For the disgraced Taizi had died in exile, and with two sons gone, the Emperor had to choose one among his remaining sons. Two were toddlers, and the others were borne by women with low ranks; thus, they were out of consideration for the throne. Only Prince Ke, Prince Wei, and Pheasant were serious contenders. Both princes, Ke and Wei, were senior to Pheasant, and the succession rule favored them, but Pheasant had saved the Emperor’s life.
“Of course, Prince Zhi shall be the heir. He saved us, every one of us,” I once heard the sweepers saying under the eaves. “What did Prince Wei do?”
Even the Duke made a formal petition to the Emperor. It was time the kingdom chose a new heir, he said, and the heir should be the eighth living prince, Prince Zhi.
And then, on a warm summer night, after the Emperor returned from the mountain spa, for the first time since the rebellion, he ordered all of us to attend a feast. Even though he did not declare it openly, his meaning was clear.
He would announce his heir.
AD 648
the Twenty-Second Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect
SUMMER
41
The music of zithers, lutes, flutes, and chime bells filled the hall, and Lady Obedience, leading a group of dancers, twirled in the open space between the tables. The feasting hall was crowded with ministers, princes, titled ladies, and servants.
Sitting near the end of the hall with the other surviving Talents, I peered at the Emperor. He slouched at the feasting table in the center of the hall, for he was easily tired and could not sit for long periods these days. He wore a bejeweled mortarboard, the crown reserved for audiences in the Audience Hall, and his face, clouded with grave sullenness, remained crooked. But he looked somber and at ease.
My heart clenched in anticipation. Would the Emperor choose Pheasant? Would he announce it now?
The three princes, Prince Ke, Prince Wei, and Pheasant, sat near the Emperor, but as it had often appeared lately and against the traditional seating arrangement, Pheasant sat closest to the Emperor. And the Duke, who had often been serious and scowling, grinned, his hawkish nose looking less sharp. I wondered if he had succeeded in persuading the Emperor to choose Pheasant as the heir. He certainly wanted that, for he was his uncle, and he would be a powerful man if Pheasant became the Emperor.
Secretary Fang sat with the other ministers. They ate heartily, although they looked expectant, their eyes flicking from the Emperor to Pheasant, Prince Wei, and then Prince Ke. Even the servants, pausing in the midst of serving, cocked their heads, glancing from the Emperor to the princes.
The only person who seemed detached from the crowd was the Captain. Standing a few paces behind the princes, he was not eating, nor was he looking at anyone. His purple birthmark smeared across his face like a pool of dried blood, he stared at a pillar silently. I wondered what was in his mind. During the rebellion, his sword had slashed many rebels’ throats, and it had slashed more when he broke into forts in Koguryo. The Emperor had promoted him, praising his might and loyalty. He was now the General, the commander of all armies in the Four Garrisons, ninety-nine legions of Gold Bird Guards, and all the cavalry. He was the sharpest sword the Emperor would ever have.
I looked at the titled ladies gathered around me. None of them were smiling, but they all looked calm, as though they were not concerned about the announcement of the heir. I thought of Pheasant’s wife, Lady Wang, whom he had been married to for almost three years, and Rain. Both were living outside the palace and had not been invited to the feast tonight. If they had been here, they would certainly have been excited.
The servants placed some saucers filled with cooked leeks, stewed donkey meat, and slices of marinated tiger meat on the Emperor’s table. The leeks would improve his appetite, and the meat would repel evil spirits and lift his mood. But he did not touch them. I was not surprised. He had long lost interest in eating, and these days, he dined only on soft, glutinous rice cakes.
Finally, the Emperor cleared his throat. The hall quieted, the music ceased, and only the scent of food and wine drifted through the air.
“Ministers, I have gathered all of you to witness the crucial moment of our kingdom. I shall announce my heir today and show the kingdom what a capable son I have.” The loose skin on his right cheek swayed visibly, and his voice was a slow, slurred drawl. Those who had not seen him lately would have been surprised at his indistinct voice, but I could tell he had put great effort in enunciating the words, and I could also tell the effort was costing him strength. He was having a hard time catching his breath. “From this moment on, our kingdom shall rejoice, for I declare one of my sons has proved himself, for all his valor and honesty, as a worthy heir of mine. Come up, Pheasant.”
Pheasant hesitated. He looked around, pushed away his food, and slowly, but steadily, walked to the Emperor’s table.