I stroked her shoulder to soothe her, and when she calmed down, I moved closer to the window. The vermilion gates, studded with bronze balls, were tall and wide, but I was not impressed. They looked similar to our own front gates, but as the carriage moved along, I realized how enormous the palace entrance really was, and it did not have just one, but three entrances—left, middle, and right. The middle one, reserved only for the Emperor and the late Empress—I remembered what Father had told me—was the grandest. It had one arched bridge in the front; two prancing stone kylins, the mythical unicorns; and two watchtowers standing on the top of the wall like pavilions floating in the air.
Father had said that the palace contained 9,999 rooms, an auspicious number to suggest the longevity of the kingdom. Each room was covered with marble, and each pillar was carved with dragons and inlaid with jade and ruby. Day and night, the chambers were filled with the sound of lutes and zithers, and the palace women often sauntered about in rainbow-colored gauze robes adorned with perfumed girdles.
And Emperor Taizong, for whom all the melodies were sung, for whom all the buildings were built…I wondered if he had received Father’s petitions. Would he summon me? If he wanted, he could find me easily, since the city kept strict records of who entered the ward and who lived with their kin.
We finally arrived at Qing’s house, a small building of packed mud with a thatched roof. The moment he saw us, he asked for Mother’s coin pouch and our jewelry. That, I knew, was the only reason he was allowing us to stay.
That night, we shared a bamboo mat in a small room with Qing’s two concubines and eight children. I hardly slept. Before dawn, a tattoo of drumbeats rose, the opening signal of the neighboring Western Market. I dressed and left Qing’s house quietly. I wanted to see the palace. I would not be able to enter, but perhaps by some luck I would see Emperor Taizong, and with Father’s contribution to Emperor Gaozu and the dynasty, surely Emperor Taizong would grant my wish and return our house to us.
Outside Qing’s ward, the noise from the market echoed through the thick morning fog like thunder. I paused, shocked to see so many people around me. Vendors chased customers with flaccid quail, rabbits, and pit vipers flapping against their shoulders. Merchants dug their feet into the packed earth and pushed carts laden with bolts of silk. The fortune-tellers paced around, bamboo cards in hands and clouds of coppery dirt at their heels.
I pushed through the crowd and arrived at the Heavenly Street that extended all the way to the palace’s front gates. An army of palace guards stood there, checking a throng of ministers holding emblems of a fish: the palace’s admission token. Only those bearing the token were permitted to enter the palace. There was no sign of the Emperor.
Disappointed, I turned around and walked back to Qing’s house.
? ? ?
Living in Chang’an, I heard rumors about the palace all the time. People said the Emperor would summon fifteen maidens, the Selects, to serve him in the Inner Court that year, and the priority would be given to the high-ranking nobles’ daughters. My father, a governor, had been of high rank.
I hoped the Emperor would summon me; it was the only way to meet him. And life in Qing’s household was miserable. He was poorer than any of my father’s servants. Many days went by without food, and if I was lucky, I ate the burned rice crisp scraped from the bottom of the pot. Big Sister was forced to marry a low merchant in the south so she would not burden us, and Little Sister grew sicker. I made some pickled cabbages and sold them at the market to get her medicine money.
Then one day, my luck changed. Gongs clanged outside Qing’s house. A man holding a banner entered the gate. Behind him stood a carriage and a man who looked like a large gourd, with a potbelly, fat torso, and small head.
“All kneel,” he ordered as my neighbors, Qing, and Mother gathered before him. Not sure what would happen next, I knelt beside Mother, holding Little Sister in my arms. The gourd man spread out a scroll with gilded edges—the emblem of an edict.
In a singsong cadence, he read, “On the eighth month of the thirteenth year of the Reign of Peaceful Prospect, I, Emperor Taizong, the Emperor of China, the One Above All, the Conqueror of the North and the South, the ruler of all land and the seven seas, hereby do decree that the second daughter of Wu Shihuo, the former Governor of Shanxi Prefecture, the man who provided meritorious services to our kingdom, is to be chosen as one of the fifteen maidens who shall enter the Inner Court. Here, I give my decree.”
The crowd gasped, and people surrounded me, shouting their congratulations. I nodded happily, for Father’s petitions had been heard, and I would go to the palace, just as he had wished. Yet I could not smile when I looked at Mother and Little Sister. I would need to abandon them; I had not thought of that. And my sister was so sick. Who would take care of them when I was in the palace?
Later, after everyone left, Little Sister dozed off, and I sat on a bench with Mother. She dabbed her eyes.
“These are tears of happiness,” she said.
She sounded pleased, but I could still hear pain in her voice.
I did not want to leave her either. In the palace, I would not see her face when I woke in the morning or hear her voice before I went to sleep. I would not be able to wrap my arms around her or listen to her breathe.
“I don’t have to go,” I said, even though I knew I had no choice. No one dared to defy the Emperor.