In the corner, fire sputtered in a tripod brazier and reflected on the scrolls of couplets hanging on the walls. I would have loved to get closer and read them, but it was not the time.
A sweet aroma drifted in the air, perhaps from perfumed candles, the rare type made of beeswax, but I was too nervous to tell what scent it was.
Where was the Emperor?
The mural on my left seemed to tremble. I looked again. It was not a mural, but twelve painted screens with embossed frames. A shadow flew across the screens. My chest tightened. Before I could speak, a breeze swept my nape. Something icy pressed against my neck, and a grim voice said, “Speak! What are you doing here?”
7
I could hardly breathe. The blade felt cold against my skin. “I…I was summoned.”
“An ill-mannered servant!” The man sheathed the sword with a clang and headed to a stool near the oversize bed. He had a large frame: his shoulders were broad and his head was round like a festival lantern. His face was mercifully masked by the darkness.
Emperor Taizong. Who else would speak in such a manner, as if he were discontent with my behavior even though I had done nothing? He did not possess a lion’s roar. His voice was grim and somehow raspy. He did not walk like a powerful lord. He shuffled, his shoulder tilting to one side, and he looked like he was having trouble holding his back straight. He also groaned as though his bones ached.
That man was the mighty conqueror everyone talked about? The most formidable man of the kingdom, the one who was above everyone else? He had just celebrated forty years of mortality, I remembered, but he looked old, irritated, and morose, as though he resented the world and held grudges against everyone.
With a loud grunt, he sat down on the stool facing the bed. He did not ask me about the riddle—perhaps he had forgotten it, or perhaps he was no longer interested—nor did he question me about my fight with the other Selects.
I stayed where I was, remembering the code, which dictated I must not do anything until I was told. Certainly I could not sit. The superior sat while the subordinate stood. But what should I do? A drop of water slid from my hair to my earlobe, dropped on to my shoulder, and slithered down to my stomach. I shivered.
A splutter came from the brazier, startling me. I glanced at the Emperor. He did not move.
Was he going to sit there forever?
Suddenly, he stretched out his arms. “Now.”
It looked as though he wished me to disrobe him. I tied the corners of the cover sideways at my chest and scurried toward the stool.
Carefully, I held the collar of his robe, pulled back the fabric from his shoulder, slid it down his arms, and took it off. Then I knelt on the floor to reach for the drawstrings of his loose underpants.
I thought of what would come next. My hands trembled.
“What are you waiting for?” He slapped my hand.
I shrank back. Did he wish me to take off my cover? My nerves tightening into a ball, I dug my fingers into the knot and loosened it. The cover slipped from my shoulders and dropped on the floor. Goose bumps spread on my arms, and I stood, unprotected like a plucked hen.
He did not move.
Cold seeped into my skin. I hugged my chest and crossed my legs, but immediately I realized that was a mistake. I dropped my hands to my sides.
“What are you doing?” he said sharply. “Here.” He pointed to his back.
I looked behind him. Nothing. Hesitating, I then walked there.
“Never stand at my back,” he barked.
I quickly stepped aside. Something poked my leg—the sword, its hilt inlaid with jade and gold. It was strange he would keep a sword in his bedchamber, but perhaps he wished me to give it to him. I stooped to pick it up.
“Never, ever touch my sword.” His voice was louder, and the sword slid aside, out of my reach.
I straightened. It was so humiliating. There I was, naked, standing, trying to please him. But he shouted at me as if I were nobody.
“Put these on.” A pair of leather gloves dropped at my feet.
I picked them up, not knowing what to do at first. Then I understood. Of course. I must not touch his skin directly.
He wiggled impatiently, his finger pointing at his right shoulder. “Here!”
Suddenly, everything was clear to me. He did not wish me to strip, nor did he desire me to pleasure him. He only needed my fingers to scratch his back.
I tapped the skin beneath his shoulder blades. He let out a loud grunt. “Harder!”
I increased my pressure.
“Harder!”
I scratched with all the strength I could muster. He sighed in relief, and then he lifted his feet. “Foot bath.”
I searched for containers. There were two basins filled with water near the brazier. I wanted to cover myself first and then fetch the water, but I was afraid to keep him waiting. So I went to one basin, carried it above my chest, and left it before him at the stool.