“I have no sickness other than a toothache,” the Emperor replied. His voice was low and weak, carrying a slur with which I had become familiar. “Tell me a good remedy for it.”
“Yes, the One Above All. May I elaborate? If the essence is contained, a man enjoys good health and a strong mind. Woman’s yin, thus, succumbs to man’s yang.” The astrologer droned on, and even though I could not see him, I could imagine his sesame-speckled beard shaking as he spoke. “Suppose a man copulates with ten women without losing his essence. His mind is greatly strengthened, and all sorts of dreams—of woman, of demon, or of any forbidden vision—shall be expelled, and thus the curses of the roaming ghosts shall be dissolved.”
“What did you say?”
The sharpness in the Emperor’s voice made me raise my head. Around me, the other attendants glanced at one another. The voices from the corridor dimmed somewhat, as though the ministers, who waited outside for their turn, were alerted as well.
“The One Above All, dreams of all sorts are curses of those ghosts who roam on the dark side. They strive to break into the mind’s barrier, enticing man with their secret wishes.”
“You exaggerate.” His voice was still slurred, but now it had turned hard.
“When a man’s mind is weak, his defense is lowered. The ghost succeeds when a man releases his essence in a dream. That, the One Above All, is the ultimate calamity to a man.”
If he had seen the sheets I had collected, he would not have said that. But it was too late.
“I think your calamity befalls rather sooner than you think.” The Emperor roared, “Captain!”
Outside the Audience Hall, the Captain answered.
“Stitch up this man’s lips, so he can never utter another word in his life again.”
Some footsteps pounded on the other side, and soon, a prolonged scream pierced the hall. I covered my mouth, as if the needle had pierced my own lips. Another hysterical cry. Then a string of heartrending wails. The ministers waiting in the corridor murmured, but none of them dared to object or enter as the astrologer’s screams slowly succumbed to whimpers. I went to the antechamber’s door and peered out. The poor man, stumbling, stepped over the hall’s threshold and rolled into the corridor. A pitiful thing, like a sacrificial animal, saturated in blood.
“Resume the audience!” the Emperor ordered, and the ministers trickled into the hall. One by one, they presented their individual cases, as if they had seen none of the blood, as if they had not heard the astrologer whimper nearby.
The usual solemnity, though thicker than ever, descended on the other side of the hall, and I leaned against the pillar behind me, wondering what the astrologer would do with his lips stitched. By now, I was sure, words of his punishment were already flying. And by the time the audience finished, all the people, the ministers, the scribes, the servants, the guards, the ladies, and even the people in the kingdom would question the Emperor’s sanity.
And that would not be the end of it. From now on, nothing would be the same, because even though we could not speak of it, we could feel it, the moodiness of the Emperor, hanging above our heads like an invisible sword suspended in the air and threatening to drop when we least expected it.
A sudden scream rose in the hall. I jolted and rushed to the side of the screen and peered through the gap of the folds. I could not believe my eyes.
The Emperor was trembling, violently, not just his hands or his arms, but his whole body, as though someone we could not see was angry at him and shaking him. White foam gushed from his mouth, and his eyes rolled upward to the ceiling. Then, as the ministers cried out frantically, he stood up and threw out his arms as though trying to order people to calm down, but a spasm ran through him, his legs buckled, and his head snapped to one side. He tumbled from the throne.
? ? ?
The court physicians were quickly summoned. The Emperor was swiftly removed and carried to his bedchamber. By dusk, everyone in the palace was whispering.
“The Emperor is haunted!”
“He is poisoned!”
“He is dying!”
“He is dead!”
If I had not accompanied him to his bedchamber, I would have believed them. But it was true. The Emperor looked dead. He did not respond to our cries or the probing touches of the physicians. He did not open his eyes, or his mouth, or wave his arms. He simply lay there, his face contorted, his hands bent, and his breath faint.
Day and night, the court physician Sun Simiao paced around him, feeling his pulse, examining his eyes, and listening to his breathing. Occasionally, the Emperor’s arm jerked and his mouth twitched. But he would not open his eyes.