Empress of Bright Moon Read online

  I put down the robe, went to the door, and peered out. In the dark corridor, a group of ministers waited. Rain showered their long robes, and their faces were painted red by the light of lanterns hung from the eaves. Secretary Fang was speaking with Sun Simiao. He straightened as Pheasant approached. When Pheasant spoke to him, he glanced at the bedchamber and nodded. The Duke threw up his hands.

  Daisy came to me. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, hesitant to tell her too much. “The Duke wants to banish us to monasteries.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  A wave of voices burst forth as the other Talents gathered around me.

  “We will have to become nuns?”

  “Did our Crown Prince order that?”

  They buried their faces in their hands and sobbed.

  Oh, women. What else could we do but sob when our fate was in other people’s hands? But I would not cry. Not ever. “Our Crown Prince will not banish us.”

  Pheasant was still talking to the Duke and the Secretary. The Duke gestured vehemently, shaking his head. Pheasant held up his hand and walked toward the entrance to the courtyard. The Duke looked frustrated. He opened his mouth again and turned toward the entrance, where a large figure loomed near the gate. The Duke froze.

  Even though it was too dark for me to see the man’s eyes and the purple birthmark on his face, the way he held his sword was unmistakable. The man near the gate was the General.

  He had long ago been promoted to command the ninety-nine legions of the Gold Bird Guards and all the cavalry in the kingdom. He had been the Emperor’s loyal servant, and after the Emperor’s death, he would serve Pheasant.

  Pheasant greeted the General. The Secretary followed after him, and together they walked to the end of the corridor, where they tipped their heads together and spoke quietly, sheets of rain falling on their shoulders.

  The Duke stood stiffly, and the ministers around him left to join Pheasant and the Secretary as well. The Duke was alone, standing under the eaves, the lantern light casting a long shadow near his feet. For the first time since the Emperor had fallen ill, I could see that the powerful Duke, the Emperor’s assistant for more than three years, was losing his influence.

  It was for the best. Since the Emperor was about to die, the Duke had to go too. I had never liked him. He was cruel—like the Emperor, devious, and also a man lusting for power.

  I liked Pheasant’s merciful plan for his father’s concubines. People would be overjoyed once it was announced. But what about me? I had no home to return to. Since I came to the palace at the age of thirteen, I had been living here for almost eleven years. The palace was my home now.

  I went to the Emperor’s bedside. He looked the same, his mouth open, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. A sound, half gurgle, half groan, rose from his throat, as though he was having trouble breathing, then ceased. Was he dead? My heart stopped. But then his chest rose again.

  The Duke appeared on the other side of the bed. “Ungrateful son, ungrateful, ungrateful!” He gritted his teeth and cursed, his hawkish nose shining in the candlelight like a honed blade. There was something ferocious and calculated in his eyes. Something furtive and disturbing. He caught me watching him and gave me a cold stare. I lowered my head.

  When I dared to look up again, he had disappeared.

  A hot wave of unease rushed through me. The Duke must not be ignored. I had to warn Pheasant. He was not crowned yet, and he had to be cautious, for the death of his father could create a crack in the ladder of power, and if he did not watch it carefully, the crack could expand, the rungs could split, and the entire ladder could collapse.

  2

  It was midnight. The room was dark, the only light coming from the two candles near the Emperor’s bed. Near me, the other Talents dozed in the corner, but I was sleepless. Several physicians came to examine the Emperor again.

  I took the opportunity to slip to the door and peered out the window. The courtyard was masked in darkness as well, and no one seemed to be there. I searched and found the Secretary on the other side of the corridor. He was talking to several ministers under the lanterns. The Duke and the General were not around, and Pheasant was walking toward the privy chamber.

  Quietly, I made my way to the Talents in the corner and shook Daisy’s shoulder. “Daisy, wake up,” I whispered to her, my eyes on the physicians standing around the bed. “Watch the physicians and let me know if anything happens.”

  Yawning, she nodded.

  I took the robe I had been embroidering and hurried down the corridor. Some eunuchs appeared near the compound’s gates. They wiped their wet faces and turned toward me, probably waiting for the news of the Emperor’s death. I put my nose in the air, holding the robe above my chest to show them I was on an errand. When I reached the privy chamber, I glanced around to make sure no one was watching me and pushed the door open.

  The chamber, filled with the scent of camphor and frankincense, smelled more pleasant than the Emperor’s rank room. Pheasant was washing his face near a basin.

  He raised his head toward me. “I’m glad you came, Mei. Did you hear what the physician said?”

  I nodded and put down the robe on a nearby table. “I did, and I am sorry, Pheasant.”

  “It is perhaps for the best.” He sighed. “My father has suffered enough.”

  I turned around to fetch a towel for him. “But, Pheasant, I have to tell you this. Your uncle came to see your father while you were talking to the General.”

  “You look worried. Why?” He took the towel from my hand and wiped his face.

  “I wish you could have seen his expression,” I said. “I am afraid for you to anger him, Pheasant.”

  “You heard what he suggested, didn’t you? To banish the ladies? I do not care about tradition, and I have my own plans for the women of my father’s court. My uncle belongs to the old world. Remember what he suggested about the horses?”

  The Duke had wanted to sacrifice them—all two hundred stallions, including the Emperor’s favorite horse, Brown Grizzle—at the mausoleum so they would keep the Emperor company in the other world. Pheasant, a horse lover, was disgusted. He had spared the horses and ordered the artists to build sculptures of the horses instead.

  “I do,” I said and put my hand on his arm. “But he is still a very powerful man. You will need him when you come to the throne.”

  Pheasant shook his head. “He needs me more, Mei. When I become the Emperor, I will choose my own counselors, and my uncle will not be among them. I have decided to replace him with the Secretary, and my uncle can retire.”

  “I see.” I was pleased to hear his plan. If the Duke left the court, his influence would wane, and Pheasant would not need to fight him each time he made a decision. “May I ask you, my emperor,” I said, and raised my head to look into his eyes, “what is your plan for me?”

  Pheasant swept my hair aside, and I tried to smile, for I knew how wan my face looked without rouge, but he did not seem to mind. His brush was tender, his gaze affectionate. “You understand you will not go home again.”

  “Oh, that is sad.” I feigned disappointment, but I was so relieved. Of course he would let me stay beside him.

  “I have talked to the Secretary about you too. He has no objection to you staying in the palace.”

  “Really?” I was surprised but also glad. After all, I was the Emperor’s concubine, and even though I had not given myself to the Emperor, my relationship with Pheasant, his son, would cause a stir in the palace. Many people would consider it immoral and even incestuous. If the Secretary did not object to me, then those voices, those furtive looks of disapproval, could be stopped. “What about your wife? Will she approve of that?”

  A few years before, Pheasant had married Lady Wang, daughter of the prominent Wang family, by the command of Emperor Taizo
ng. As Pheasant’s chief wife and the highest-ranking woman in the court, Lady Wang had moved into the Eastern Palace after Pheasant was announced as the heir. She had also immediately assumed the duty of overseeing the silkworms in the Imperial Silkworm Workshops and begun enjoying her new status. I had seen her, a plain-looking woman with a colossal frame like a wrestler’s, a broad face with two eyes set too closely together, and a nose thick and stubby like an ornate candleholder. Her unattractiveness could not be masked even by her glittery silk gowns, and I would have mistaken her for a peasant’s daughter if not for the many maids trailing behind her.

  But Lady Wang carried a certain menace with her. When she came to visit the Emperor, she often gazed at me, her eyes dark and filled with suspicion. She was unfriendly, unapproachable, and definitely not a woman whom I wished to antagonize.

  “You don’t need to worry about her. She won’t object.” Pheasant shrugged. “And I want to tell you, Mei: I will not disappoint my father, my mother, or my people. I was told that I would give my kingdom great prosperity and much happiness when I reign.” He smiled, raising his chin, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “I have just met this great monk, who has returned safely from India. He brought many scriptures in Sanskrit back home—”

  I stopped him. “Tripitaka?” The monk who had predicted my future? Mother had mentioned him when I visited her in the monastery, saying he would soon return from a journey to India with the true words of Buddha.

  “Yes. After fifteen years of travel, he has returned. Imagine that! He’s now staying in the Great Maternal Grace Pagoda. You remember it, don’t you? I requested Father build it to honor my mother, and it will house Tripitaka, his disciples, and all the scriptures. Do you know what Tripitaka told me? A great era is coming, he said. Greater than my father’s and my grandfather’s, and one that will not be surpassed for centuries! Isn’t that astounding? This could be the beginning of glory for my kingdom and my people.”

  His voice was firm and filled with excitement. I clasped his hand. Pheasant had been a boy when I first met him, and now with the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, he had transformed into a man, a righteous and benevolent ruler.

  “Do you think I will be a good emperor, Mei?”

  I smoothed the front of his garment. He would look glorious in the ceremonial robe I had embroidered for him. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You will be an extraordinary emperor.”

  He pulled me close, his breath warming my forehead. “And you, my love. You will be here. You will be mine. Once my enthronement ceremony is finished, you will be my Lady, my Most Adored. Remember what I promised you?”

  My heart sang. He had not forgotten. “You mean it?”

  “Every word, my empress of the moon.”

  I smiled happily. Everything—his face, his words, and the splendid future he promised me—enticed me. I stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

  “Crown Prince!” A shout, rough and desperate, came from the courtyard. “Crown Prince!”

  “Physician Sun.” Releasing me, Pheasant dashed to the doors.

  My heart tightened, but I waited until he had left the corridor, and then I tidied up my robe and ran out.

  It was still raining outside, and the courtyard was brightly lit by strings of lanterns hung from the eaves. The corridor near me was crammed with many titled women—Lady Virtue, Lady Obedience, the Ladies-in-Waiting, the Beauties, the Graces, and the others, and through the compound’s entrance, many ministers and eunuch servants rushed in, shouting, waving their arms.

  “Oh, the One Above All!” someone wailed near the Emperor’s bedchamber.

  All at once, the women around me screamed, their hands striking the ground, their heads dipping and rising.

  The Emperor was dead.

  I dropped to my knees beside the ladies, joining the mourning, although I wanted to be with Pheasant. He had entered the bedchamber with the physicians, and I could see him through the chamber’s open doors. Standing over his father’s body, he was wiping his eyes. My heart pounding nervously, I watched him intently. Pheasant was the Emperor of the kingdom now. He had much to do. He had to summon the Minister of Rites, order the palace to strike the funeral bell, and command the kingdom to start the mourning for his father.

  But the chamber was eerily quiet. I did not hear any orders from Pheasant or see any movements from the physicians. What was happening?

  Finally, Pheasant appeared at the chamber’s threshold. His hands trembling, he faced us in the courtyard. Beside him stood the Duke, his shadow stretching menacingly like a vulture spreading its wings.

  I did not expect to see the Duke there. He had left the Emperor’s chamber earlier, I remembered. He must have returned while I was seeing Pheasant.

  “All kneel!” the Duke ordered. His voice, loud and sharp, drifted toward me and echoed across the courtyard. Pheasant hesitated but fell to the ground to obey the order, and all the other people—the Secretary, the other ministers, and the servants—knelt as well.

  An ominous feeling seized me. The courtyard fell silent as a graveyard.

  “Crown Prince, ministers, and the women of the Inner Court,” the Duke said. “It is with a heavy heart I inform you that our most venerated sage, the One Above All, the Emperor of Great China, has passed away. I hereby give you my command that I shall now release his will, which he wrote last year prior to his illness.” He held up a scroll.

  I frowned. The Emperor had not been able to hold a calligraphy brush for a few years, and I had never heard him mention a will. There would have been no point in keeping one, since he had already announced Pheasant to be the heir of the kingdom.

  “He wrote a will last year?” Pheasant looked surprised too.

  “Indeed, before he fell ill.” The Duke spread the scroll. “Now, all of you, listen!”

  Pheasant lowered his head. I could not see his face, but he seemed calm, staring straight ahead of him.

  I tried to remain calm too. Perhaps the will would not say anything meaningful. After all, Pheasant was the known heir, the kingdom recognized him, and the Emperor, a sensible ruler, certainly would not have wanted to throw the kingdom into turmoil with a change of heart.

  “On the seventeenth day of the seventh month of the twenty-second year of the Reign of Peaceful Prospect, I here now write my will,” the Duke read. “I now declare the Grand Duke, Changsun Wuji, brother of my late Empress Wende, the faithful friend of mine, to be the Regent of the kingdom, who has the right to examine, supervise, assist, and oversee any decisions made by my heir, Li Zhi. This is my will, written by me, the One Above All, Emperor Taizong of Tang Dynasty, the Conqueror of the North and the South, the lord of all land and the seven seas. I now announce it effective upon my death.”

  I felt the strength drain out of me. Li Zhi was Pheasant’s formal name. He was still the heir, the ruler of the kingdom, but the will had just taken away all the power the throne had granted him and given it to the Duke.

  Was this truly Emperor Taizong’s plan? I did not believe so. It must have been the Duke’s. He was the Emperor’s assistant, drafting his edicts and keeping possession of the dragon seal. He would have had many chances to write the Emperor’s will. Or to forge it…

  The only sound in the courtyard was the patter of the soft drizzle, seeping through my robe, chilling my skin like a cold, stealthy hand.

  “Regent? Regent?” I heard Pheasant’s voice, filled with surprise and confusion. “Why? I am a grown man. I don’t need a regent to oversee my decisions. Why did he do this? He believed in me. I thought he believed in me.”

  “Nephew, your father always knew what was best for the kingdom.”

  “But…he never mentioned his will to me.”

  “He did not need to.” The Duke paused. “And here, you have it. His will. Do you disobey?”

  “I… I…” Pheasant’s voice cracked, and my heart br
oke for him. He had always loved and respected his father. He would have no choice but to follow and honor his father’s will. “Of course not.”

  “It is my duty now to advise you, Nephew, on the matters of importance regarding the kingdom. I shall obey your father’s wish, may his soul rest in peace.”

  “I know… I know…” Pheasant’s voice was faint and hollow, and I wanted to weep. A kingdom, gone in a moment. Was there anything crueler than that? Pheasant covered his face, his shoulders trembling.

  “Ministers,” the Duke said to the Secretary and the others, who were still frozen in shock, “now that you have heard the will of our most-venerated Emperor, I must follow his wish and command all of your attentions. Send a servant to strike the bell—”

  “Wait.” The Secretary snapped upright. “Was the will witnessed?”

  The Duke turned abruptly toward him. “Secretary Fang, you know I am the only witness the Emperor needed.”

  “But—”

  “Have you heard Emperor Taizong’s will?”

  “Yes, but—”

  The ministers around him raised their heads as well. Someone cleared his throat.

  “Guards!” the Duke shouted before anyone had a chance to speak, and suddenly the courtyard swarmed with shadows. Their arms stretching long, they dove toward the ministers. “By the power Emperor Taizong conferred on me, I command you to escort these ministers outside and await my further notice.”

  My heart leaped to my throat. He was going to arrest the ministers by force! He must have planned this. He must have planned everything—the will, the guards. Perhaps he would kill us too if any of us dared to put up a fight.

  The Secretary cried out as two guards clamped their hands on him, and more guards rushed toward him and the other ministers, pushing them to the entrance.

  “Stop, Uncle.” Pheasant stood. “Stop, Uncle. Do you hear me?” But the guards did not back away. “General! General!”

  I craned my neck, looking toward the compound’s entrance. The General was our only hope. Now that the Emperor was dead, he would serve Pheasant, and he would use his sword and restore Pheasant to the throne if the Duke dared to resort to violence.