“You have been a good companion,” the empress says, “and the next emperor’s birth was indeed slippery. As slippery as could be expected anyway.” She laughs lightly, and the ladies of the court join in. “While I would enjoy keeping you here, you have my permission to return to Wuxi.”
“Of course, no one would call it a gift to consign a woman to do the month on the Grand Canal.” This comes from Widow Bao, who alone has the age and rank to say something of this nature in front of the empress.
It is neither right nor proper for women to do the month outside the inner chambers, let alone on the Grand Canal, but if I can see to the empress the day after giving birth, then surely I can take care of myself on a boat. I can get home sooner and tell my husband in person of the joyous arrival of our son even faster than if I send a courier. I sit up. Blood oozes, and I feel momentarily light-headed.
“The empress looks well today,” I venture. “May I take your pulse? Will you drink the tea I’ve prepared?”
* * *
The next few days are challenging as plans are put into place for our journey home. Poppy begins to pack, while I perform my duties to the empress. Lin Ta assigns a wet nurse to feed my son during the day, but at night when I return to my room, I bring him to my breast. Lian’s suckling causes the child palace to cramp and squeeze back into its original shape. I find this even more painful than the contractions of labor and certainly worse than what I felt after my daughters were born. My breasts ache with milk that doesn’t have enough opportunities to be released, but I won’t give up. As hard as I’m trying to tie myself to my son, my heart is never far from my friend.
“I would like to see your baby,” Meiling announces. She’s conscious enough to see my child no longer resides inside me. “Did you have a son?”
“I did. You can see him another time,” I respond.
“I won’t harm him, if you’re worried about that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, but let’s make it another day.” I worry that holding Lian will cause her both physical and emotional pain.
“I understand.” After a moment, she continues. “I thought when you joined me in Beijing you would finally see me as someone worthy, but I realize now that could never happen.” She pauses. “You were a pearl in your family’s palm. I’m merely a pebble that has been tumbled and smoothed to give a pleasing appearance, while inside I am but packed mud.”
“Meiling—”
“No, listen. You’ve lived a life of purity and been rewarded for it with children. I’ve put my hands on the dead. I’m so polluted and fouled, how could a baby ever find nourishment in my child palace or sanctuary in my arms? Or maybe my sad fate is punishment for sins I committed in a previous life. Either way, how could you—a good mother—allow me to touch your son? You couldn’t.”
“You are neither polluted nor fouled. What happened is my fault. I missed something—”
She interrupts with a question. “Do you ever regret that your grandmother and my mother brought us together?”
I take her hand, the same one that has grabbed mine when she’s begged me to let her die. “Never. Now try to go back to sleep. You must grow as strong as you can. In three days’ time, we will leave this place. We’re going home.”
She begins to cry and shake. “What if Kailoo won’t take me back?”
I smooth the hair from her forehead and then rest my palm there. She’s still hot with a fever I have yet to break. “Don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll be happy to have you home.”
“I—”
“You and Kailoo have a marriage I can only envy. He loves you with his heart and not out of duty.”
She takes small panting breaths—like a child who’s cried too long—but for now she’s empty of tears.
On our last night in Beijing, Midwife Quon comes to check on Meiling and says she can switch from packing to the regular padding we use for monthly moon water. I spoon-feed Meiling a soup of pickled bamboo shoots, chicken skin, and jujubes, knowing these foods will provide both warmth and healing properties. Poppy quietly packs the last of our things. She seems despondent. I would have thought she’d be eager to return to the Garden of Fragrant Delights.
In the morning, Lin Ta accompanies our palanquins and donkey-pulled carts to the dock, where our boat and people have waited for us all these months. Poppy carries my son, while our bodyguards help Miss Zhao and Meiling board the boat. The tiller woman escorts the traveling party to the cabin we’ll once again share. Seeing the familiar faces fills me with quiet joy. We’re going home.
I’m required to stand with the eunuch to watch as my imperial gifts of gratitude are loaded onto the boat, giving me a preview of the rewards that I alone have received as a result of this journey: ten pecks of rice and many catties of coal; several kinds of edible delicacies—tea from the farthest reaches of the empire, lingzhi mushrooms for prolonging life, and fiery mao-tai for the men to drink in their celebrations; bolts of cloth (originally from our province); furniture, lanterns, bamboo screens, and bronze braziers and other ceremonial vessels; ceramics for every purpose; jade and ivory eating utensils; brushes, ink, rice paper, and books; rain hats and oil-paper umbrellas; and strings of cash, and gold and silver in the form of ingots and jewelry. Information about a royal allocation of land to the Yang family has, apparently, been sent ahead by sealed decree.
Lin Ta gives me a wry smile. “You’re returning home with sumptuous gifts, while Young Midwife is lucky to still be breathing.”
“It’s neither right nor fair.”
Lin Ta glances around to make sure no one is listening, and whispers, “If it were me, I might use some of the time on the boat to inspect my gifts. They might be better redistributed into more manageable jars, chests, and other containers.”
“You’ve taken my desire and phrased it in a manner both polite and discreet,” I say, for I was already hoping to reorganize some of my spoils so they might be siphoned off to Meiling upon our arrival in Wuxi.
Lin Ta raises his voice back to a normal level. “The boat is well stocked with live poultry, wheat noodles, tofu, and walnuts. Your meals will be easily made from these ingredients, which will mean fewer stops on your way home.”
“I thank you for your kindness,” I say. “Maybe one day I can repay your hospitality and generosity.”
He’s clearly touched, but he waves away the idea. “No need. No need.”
I stay on the deck until the dock disappears behind a curve in the canal. I don’t feel ready to go to Meiling and the others. I make small talk with the tiller woman, who holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers.
“I’m fully recovered!” she exclaims.
“Indeed, you are.”
“I now have so much energy it’s put the boatmen on edge,” she confides. I had not anticipated this problem. She doesn’t seem to care, though. “Let them cower from a woman with a renewed spirit. Let them call me feisty. I’m still the boss who pays them.” She pours a cup of tea from an earthenware jug, hands it to me, and says, “Here. Sit awhile.”
We drift into silence as the outskirts of the capital slide past. I hear a cry from my son and feel my milk let down. I’m about to go to him when another boat glides north past us. A eunuch in full court regalia stands on that deck. Armed with a bow and arrow, he takes aim and shoots at a man carrying a basket piled high with cabbages strapped to his back as he walks on the towpath toward the city. The peddler falls to the ground. From across the water, I hear the eunuch’s high-pitched laughter. The man onshore stands. He pats his body to make sure he isn’t injured and then begins to pick up his scattered cabbages. The eunuch draws his bow again and aims for another passerby. This time the arrow flies past the intended victim and disappears into a scraggly field. The eunuch reaches into his quiver for a third arrow. The Hongzhi emperor may be hoping to bring righteousness back to the realm, but he’ll never succeed if members of the court would shoot at common men for amusement.
* * *
We have the wind at our backs, but some days it feels as though we’re being propelled by a river of Meiling’s tears. We spend most days inside, curtains drawn, with the only light coming from a single flickering lamp wick. Meiling usually wears one of the simple gowns she brought with her from Wuxi, and her hair is knotted into an unadorned bun. Both accentuate her thinness. I keep thinking about when I first saw Meiling upon reaching the capital. How happy she was… But happiness is transient. Yin and yang always struggle for balance, with the darkness of yin sometimes winning and the brightness of yang striving to bring things back into balance.
“I blame myself for Meiling’s miscarriage,” I confide to Miss Zhao one night as we sit together on the deck after I’ve nursed Lian. “I should have seen something was wrong.”
“I doubt she blames you,” Miss Zhao says.
“But I think she does.”
“Then you should talk to her.”
“It doesn’t seem like she wants that.”