by Zoey Gong
I have a feeling she’s dead wrong about that. Jinhai enters the room carrying a large basin filled with water and fragrant herbs. He removes my shoes and places my injured ankle in the bowl. I can see it is swollen and dark blue on one side.
“Nothing is broken,” Jinhai says. “But I can still send for a doctor if you are in much pain.”
“No,” I say, not wanting to draw even more attention to me. “I just need to let it rest.” Jinhai nods and then helps Suyin finish unpacking the crate. When they are done, I hand Jinhai the bag of cash I was given.
“Divide it between the two of you evenly,” I tell him, and his eyes go wide. Suyin’s mouth drops.
“My lady,” he says, “that is far too generous. You will soon have many more household expenses. And it never hurts to save money for a later date.”
I shake my head. “My allowance will be increased to cover the expenses, will it not?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“It is because of the two of you I was elevated today. You earned that money, not me.”
Jinhai and Suyin look at each other for a moment, then they fall to their knees in front of me and knock their foreheads to the floor.
“You are the kindest mistress of all!” Suyin exclaims.
“I am not worthy of your service!” Jinhai says.
“Please, stop,” I say, and they sit up on their heels and look at me. I want to tell them how unworthy I am. How much I don’t want to be here. How much I wish everyone would stop praising me. But I cannot. If I continue to protest, they will surely begin to wonder if I really am a high-ranking lady.
“I…I am indebted to you for my situation,” I tell them, and then I force myself to say, “thank you.”
They both return to their feet. “It is now we who are indebted to you,” Jinhai says. “We will always support you and remain by your side.”
I nod, unable to think of what else to say that won’t continue this round and round conversation.
The Summer Palace is indeed a magical place. It is deep autumn, and the trees are every shade of red and gold. The yellow ginkgo leaves break free and flutter across the ground. Rabbits skitter across the grass and squirrels jump from tree to tree. There are countless birds, each singing a sweet song. In an expansive pond there are pleasure boats, and the ladies take turns out on the water. There is an opera troupe performing almost constantly, so the ladies come and go from the performances at all hours. Many of the ladies sit outside under the trees painting and embroidering, taking advantage of the fresh air and cool breeze.
I partake in none of these activities, but stay sequestered in my palace. I do not want to draw attention to myself, nor do I want the emperor to think my ankle is sufficiently recovered that I may visit his bed. I can only hope that he will forget about me soon.
One day, a fine mist descends over the Summer Palace, and there is a gentle rain. The temperature drops considerably, and I no longer hear the laughter or conversation of the palace ladies drifting through my window. I open the front door and look outside; I see no one. I breathe in the clean air. Everyone seems to be hiding from the damp, but I find it refreshing and inviting. I would like to explore the Summer Palace, but did not want to court unwanted attention. This seems like a good time to finally venture out of doors.
“I would like to take a walk,” I say.
Suyin gasps. “It is cold and wet, my lady! You could catch a chill.”
I smirk and think to myself about all the nights I spent in my little hutong house where the air was so cold, we would wake with frost on our eyelashes. Those were not the worst of days. We would snuggle together to stay warm and sleep late, waiting for the sun to rise. I blink away tears that are threatening to form.
“The cold doesn’t bother me,” I say. “But bring me some leather slippers. My ankle is still sore and I don’t want to risk falling or slipping.” My ankle is fine, but I am anxious for an excuse to walk normally and not balance precariously on tiny platforms.
Neither Suyin or Jinhai seem happy about venturing out, but they cannot deny their lady her wishes. I am in a simple qipao, and my hair is tied up around a bian fang, but I do not have any headdress attached. I am sure I look more like a high-ranking maid than an emperor’s concubine, but I doubt many people will see me.
As we leave the palace, Jinhai tries to walk by my side, holding an umbrella over me, but I feel crowded.
“I can hold my own umbrella,” I tell him. He hesitates, but then relents, handing me the umbrella. “I just need some space and fresh air.” He nods and seems to understand my meaning as he and Suyin both stay several paces behind me as I walk.
I feel as though I am in a fairyland. The mist is so thick, I can only see a few feet around me. But every step also reveals stunning new sights. There are, of course, gardens and pagodas, but so much more. Stone steps rise up and disappear into the mist far above me along a path to a Buddhist temple. A bronze dragon guards the Hall of Benevolence and Longevity. Smoke from smoldering embers inside an incense burner four times my height disappears into the fog. As the rain comes down a little harder, we walk along a covered corridor that stretches from one end of the Summer Palace to the other, and I hand Jinhai my umbrella to carry. We pass a pond that is full of green lotus leaves and I stop to take in the sight.
For a brief moment I forget who I am, what I am, and the great danger I am in. It all washes away as I lean against the railing and I lose myself in the lotus leaves. I sigh and allow myself, just for this one moment, to feel happy. It is so quiet, so peaceful here, and I can see nothing beyond the fog. I am at peace and wish I could remain in this place, this frame of mind. The Summer Palace is truly the most beautiful place in the world, and I am so fortunate to see it. A girl like me, a Han Chinese from the poorest part of Peking, could never even imagine being in such a magical place. Yet, here I am. Despite everything, I know that I am truly blessed. Whatever happens, I have this moment, and I know my family is safe and cared for. Could I ever ask for more?
“My lady.”
The prince has appeared at my side so silently, I did not realize he had approached me until he spoke. I fall to my knee, water seeping through my gown and dampening my leg, and drop my head.
“Your highness!” I say. “Forgive me. I did not see you approach.”
“Please stand,” he says, and I obey, but I keep my eyes downcast. “Please don’t do that. You may look at me like a normal person.” I raise my eyes to his face and feel a flutter in my stomach. “Thank you. I hate that you are required to speak to the ground and not to my face.”
“Those are the rules,” I say, turning away and looking back over the lotus pond.
The prince laughs. “Since when are you one to follow the rules? Did you forget how we met?”
I quickly look around to make sure Suyin and Jinhai are not lingering nearby where they could hear us. I see that they are still keeping a respectful distance away from me, but they can clearly see what is going on. I am grateful for that; it would be quite improper for me to be alone with the prince.
“No,” I finally say. “I have not forgotten.”
“Then why do you treat me like a stranger?” he asks, sitting on the railing so we can face each other as we talk.
“Because I value my life,” I say. I think the prince muse have expected me to say something funny or witty, but the slight smile he had been wearing transforms into one of seriousness.
“I understand,” he says with a nod. “But I have longed to see you again. I’ve never met a woman like you before.”
“What are you even doing here?” I ask. “I thought men were barred from the inner court if not accompanied by the emperor.”
“The rules don’t exactly apply the same way here,” he says. “There is no inner or outer court.”
He is right about that. In the Forbidden City, the inner court is physically closed off from the rest of the palace by a wall. Here, there are no large, imposing walls to contain us. We l
adies are free to wander where we will. And it seems the emperor’s male guests enjoy the same privilege. My heart races at this realization, but I am not sure if it is from fear…or something else.
“I should go,” I say, but as I turn to leave, I feel him gently tug on the sleeve of my robe.
“Stay,” he says. Not only my face, but my entire body flushes hot. If he had been speaking to me—to Daiyu—I would not need to be convinced to stay. But I am not. I am Lihua, and I am married to the emperor.
“I am your brother’s wife,” I whisper. “I cannot be seen in the company of another man.”
“Then tonight,” he says, “can I come to you?”
“No!” I whisper harshly. “The servants!”
“But you can sneak out,” he says. “You’ve done it before. I’ll wait for you outside your palace when the gong is struck for the hour of the ox.”
Of course I want to say yes. He is so handsome, and so insistent. I have a fleeting vision of running away with him, away from this place. Away from these people. Away from the fear and loneliness. But I shake my head and pull my sleeve from his grip.
“No,” I say and turn away to go back to my palace.
“I’ll wait for you,” he says. I pause, but I do not look back. I neither shake nor nod my head, but continue walking toward my servants. Who is this dangerous, reckless man? How could he ask such a thing of me, putting both of us at risk? And what is wrong with me that I want to say yes?
18
I shouldn’t go, I tell myself as I lay on my bed in the darkness. It’s dangerous. Stupid. Bumping into the prince while I was walking and having a conversation within the watchful eyes of my servants is one thing. It was perfectly innocent. But if I sneak out of my room in the middle of the night and am caught, there would be no acceptable explanation.
How would I be punished? What a stupid question. I would surely be put to death. Probably not by beheading or publicly, but I would certainly be given a white scarf and be expected to kill myself for the dishonor I have brought to the emperor and my family.
My family. What would they think? Would they hear the story of the concubine who betrayed the emperor with his own brother and was put to death? Would they know it was me? Mingxia would most certainly hear of it, and the real Lihua. They would probably be glad to know that I was no longer alive. I would no longer carry the secret truth with me that Lihua defied the emperor and sent another—a Han—in her place.
As I roll away from the wall and look into the darkened room, I think about how unfair it is that Lihua retained her life—or at least a free life—outside the palace walls. She still has a future. Can still marry and have a family of her own. Still has her mother by her side while I am completely alone.
I hear a gong struck to mark the hour of the ox. Suyin is sleeping peacefully at the foot of my bed while Jinhai snores softly on the floor.
I shouldn’t go, I tell myself as I slip out from under the covers. I shouldn’t go, I think as I pick up my satin slippers and silk cloak and tiptoe across the room. I shouldn’t go, I whisper silently as I pull the front door of the palace open just enough for me to squeeze through and into the chill night.
I shouldn’t go. But if I don’t, I know I will regret it for the rest of my life. Not for the prince, I hardly know him. I am thankful he saved my life, but it is no more than that. It might be nice to one day count him among my friends, but that is all.
No, I do this for me. For one grasp at freedom. Once act of…dare I say defiance? Defiance of the emperor. Defiance of the stupid rules that brought me here. Defiance of the rigid constraints that doom me to be alone for the rest of my life.
I wrap my cloak around my shoulders as I look for any sign of the prince. He only said to meet him outside my palace, he didn’t say where.
“Psst.”
From the left, I hear the noise, so I walk in that direction. I am nearly at the end of another building when I feel a hand reach out and touch mine. I jump even though I expected him to be there. I guess I did not expect him to touch me.
“Shh,” he says almost silently with a finger to his lips. Then he smiles and leads me away. The prince seems to know the layout of the Summer Palace by heart as we walk quickly along paths, around buildings, and down stairs. It is a wonder we aren’t seen by a guard, but we somehow manage to avoid all of them. Finally, we end up along the river where a great stone boat juts out from the walkway that lines the waterfront. He leads me down to the boat and to the very front where we are surrounded by water on three sides. The moon is bright and reflects off the water, giving just enough light to see ripples skipping across the black mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my breath fogging in the cool night air.
The prince smiles. “I thought you might like it.”
I give a rueful laugh. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
Honghui chuckles. “I know you are defiant and brave. But also reckless.” The smile leaves my face as I look at the water and not him. “I know you don’t treasure your life here, and perhaps have no care for your life at all. You risked death to slip out and see your family when you could have just written them a letter. I suppose you must have some great secret that you couldn’t put in writing. But why you came back… Hmm, now that is a puzzle.”
My heart races as I realize just how much danger I am in. I don’t know how the prince could know so much about me from our very brief meetings. Perhaps it is because he is so well-educated while I am an ignorant fool. I take a step away from him.
“I should go,” I say. “I shouldn’t have come.” I start to walk away, but I feel his hand grip mine.
“Stay.”
I let him pull me back to the bow of the great stone boat and stand much closer to him than I probably should. I like being near him. He is warm and smells like winter pine trees.
I always knew that my marriage—if I married—would be arranged. But I had hoped that once we were man and wife, my husband would be kind and romantic. He would perhaps kiss my forehead in the morning and bring me fresh mulberries in the autumn. We would eat dinner together and maybe play throwing dice. If he were a working man, I would help him. When I had children—even girls—he would praise me and thank me. Eventually, I would love him.
But my marriage to the emperor has been nothing like that. Before the birthday celebration, I had not seen him since I had been selected except for fleeting glances. He had not sent for me or inquired about my health. He had forgotten I existed until I gave his brother a present. I do not feel married. He owns me, yes, and I must live in his home. But I am not a wife.
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“What?” Honghui asks.
“The boat,” I say. “Why is there a boat made of stone here? It cannot float. It cannot sail. What is its purpose?”
“Must there always be a purpose to something?” he asks. “The Qianlong Emperor built it because he could.”
“Hmm,” I say, thinking. I recall an old saying. “Water can support a ship, but water can also overturn it.”
“Water is beautiful and deadly in equal measure,” Honghui says. “Much like this boat itself. It is a place of beauty and joy, but it could also collapse, bringing fear and death.”
“Like you,” I say, looking him full in the face to gauge his reaction. “You are pleasant company. But if we were to be caught, I would be put to death.”
My words do not seem to surprise or hurt him. Instead, he smiles. “And yet here you are. Why?”
I give a small laugh. I had been so preoccupied thinking about his motives, I had not considered my own. I knew it was dangerous, and yet I could not resist. What did that say about me?
“I’m lonely,” I finally say, and he nods in understanding. There is much more I could say, of course. About being trapped. About not loving the emperor. About missing my family. But it all comes down to how alone I feel.
“You do not have any companions among the other ladies?” h
e asks. “Or your maids?”
“I do,” I say. “But I cannot truly be myself around them. I feel as though I must constantly put on a performance. Act the part of the perfect lady when I am far from it.”
“You are the daughter of a celebrated general,” he says, speaking of Lihua’s father. “Are you not a lady?”
I look at him but say nothing, which I realize too late is the wrong thing to do. My silence says volumes.
“You aren’t his daughter, are you?” he asks.
“He died,” I say, remembering what Mingxia told me about her husband. “I never knew him.” At least that much is not a lie.
The prince nods. “My father died when I was quite young as well. People say that because I am the son of the emperor, I must be a great man. But in truth, I don’t know how that could be possible. I was raised by my mother, by eunuch servants, by tutors. Everyone except my father. I often wonder just what it means to be the son of an emperor if he was not here to teach me.”
“You have your brother,” I say. “He must be of help to you.”
“True,” he says. “You don’t know him, but he is a decent man who loves his country.”
I let out a small snort and immediately wish I hadn’t when I see Honghui’s face drop.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean that.”
“But you did,” he says. “And now I am curious. What makes you doubt him?” I say nothing for fear of walking into a trap. “Please,” he prods. “Tell me.”
I chew my lower lip, considering my words. Is it possible for me to tell him how hard life is for people just beyond the red walls without giving myself away?
“He lives in such opulence,” I say. “A huge city of his own filled with palaces. An army of servants. A harem of wives, each one with more food and clothes and money than they could ever need all while people just beyond the walls of the Forbidden City starve to death.”
The prince nods, and now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop myself.
“The money the emperor gave me last night after he elevated my rank could have fed a poor family for the rest of their lives, and I threw it away. I gave the whole bag of it to my two servants to do with as they wish like it was cast-off rubbish. And that was only last night. I’ll get just as much money next month. Can you imagine? Every month one woman is given enough money to support a family for decades. There is so much good I could that could be done with that money. If the emperor did not have so many wives, the money could be given to the people instead.”
