had been served five meals a day; in the monastery, the nuns were allowed to take meals only in the morning and at midday. I was possessed by my hunger all afternoon. I missed the horses and, without books, I could no longer escape.

I was called Perfect Clarity. My face as it had been in my previous life faded in my memory. Without mirrors, the other nuns became my reflection: bushy eyebrows, dry skin, walking skeletons.

During the second winter, an epidemic swept through the monastery, and I came down with a violent fever. For days on end, I saw the monastery as a funereal city peopled with ghosts. I called for Little Phoenix. I begged him to take me away from the kingdom of the dead. Hugging a beautiful concubine in his arms, he would say: “Heavenlight, you left me. You wanted to be exiled. You cannot blame me if I forget you.”

When I came back to my senses, the bells were ringing and funeral orations filled my ears. Since the monastery forbade the use of medicines and healed the sick with prayer, the scourge had taken the lives of some twenty bonzes. Would I be the next to be inscribed on the list of the dead? Down to the depths of my entrails, I could feel Mother’s pain now that she no longer had news of me. If I were to die, would this pious woman who had known every misfortune be able to confront her suffering simply by fingering her rosary beads?

Buddha blessed me with a miracle. I survived that winter by drinking tea. When I finally recovered, it was already springtime. The sun that dazzled me then was no longer the sun of yesterday, and I was no longer the same person. Something in me had been burned out. I no longer felt any desire. I was no longer hungry, and I no longer hoped for anything. The sutras seemed intelligible to me now. I started studying Sanskrit and prepared to undertake a great imaginary pilgrimage to discover the origins of Buddhism.

A huge ceremony of offerings was addressed to the late emperor’s spirit, bringing an end to the period of mourning. Ruby and Emerald started waiting by the gates, looking out for messengers from the Palace. Days passed, months drifted by, their impatience wore thin, their hopes dwindled. Little Phoenix, Master of the World, had forgotten me. I was no longer sad, but Ruby and Emerald wept in secret, and my only regret was that I had led them into this tomb in which they were buried alive.

I had just turned twenty-eight, the age when a woman should break with her illusions of a better life.