Empress in Danger

by Zoey Gong

  Empress in Danger

  Empress in Disguise Book 3

  Zoey Gong

  Amanda Roberts

  Red Empress Publishing

  www.RedEmpressPublishing.com

  * * *

  Copyright © Zoey Gong

  www.ZoeyGong.com

  * * *

  Copyright © Amanda Roberts

  www.AmandaRobertsWrites.com

  * * *

  Cover by Cherith Vaughan

  CoversbyCherith.com

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recoding, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.

  Also by Zoey Gong

  Contemporary Romance

  The New Year Boyfriend

  The Animal Companions Series

  A Girl and Her Elephant

  A Girl and Her Panda

  A Girl and Her Tiger

  Empress in Disguise Trilogy

  Empress in Disguise

  Empress in Hiding

  Empress in Danger

  Also by Amanda Roberts

  Fiction Novels

  Threads of Silk

  The Man in the Dragon Mask

  * * *

  The Qing Dynasty Mysteries

  Murder in the Forbidden City

  Murder in the British Quarter

  Murder at the Peking Opera

  * * *

  The Touching Time Series

  The Child’s Curse

  The Emperor’s Seal

  The Empress’s Dagger

  The Slave’s Necklace

  Empress in Disguise Trilogy

  Empress in Disguise

  Empress in Hiding

  Empress in Danger

  Nonfiction

  The Crazy Dumplings Cookbook

  Crazy Dumplings II: Even Dumplinger

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Thank You For Reading!

  About Zoey Gong

  About Amanda Roberts

  About the Publisher

  1

  The sweet scent of the chrysanthemums I just planted fills my nose. I look around, satisfied with my work planting a dozen chrysanthemum plants in different colors in a flowerbed along one side of the abbey where I have lived and worked for months. I sit on my heels and look around at the thick forest that isolates the abbey from the outside world. A bright ray of sunshine filters through the pine needles, and birds chirp as they jump from branch to branch. It is summer, but here in the mountains, surrounded by trees, it is a cool and comfortable place.

  I stand up, dust off my knees, and carry my basket of gardening supplies to a small work shed. I rinse my hands with water from a nearby water pump and drink the cool, fresh water. From a nearby building, a gong is struck, the sound reverberating across the abbey. Slowly, dozens of women dressed the same way I am, in simple orange robes, cross the courtyard toward the main temple. Some of the women have shaved heads. Some of the women, though, like me, have their long hair wound upon their heads and covered with orange fabric. The women who live here are not forced to shave their heads, as it is a deeply personal act, but most do eventually. I do not think I will take such a step anytime soon.

  At a giant, iron brazier, I stop and light a joss stick, placing it in the thick ash of the thousands of joss sticks before it so that it stands upright, the pleasing smoke ascending to the heavens. I then climb the stairs of the temple and find an empty spot to perform a kowtow to the eight-foot-tall statue of Guanyin, the goddess of mercy, the woman who protects and blesses us.

  I kowtow seven times, and then seven more times, each time uttering a traditional prayer that speaks of Guanyin’s goodness and asks for her mercy. By the time I am finished, my head is spinning. I sit on my heels for a moment and take a breath. I wait for my sisters, my fellow nuns, to leave so that I may speak to Guanyin alone, in my own words, as I do every day.

  “Guanyin, goddess of mercy,” I say, my eyes closed and my hands folded before me. “You have been kind to me, of that I am certain. More than once, I should have died. I deserved to die. I did not know why I lived, what my purpose was. But I believe all my trials sent me here to you.

  “I am not deserving, but I will once again plead upon your mercy. Please, please, please, help me find my family. They are good people, loving people, and I know they worry about me. I only wish to let them know that I am safe. I cannot bear the thought that they may think I am dead, that the emperor killed me for my sins against him.

  “If you find it in your heart to grant me this wish, I will never again ask for anything. I will worship you for all of my days.”

  I kowtow seven more times, and then I try to stand. I perform this ritual three times a day and have done so for months. Still, as I push myself to my feet, my knees scream in pain and I hobble across the room like an old woman. There are some sisters, many much older than I am, who pray more often, and for longer periods of time, but they do not limp as I do when they stand. I suppose I shall have to wait a very long time before my body becomes as strong as theirs.

  I light another joss stick and place it in a trough that runs the length of the three-foot-high dais where Guanyin reclines, leaning on her hand on one side, her other arm propped up on her bent knee. She looks down at me kindly, as though asking me to sit awhile and tell her my problems. And I have, many times. She is the only person I trust with my complete story.

  Tao Fashi, the senior teacher here and head of the abbey, has been very patient with me. I have told her several parts of my story, but not all of it. There are some parts that I am ashamed to speak of. And then there are parts that I still feel could be too dangerous to speak aloud. She does not know who I really am. She knows my name, but not the significance of it. It is Manchu tradition for people to change their name at significant points in their lives. Tao Fashi knows that I was known as Lihua when I was the empress, and she knows that I now use the name Daiyu. But she does not know that Daiyu is my real name, the name given to me by my parents. A name I had to abandon when I agreed to take the place of a Manchu girl who did not want to become the emperor’s consort. Here, at the Temple of Grief, I hope the emperor has forgotten me. If that is true, then perhaps, one day, I will be able to tell my story. But until then, I will tell no one. I fear not only for myself, but anyone who knows the truth. If Tao Fashi knew who I was and did not inform the emperor, she could be punished for taking part in my deception should the emperor learn of it. I do not want anyone to ever suffer for the mistakes I have made.

  When I am finished praying, I stand up, dust myself off, and go to one of the buildings in the temple complex that is used as a classroom.

  “Daiyu! Come sit by me,” a woman named Chan-juan calls out when I enter the room. She is sitting on her heels
at a low table that is covered with paper and writing utensils. I sit on a cushion across from her. She pushes her inkstone toward the middle of the table where I can reach it. I pick up a horsehair brush and wet the bristles, waiting for them to soften.

  “Here,” Chan-juan says, showing me a piece of paper with a short letter written on it. “Can you read this?”

  Since I am the youngest person living at the convent, many of the nuns have taken me under their wings, caring for me, teaching me, giving me shoulders to cry on. Life here has not always been easy. There have been many days I have considered simply walking away. But it is the best place I could be right now. I have nowhere else to go. So, I have made the best of my time here by putting all my effort into learning to read, write, and do basic math. When I was living in the Forbidden City, my eunuch, Jinhai, did his best to teach me, but there were many distractions and responsibilities that used up most of my day, so I did not learn very much in the time I was there. Here at the convent, I seem to have nothing but time.

  I scan the letter Chan-juan has given me, and I can easily make sense of most of it. It is a letter to her sister, asking how things are in the family.

  I nod. “There are a few characters I don’t think I’ve seen before,” I say, pointing them out. Chan-juan explains them to me, then I get to work copying the letter onto my own paper.

  “Your handwriting has steadily improved,” Chan-juan says approvingly.

  “Yes,” I say. “Dongmei and Jiangfei would be proud.” My breath shudders and my hand shakes at the thought of the emperor’s daughters. My daughters. I miss them so much and worry about what will happen to them without me there to protect them. I have written to them—well, I’ve had Chan-juan or another woman write to them on my behalf—many times. Weekly, in fact. But I have never received a reply. I hope that they are receiving my letters but have been forbidden to reply to me. But I know that it is far more likely that they have never received a single one. The emperor’s mother, the Dowager Empress Fenfeng, probably delights in burning them herself when they are delivered.

  Chan-juan reaches across the table and places a hand on my arm. “I know they would be.”

  I look at her and try to force a reassuring smile, but I cannot. My lips quiver and I feel tears running down my cheeks. I have stopped writing, the ink flowing from the brush onto the paper and creating a large, black circle. I put the brush down until I can control myself.

  “I miss them all so much,” I say, and Chan-juan nods. I am speaking of Dongmei and Jiangfei, but also of my own family, my parents and sisters. I still have had no contact with them, nor have I tried to. I cannot ask anyone to write such a letter on my behalf without revealing who I am. That is the main reason I have worked so hard to learn to read and write on my own. Someday, I will write to my family, but only when I can write the words myself and then seal them from prying eyes.

  “Daiyu! Your doting public has arrived,” another nun calls into the room, a playful smile on her face. I sigh and follow her out into the courtyard where three women and two children wait for me. They all bow when they see me.

  “May the empress live ten-thousand years!” they say. I walk over to them and ask them to stand.

  “I’m not the empress anymore,” I say, though I know the words will have no effect on them. Every day, women venture to the temple from around the country to pay their respect to me. I tell them to stop, but that seems to make the people love me more. They return home and speak of my humility to others, who then want to come and meet me for themselves. I wish I could act spoiled and entitled instead. Maybe then they would grow to despise me and stop coming. But I can’t do that. I’m entitled to nothing, and I never want anyone to believe that I think I am.

  “You will always be our empress, my lady,” one of the women says on behalf of the group. “You saved our lives. Saved our country! The emperor cannot erase that, and he can never erase you.”

  I smile and nod in appreciation as she hands me a basket of kumquats. The other women have bags of rice and beans, and these they give to some of the other nuns who have joined us. The children give us dates and red beans, along with hugs.

  Tao Fashi then joins us, and the first woman discreetly hands her a bundle of coins on a red string. Tao Fashi folds her hands together and bows to the woman in thanks. The group then moves to the iron brazier to light joss sticks before going to pray inside the temple. The other nuns then take the food items to the kitchen.

  I do wish the people would stop coming to me. Stop speaking about me and sharing my story. The emperor has banished me, erased me from the official record. I am afraid that should he still hear about me, especially the people speaking well of me, he will become even more angry and order my death. But I am glad that the gifts people bring benefit the whole temple, not just me. I have kept nothing for myself, but donate everything I receive to the temple.

  “Your grief sits upon your shoulders like a great weight,” Tao Fashi says, calling me back to the present.

  “Greif, regret…” I shrug my shoulders. “A great many things.”

  She nods and hands me an empty basket. “Why don’t you go and gather mushrooms. A walk in the woods is restorative to the soul.”

  I take the basket and bow to my teacher. I know the real reason she is sending me out of the temple is so that I do not have to face the women and children who have come to see me again. I can slip away until they are gone.

  I go through the wide gate and down the many steps, turning into the pinewood forest about halfway down the staircase. Pine needles and cones crunch under my steps, no matter how delicately I walk. I reach up and tug at the orange cloth around my head. It pulls free easily, and my hair tumbles down around my shoulders. I run my fingers through it, lamenting how coarse and tangly it has become. Of course, when I was growing up, my hair was in even worse condition. But living in the palace, Suyin would brush my hair every morning and evening with a tortoiseshell comb dipped in scented oil to make my hair smooth and soft. I think having my hair bound all the time is not helping it. Like me, my hair needs to breathe and feel the sunlight. I pull my hair around my shoulder and pick at a knot that has formed.

  I have not walked very far when I feel…uneasy. As if I am not alone. I turn around, expecting to see someone. Perhaps a nun who has come to walk with me or a curious child who has followed me. But I see no one.

  I try to shake the feeling off as I continue walking toward a rotting fallen tree where mushrooms always seem to sprout. This is not the first time I have felt the need to look over my shoulder. Even though the emperor banished me, I still fear his wrath. What if he sends someone to kill me? Or the dowager empress does? I know that she was behind the deaths of Lady An and Empress Caihong. I could never prove it, of course, but the fact that I know could make me a threat to her. Or she could simply wish me dead because she hates me. These thoughts make me look over my shoulder again, but I still see no one.

  I climb over the dead tree and crouch down on the other side to collect the mushrooms. They grow in bunches, like white fans, and are one of my favorite kinds of mushrooms. Though, I love all mushrooms and can eat them raw. Except wood ear mushrooms. I can hardly abide to look at them, much less eat them. The brown, floppy, chewy texture is enough to turn my stomach—

  I freeze when I hear the sound of pine needles crunching, as if under a footstep. A chill runs down my spine and my arms break into goose flesh. My heart races and I can hardly hear anything over the sound of blood thumping in my ears. I slowly sit up and peek over the top of the fallen tree.

  Still, I see nothing. But that brings me no comfort and only makes me more afraid. Whoever is out there is deliberately hiding from me. I crouch back down and hold my basket tight, though I will hardly be able to defend myself with a mere basket. I look around for a solid tree branch or anything I might be able to brandish as a weapon, but I can find nothing of use.

  I hear the crunching again, closer this time. I cover my mouth with
my hand to keep from crying out loud, rocking back and forth on my knees. If I can’t defend myself, then I must hide. My pursuer probably saw me climb over the log, so I cannot stay here. There are no other places of cover within crawling distance, though. I will have to dart through the trees in a confusing manner. Hopefully, I can lose him that way and make it back to the temple. I will be safe there. No one would dare attempt to shed blood under the watchful eye of the goddess.

  I hear a step, and another, and another. Steady, small steps growing closer. I cannot wait. I jump to my feet and dart ahead, my mushrooms spilling from my basket.

  But I don’t get far.

  I scream as I nearly run into a large buck. He seems startled as well, rearing up on his back legs and letting out a strangled sort of growl. I stumble back, falling on my rear as he lands on his feet, the ground tremoring slightly under his weight. He then darts away, practically bouncing through the trees as he escapes my view.

  I let out a heavy sigh of relief. The footsteps had been nothing more than a deer. I should have known that. We are rather secluded out here, and wildlife is plentiful. I feel like an idiot as I stand and brush myself off. I turn around to go back to the log and collect the mushrooms I dropped, but I scream again when I see a person standing just on the other side of the log.