by Zoey Gong
“Thank you,” I say, but I’m beginning to wonder what the point of it all is. It’s impossible. I’ll never be able to pass for a Manchu lady.
“Lihua sings like a bullfrog,” Ah Lam says as she sits next to me with a bowl of food she’s kept behind for herself. She pushes a small bowl of meat toward me. She must have noticed that I hardly ate anything. With Mingxia and Lihua gone, my appetite seems to return.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say as I take a bite.
“Oh, it is,” Ah Lam says. “When she starts to sing, I know it is time for me to go to the market for the shopping.”
I chuckle and take a few more bites. “You are just trying to make me feel better.”
Ah Lam shakes her head. “That girl might have the airs of a lady, a pretty face, but she’s not as accomplished as she likes to think. Her talents are mediocre at best.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. She’s still better than me. I’ve never even held a paintbrush before. And reciting poetry? I can’t read!”
“You could,” Ah Lam says, “if you’d had a teacher.”
I shake my head. “There’s not enough time—”
“You know what hard work is, don’t you?” Ah Lam asks. “Lihua doesn’t. Everything has been given to her since the day she was born. Spoiled. She’s not clever by half, and she’d never be able to cope if she suddenly lost everything. But you—you know how to survive.”
I begin to understand what Ah Lam is saying. Lihua may have been raised with every advantage, but she didn’t make use of it, while I had to struggle for every single meal I ate.
“Your life is on the line,” Ah Lam said. “The lives of your family. You aren’t going to give up now, are you? You haven’t even started yet.”
I sigh. Ah Lam is right. I do have time to at least try. When the day of the selection comes, if I’m still not good enough, Lihua can go to the selection. We don’t have to go through with this.
“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know why you are being so nice to me.”
“When the mistress gets an idea in her head, she doesn’t easily let go,” Ah Lam says as she stands and removes the last few dishes from the table. “And she’s much easier to live with if she thinks she’s getting her own way. Just do as she says, and we’ll all get through this. The selection is only one day, right?”
“Right,” I say.
Ah Lam gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll be back to help you walk back to your room.” She gets up and clears away the last of the dishes, taking them to the kitchen.
I exhale. One day. It will only be for one day. I can pretend to be someone else for one day.
Can’t I?
7
“Fitful and falling, autumn moonlight fills clumps of chrysanthemums.”
Mingxia nods as I recite a poem that I have been practicing.
“Lonely and desolate, the circling wall endures the west wind.
Night lengthens, the lamp oil runs out: I am blocked from my studies.”
Lihua is here too, at a table a little behind her mother, and she fingers a horse-hair writing brush, clearly bored. She’s supposed to be working on her calligraphy, but instead she watches me, making faces to make me forget my lines. I try to ignore her, to focus on Mingxia, who nods happily, or Ah Lam, who mouths words to me when I am unsure. But Lihua is hard to ignore.
“My malaise lifts, the window is still: I set aside my needlework.
Stirred by the wind, chilled crows flock and scatter.
Shriveled by the frost, worm-eaten leaves are half-transparent.”
It is not only the words I must remember, but slight movements of my hands, a tilt to my head, to add emotion to the recitation.
“Slanting sunlight is chill and cold—evening in the deserted village.
I…I…stand…”
Lihua sticks out her tongue, crosses her eyes, and waves her hands by her head like the ears of an elephant. I forget my line. I look to Ah Lam, but I can’t make out what she’s mouthing to me.
“I…stand…with the wild geese…”
“Stop,” Mingxia says, standing. “What is this? What is happening? Why are you stuttering like a fool? Why are you slumping?”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” I say. “I forgot my next line and became flustered.”
“What have I told you?” Mingxia says. “You must never lose control of yourself. That might be acceptable for a Chinese girl, but never a Manchu lady. Your dignity is the most important aspect of your character and bearing.”
“Yes, my lady,” I say, dropping my chin to my chest in embarrassment, which I remember is the wrong thing to do a moment too late as Mingxia grips my chin and holds my head up.
“Never forget who you are,” she says. “The daughter of the bannermen who rode across the steppes on wild horses. Who overcame cold and starvation and wild beasts to become the greatest military force the world has ever seen! Men who overthrew the Ming empire to become emperors of the largest country in the world. To ascend from mere nomads to become the Son of Heaven.”
I understand that she is proud of her heritage, but it is not my heritage. To me, the Manchu are nothing more than imposters. A bunch of wild, butter-eating, horse-riding barbarians who invaded China in a moment of weakness and made us their slaves.
For me to have to pretend to be Manchu, to wear their formless robes and ridiculous shoes, to have to act as though they are superior to true Chinese is a terrible indignity. If my family didn’t need the money so badly, I never would have agreed to this. But I have agreed. I have taken Mingxia’s money. So I know I must do my best to play the part I’ve taken on. I remember the opera performers who used to put on shows in my neighborhood, how the man playing the part of the consort did so with such grace, such elegance, even though he wasn’t a woman at all. I have to be as convincing in my own performance if I am to have even a chance of pulling this off and not losing my head.
I lift my chin, straighten my back, and smile. “Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”
Mingxia smiles and releases my chin. “There. Beautiful. Remember, if you forget a line, maintain your dignity above all things. Do not stop, or cower, or beg forgiveness. Continue on. Either make up the words until you remember or bow to signal the end of the performance.”
Bowing in my pot-bottom shoes is not a skill I have yet mastered. To balance while I bend my knees, lower my body, and incline my head is quite a feat, and something I must continue to practice when I’m not being trained in something else.
“My lady.” A maid appears and bows before Mingxia. “It is time to leave if we are to arrive at the princess’s palace in time.” Even though Mingxia spends as much time as possible training me, her social obligations have not come to an end. She is still expected to attend all matter of casual visits, birthday parties, ancestor celebrations, weddings… The list goes on. She must keep up the appearance that everything within her household is completely normal and that she is honored that her daughter will be appearing at the consort selection.
“Of course,” she says. “Daiyu, keep practicing while I am gone.”
“Shall I go with you?” Lihua asks.
“No,” Mingxia says, which does surprise me. My understanding is that under normal circumstances, Lihua would attend her mother on such calls. But it seems that Mingxia wishes people to forget she even has a daughter. Lihua has rarely left the house since my arrival.
“Help Daiyu with her training,” Mingxia says. “She needs to practice her erhu.”
The disappointment is evident on Lihua’s face, but she does not argue with her mother.
The maid escorts Mingxia out of the house, and several more of her maids and servants attend her as well. I can hear the horse that leads the procession whinnying outside and the braying of the donkey that will draw the cart. One would think the empress herself was passing by, judging by the number of attendants that must travel with Mingxia wherever she goes. But I have learned that this is quite normal fo
r a lady of high rank, whether Manchu or Chinese. Often, when in my room practicing, I can see the processions pass by my window as they travel down the street. I never saw such a procession back in my own hutong. No well-bred lady would ever have reason to pass through there.
As soon as Mingxia leaves, Lihua pulls a novel from one of her long sleeves and begins to read, completely ignoring me. When Lihua isn’t ignoring me, she’s sending dirty looks my way or trying to sabotage my training. I’ve tried to ignore her. Under normal circumstances, girls like us would never meet. But I’m here to help her…aren’t I? Shouldn’t she want me to succeed? If I fail, if they learn that I am not really Lihua, won’t her life in be danger as well?
“Lihua,” I ask, sitting across from her, “why don’t you want me to succeed?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she says as a maid brings us a piping hot pot of fresh tea and a selection of snacks. Lihua picks absent-mindedly at the nuts while I eat a sweet cake. I’ve never had such wonderful treats before. When all this is over, I have to admit that I will certainly miss the food.
“I can’t help but think that despite all the trouble and money your mother has gone through to spare you from the selection, you aren’t glad of it,” I try again.
“Perhaps you aren’t as stupid as you look,” she says, still not looking at me.
“Why?” I ask. “Mingxia is doing all this for you.”
“I never asked her to,” Lihua finally says, slamming her book on the table and glaring at me. “I wouldn’t mind having a chance at becoming empress.”
“Wait,” I say, rubbing my forehead, “you want to go to the section? Why haven’t you told your mother.”
“I have,” Lihua says. “But she won’t hear of it. I’m the only child she has and if I am chosen, then, yes, she’ll never see me again.”
“Then why do you want to go? Wouldn’t you hate to leave your mother?”
“I have to marry eventually. No matter who I marry, I will have to leave my mother’s home and go to that of my husband and his dreadful family. There’s no way around it.”
I realize she has a point. It is the same in Chinese families as well. It’s why daughters are often not as prized as sons. A son will stay with his family for life; a daughter will leave. Some families don’t want the expense of raising, dressing, and educating a daughter, not to mention raising a dowry, only to send her away after a few years to never see her again. Daughters, according to some fathers, are a waste of resources.
Unless you are a Manchu girl of just the right age to be selected as a consort for the emperor. Instead, the emperor will pay the family handsomely for their daughter. In fact, I am a little confused by Mingxia’s decision. If Lihua must marry someone, would she not want her daughter to marry the best man possible? Who could be superior to the emperor?
“So, that is why you are making things difficult for me?” I ask. “You are hoping I will fall so far short that Mingxia will have to send you instead if she doesn’t want to risk her life?”
“Exactly,” Lihua says, a smug smile on her face. “Isn’t it an excellent plan? If you fail, I can go to the selection and you can go home. Everyone is happy.”
“Except Mingxia,” I say. Lihua waves away my concern.
“She’ll accept it. What else can she do?”
It is a tempting idea. I don’t want to go to the selection. I don’t want to risk my life for these spoiled Manchu women. But what will Mingxia do to me if I fail? To my family? I’m sure they have already spent some of the money. They had to buy food at the very least. They probably bought clothes, blankets, cooking tools. They may have even bought a better house. If I fail and Mingxia demands the money back, we would never be able to pay it back. I would be the ruin of my family.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Why?” Lihua asks, her smile fleeing and tears rimming her eyes. “You don’t want to go to the selection. You want to go home.”
“I can’t betray the trust your mother has put in me,” I say. “If I try my best and still am not good enough, I will have to live with the consequences, but at least I will know that I didn’t give up. If I fail on purpose… I don’t know what will happen, but it will all be my fault.”
Lihua stares at me for a moment, her face blank, as if she can’t understand what I’m saying. Her face then turns into a snarl and before I can react, she grabs the teapot from the table. I barely have time to lift my arm and protect myself as she smashes the porcelain pot against me. I scream as I fall back from my seat, the tea still hot, though thankfully no longer scalding.
Lihua rounds the table, lunging at me like a fearsome tiger, her hands like claws as she lands on me.
“You stupid, stupid girl!” Lihua screams. “I hate you! You’re stealing my life!”
She’s stronger than me and weighs more, so I can’t fight back. I can’t even push her off me. All I can do is try to protect my face from her scratches, though I feel a sharp pain in one of my arms.
“My lady!” someone says.
“Stop this!” another voice cries. There’s then a variety of voices and I cannot make out what they are saying. All I know is that Lihua’s weight is lifted off of me enough that I’m able to scurry away. I feel someone grip my shoulders and help me stand as I stumble out of my shoes.
I cling tightly to the woman, who I realize is Ah Lam, as I watch two other servants hold onto Lihua. Ah Lam then pushes me behind her as she storms up to Lihua.
“Stop this,” Ah Lam says. “Your mother would be disgusted by your behavior. There is nothing dignified about the way you are acting.”
“Let me go!” Lihua yells and the servants do as she orders. I stay huddled behind Ah Lam. Lihua storms off, somehow still wearing her pot-bottom shoes, and grabs her book before retreating to her quarters. Only after she is out of sight am I able to breathe.
“What happened?” Ah Lam asks.
“She wants me to fail,” I say, wiping away tears with my sleeve. “She wants to go to the selection.” I wince as my sleeve rubs against my arm. I look and see a long scratch that is oozing blood.
“Ai yo!” Ah Lam says. “Come, we must clean it and treat it immediately. If you have any marks on your body, you’ll be sent away immediately.”
I wonder for a moment if it might be better to let the wound fester. If I could be sent home for such a little thing, Mingxia could hardly count it against me. Still, I see that my gown is filthy, and I have no idea where my shoes are. My hair must look a fright. I cannot let Mingxia see me like this.
Back in my room, Ah Lam helps me change and tends to my injury. My right ankle is also sore and I realize I must have twisted it in the fight.
“Lihua is a spoiled thing,” Ah Lam says, “used to getting her way. It must have sent her into a rage when you did not automatically agree to her request.”
“She has only herself to think about,” I mutter. “I have my whole family to consider. I can’t fail Mingxia or my family.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” Ah Lam says.
“I am sure I will,” I say. “I can’t remember poems. I still can’t paint or play music. I can’t even remember to hold my head up. They are going to know I’m not Manchu as soon as I step out of the cart at the Forbidden City.”
“You are doing better than you give yourself credit for,” Ah Lam says as she spreads a stinging ointment on the scratch. “I would never know you came from the streets to look at you now.”
“But I’m still not good enough to pass for a Manchu lady,” I say. Perhaps Lihua is right. I’ll fail no matter how hard I try.
“You are more of a lady than that little upstart has ever been,” Ah Lam says, chucking me under the chin. I disagree, but I don’t tell her that.
“Stay here and rest,” she says as she gathers up the ruined clothes. “And don’t let Lihua upset you. Soon enough, you’ll either be in the palace or back at your own home and you’ll never have to see her ag
ain.”
I give her a thankful smile. I suppose that is one good thing about being chosen—Lihua being out of my life forever.
8
I can’t sleep, and I’m sure no one else in the house is either. It is the night before the emperor’s consort selection, and Mingxia has not wavered in her decision to send me in her daughter’s place.
I heard Mingxia and Lihua arguing until well into the night, though I could not understand all that was said. For the past few weeks, Lihua continued to make my life miserable, and I know Mingxia was aware of it. She purchased a balm from the apothecary to heal the scratch on my arm, and any other injuries that came along. Eventually, Mingxia had to banish Lihua to her room to keep her from leaving any marks that might still linger on my body when the consort selection came.
The house is silent now, but it won’t be for long. Everyone is supposed to rise at the hour of the tiger to help me wash and dress, still many hours before dawn. The preparation will take hours, then Mingxia will escort me to the palace, which I am told will take several hours as well. The girls have been ordered to arrive at the palace by the hour of the horse, so soon, the streets around the palace will be thronged with donkey carts as hundreds of girls try to arrive at the palace at the same time.
“Heaven help me,” I whisper out my window into the dark night. The moon is high in the sky, but it does little to illuminate the alley outside. I’ve done all I can to try and learn to be a Manchu lady. Mingxia had a new gown made just for me so I wouldn’t stand out in an ill-fitting robe. I’ve memorized poems, learned to walk slowly and gracefully on pot-bottom shoes, and I can even sing a couple of popular Manchu songs. But if I should be challenged to do more—to play an instrument, dance, or recite my family history, I’m sure to give myself away. I have to hope that I will be dismissed long before I would be asked to do anything of that sort.
