Spring finally came. Birds chirped in the Forbidden Park. Rabbits, foxes, and weasels dashed through the bushes, and trees swayed under a clear sky. I went to the arboretum again, pacing between the poplars and the wall. The other Selects gathered around the rocks in the sand garden. They covered their mouths, laughing.
The poplars grew green shoots with thick coats of hair. I snapped off a few, held them, and then let them fall through my fingers. The wispy white fuzz drifted to the ground like a string tugging at my memory, and those images, vivid but puzzling, rolled in my mind like a scroll blown by a gust. There was a pair of yellow, bulbous eyes, the sudden silence of the forest, a shower of leaves and red drops, and a desperate voice.
What did these visions mean? I wished I could understand them, but a thick blanket of fog seemed to shroud my head, and no matter how hard I tried to uncover it, it returned to coat my mind.
But it must have had something to do with Father—it had to—for I remembered clearly that on that same day, Father had died.
“What are you doing, Pheasant? Bring the horse back here. Now!” a man’s voice shouted from the Forbidden Park on the other side of the wall. His voice was deep, rich, and thick with a man’s valor.
I took a few steps back and raised my head. It was the first time since my arrival that I heard a male voice that was not the Emperor. All the eunuchs sounded like shrill, querulous housewives. Who was the man on the other side of the wall?
“I’m trying,” another male voice answered. “But horses are like girls. You can tell them what to do, but they still do whatever they like.”
A different voice. Youthful and joyous. Infused with spirit and good humor. The young fellow called Pheasant. He must have been good-looking. He had to be. Anyone who spoke with such liveliness had to be beautiful.
I stood on tiptoe. I wished to see who these two men were, but the high wall was impossible to climb. I took a few steps farther and looked again. Nothing but the flowing treetops. I listened intently. There was the rustling of leaves and a horse’s grunting. Then nothing.
Who were those men?
They must have lived or worked in the palace, or they would not have had permission to come to the park. Perhaps they were ministers, scribes, or guards. The first man with the deep voice sounded older; he was in command. The second man, Pheasant, seemed to be his groom.
Could the first man with the deep voice be the Emperor’s son? The Emperor had ten living sons, ranging from twenty years old to less than a year.
I waited a bit longer, listening intently, but no more movement came from the other side. Soon, I left the arboretum as well, but I could not stop thinking of the two men.
? ? ?
A few days later, I had almost fallen asleep when I heard the other Selects whispering on their pallets.
“I cannot wait,” someone said, beginning her nightly chorus with the others. “Only two more months!”
“Me neither,” another added. “How exciting! We will see all those people—the counselors, the ministers, the dukes, and the princes.”
I pricked up my ears. They were talking about the Adulthood Ceremony of our Taizi, the Crown Prince. To celebrate his coming of age, the Emperor would gather all the important ministers and the imperial family members to attend the ceremony in the Altar House. He had also given permission to his women, including us in the Yeting Court, to watch.
I would go to the ceremony! That meant I would see the Emperor again. I wanted to know the date the ceremony would be held, but the girls went on to discuss what to wear and how to shape their hair.
“Look!” a loud voice called out, and gasps rose.
I pulled down the blanket. The Xu Girl and the others were sitting up, peering outside, where a bolt of stark white light flared and flew across the sky like a burning candle. Surprised, I sat upright.
The girls rushed to the corner of the chamber, trembling. Confused, I ran to the doors, opened them, and looked up. Another bolt of light, like a silver fish, swept across the black sky.
A comet.
My hands turned cold. Comets possessed evil power that could bewitch a human’s mind. It was also a sign of Heaven’s wrath and spoke of looming calamity to the kingdom.
Father had often said that an emperor founded a dynasty not by superior military acumen, nor noble lineage, nor the number of decisive battles in which he defeated his foes, but because he was chosen by Heaven. And when Heaven was displeased with the chosen one and his reign, it gave signs, like comets, eclipses, and shooting stars. Disaster and chaos then ensued, the dynasty collapsed, and the emperor’s rule ended.
In The Art of War, Sun Tzu had called Heaven’s intention the Moral Law, which compelled people to comply with their ruler. If one lost it, the reign would end. That was what happened to the Sui Dynasty, the empire before the Tang Dynasty. Emperor Gaozu, who had been a general of the Sui’s army, claimed Heaven had revoked its consent to the Sui Emperor and started the rebellion. He was backed by all men he sought to support and then succeeded in overthrowing the Sui Emperor.