“If it is a girl, will you help me bind her feet?” Meiling asks. “I want her to marry into a good family.”
“Of course. And if you have a son, I will ask Maoren if the boy can attend our school in the Garden of Fragrant Delights. The tutors we employ are exceptional.” I leave unspoken that it’s not unheard of for a family such as mine to invite the sons of poor relatives or friends to benefit from a clan’s generosity. “If I’m also given a son, then the two boys can become study partners from the first days of practicing their calligraphy until the day they arrive in the capital to take the exams.”
“If we both have daughters, I hope they’ll be as close as we have been.”
“And will always be.”
“If one of us has a son and the other has a daughter—”
“Are you already thinking about a matchmaker?” I say it lightly and hope she takes it the right way, because as much as I love Meiling, this match could never happen—not even if her daughter has a pair of perfectly bound feet.
“Let me dream, Yunxian. Let me dream.”
Poppy, realizing I’ll spend the night here again, arranges coals under the kang and feeds the braziers. She makes a little nest for herself with her satchel of clothes and the box she brought with her from Wuxi. (Sometimes I wake in the night and see her sitting over her belongings, going through them as though there’d be something I might be tempted to steal. Just the thought makes me smile.) Next to me, Meiling’s body relaxes against mine as she drifts to sleep. Her breath deepens and her expelled air passes warmly down my chest and floats out over my hands. I should wake her, so we can change into our nightclothes. Instead, I run my fingers through the ends of her hair, smoothing the strands against my thigh.
I stay awake a long time, as I often do, and let my mind wander over the possibilities and improbabilities. Meiling and I may share similar status in the Great Within, and I only want the very best for her, but our lives are different. Nothing will change that, even if we wish it so. And I worry… Just as the phoenix rises from the ashes—and as Meiling has risen in status—there is another truth: The higher you fly, the more crushing the fall. I keep my eyes open just long enough for the first wick to burn out and for the golden light in the room and the sparks in my mind to dim.
* * *
Night follows day and day follows night. A second month has passed since Miss Zhao and I arrived in Beijing. Empress Zhang has entered the month and could go into labor at any time. Meiling and I will enter our months in another four weeks. I will spend my month not in confinement as a lady but as a working woman like Meiling. My emotions have continued to be in turmoil. I constantly remind myself of Grandmother’s warnings about my weaknesses. Meiling is alert to them too. I struggle not to get despondent or sick, and I must thank Meiling for watching over these innate failings of mine just as I stay vigilant for anything that could cause harm to her or her baby.
Today we’re gathered in the Great Within, and the empress is telling one of her favorite stories. Meiling sits nearby. She looks pale. Until last week, I’d never seen her look so happy or content. Then something shifted, and two days ago she began vomiting. We think morning sickness occurs only in the first three months, but for some women it can appear at any time—all the way up to and through labor. I’ll adjust her formula tonight, but for now I must turn my attention to the empress.
“My husband is the only emperor in the long history of China to have just one wife and no concubines,” she says in her usual elaborate way. She cracks a melon seed between her teeth, examines it, and then pops the morsel in her mouth. “Until the day he dies, I will be the only woman for him.”
She likes to repeat the story, which means I’ve heard it several times since I arrived here.
“When my husband was a boy, his father kept thousands of concubines. His favorite was Consort Wan. The Chunghua emperor lost all interest in his wife, Empress Wu, who had already given him a son. Meanwhile, the consort struggled to get pregnant.” Empress Zhang’s voice lowers as she reveals what few outside the palace know. “Every time Consort Wan heard that another concubine was with child, she had that woman poisoned or secretly gave her herbs so she would miscarry. Empress Wu realized she and her son could be targets of the consort as well, and they went into hiding. Eunuchs and others protected them. When the emperor died, my husband ascended the throne. Consort Wan disappeared. No one has heard of her again.”
While the story is from a previous generation, it’s a reminder that Empress Zhang is attuned to palace intrigue and won’t permit it. She looks around, taking in the women in her presence. “My husband is a follower of Confucius, Buddhism, and Taoism. He believes in rectitude and obedience. To honor his mother and all she did to protect him, he sets an example for the rest of the country—not just here in the palace. This is why today you find no concubines, consorts, or secondary wives in the Great Within.”
Having the opportunity to oversee the empress’s birth is without doubt a great honor, even if it doesn’t come with the same rewards Meiling will receive. (This is as it should be. Meiling will be actively involved in the delivery, while I will attend only when the empress requests my presence or if a complication should arise.) I’ll admit I wish I liked Empress Zhang more than I do. Although she can recite history and her place in it, I find her shallow. She’s tantalized by a new purchase or gift, but her enchantment is short-lived. She immediately wants something else that’s exotic or priceless—another multilayered headdress bedecked with jewels, a figurine of the Goddess Guanyin carved in ivory, a pair of life-sized marble lions. She enjoys the foods that come to the palace as tribute, but then needs my help with her resulting indigestion and sleeplessness. And yet…
She is still just a woman. She’s as nervous about giving birth to her first child—who we all hope will be a son and the future emperor—as Meiling, a midwife with much experience. I’m a doctor, but I find both women look to me more for my personal experience, having gone through labor and successfully brought into the world three babies, albeit girls, than for the herbs they should take.
“Doctor Tan.”
I shake myself out of my thoughts. “Yes, Compassionate One?”
“What ingredients does your family use for making mother’s soup?” Empress Zhang asks. She’s questioned me about this many times these past weeks, hoping, I believe, that I’ll name something that will require her to dispatch men to find a rare ingredient. She is the embodiment of One eye on the dish in front of her and one eye on the saucepan.
“Everyone makes mother’s soup a little differently,” I answer. “Some add extra rice liquor to help bring in a mother’s milk—”
“We have imperial wet nurses for that,” she says with a sniff.
“Of course,” I agree. “Others add extra ginger and peanuts to the soup, which help a woman regain her strength after birth. I will make sure the cooks prepare a soup perfect for your particular needs.”
But already she has lost interest. “Who wants to play a game?”
My baby pushes an elbow or knee against the inside of my ribs on the right side of my body. He likes this spot. (He, he, he… Maybe if I say it enough times, it will come true.) He’s kicked or stretched on it so often that I feel sure the undersides of my ribs are black and blue. I push back against the bones with my palm and glance over at Meiling. She’s lost in thought, with a hand on her belly.
Later, when I examine her, I’m troubled to find her pulse erratic. I review her formula. It is correct. I suggest that she stay in bed for a few days, which she does. On the fifth day, she rises, determined to return to the Great Within.
“I did not come this far only to fail,” she murmurs. “You know as well as I do that the empress must be comfortable with me when it comes time to catch her baby.”
“Do you continue to have nausea? Any dizziness or pain?”
“I’m fine. Truly.”
But she still looks pale to me.
* * *
During the empress’s second week of entering the month, she goes into labor. To pass the time until she sends for me, I’m interviewing a woman who’s applying to be an imperial wet nurse. She sits across from me, her soft white hands folded on the table before her.
“My husband is in the army and far away,” she answers when I ask why she’d like the job.
“Your age?”
“I just turned nineteen.”
“How many children do you have?”