“Chang E?”
“That’s it.” I nodded, happy he was familiar with the folklore. Of course he would know. He must have learned as many classics as I did. The clouds drifted, and the silver bowl shone above the cobweb of shadowy tree branches. “That’s why some people believe the moon brings tears.”
“Well, tell me about her. I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Once upon a time there was a young couple who lived near the foothills of a mountain. The husband, Hou Yi, was a respected archer, and the wife, Chang E, was the most beautiful girl of the village. Every day, Hou Yi went into the woods and hunted for food. He was a good man, and each time, he shared his game with his fellow villagers. The gods in Heaven heard of his good deeds and decided to reward him with a pill of immortality. Hou Yi came home and showed his wife the pill. Chang E was excited, for she had not told her husband that she was unhappy. She did not like living in the village. She wanted to see the palace where the gods live, to touch treasure and live in grandeur. She wanted to become immortal herself. So when Hou Yi was not looking, Chang E took the pill. And you know the ending.”
“She flew to the moon.”
“Where she found an empty, heavenly palace with a cinnamon tree and a black rabbit.”
“She was foolish. No wonder she weeps by the cinnamon tree every night.”
“Foolish?”
“What good is immortality if you live in loneliness?”
I stared at the moon. I could make out the shadow of a slender figure of a woman, a black rabbit in her lap, waiting under the tree. She must have been peering at her husband, or us.
If I were Chang E, would I choose the pleasure of a celestial palace or the humble home of Pheasant’s arms?
“I can assure you she misses her parents,” I said, thinking of Father and Mother.
“No more talking, sweet face.” He lowered his head to kiss me.
I smiled and nestled my head in his arms, and there we sat in silence.
The wind swept the treetops, singing a soothing melody. Before us, a pair of rocks, almost as tall as the trees, stood peacefully in the night’s shade. They faced each other, like a couple of lovers whispering.
It was still spring, and we had the whole summer to ourselves. But the windy days would arrive, followed by the frosty winter—it would come eventually—and we would not be able to meet in the deserted garden.
But until then…
18
A few days later, I went to the polo field with the Noble Lady to watch the Imperial Team practice. The Emperor’s three older sons—Taizi; Prince Ke, the Noble Lady’s son; and Prince Yo, the Pure Lady’s son—were said to be among the team. I had heard so much about them, and I thought it was a good opportunity to observe them.
Wearing my new gown the seamstresses had made, I stood under a pine tree at the end of the field with the Noble Lady. The Emperor was sitting on a bench placed on a high platform near the edge of the field. Because he had not invited us to the practice, we could not disturb him.
Shouting constantly, he appeared engrossed in the game. “Rout the Tibetans!” He stood, waving his hands as the players dashed across the field.
He wanted to win. If we lost, the Tibetans would lose respect for him, and perhaps even make more demands than just a Chinese princess.
And all the members of the team seemed to know the high stakes, and they looked eager to please him. Mallets raised high above their heads, they galloped across the field, competing against one another.
Taizi was the most imposing figure of all. Dressed in a single loincloth and nothing else, he perched on top of his mount like a statue. He was undoubtedly the most powerful player, the ball spinning at high speed each time he struck it. His hits were hard and deadly, but his horse ran slowly, burdened by the prince’s weight. After two chukkas, his mount panted foam, and he had to switch horses.
Prince Ke was the opposite image of the heir. One year younger, he possessed the delicate features of a young maiden. He had pale skin, scarlet lips, rosy cheeks, and the willowy waist of a dancer. I feared for his life each time the heir roared past him, but he was resilient, like the willow. I hoped, for his mother’s sake, he would play a good game and impress the Emperor.
Prince Yo bore no resemblance to either of his half brothers. His suntanned face was covered with layers of dust, and his slanted eyes were alert like a hound’s. But the most prominent feature on his face was his eyebrows. Long and thick, they looked as if a calligrapher had lost control when he drew them.
He looked angry and impatient, and he played polo like someone who was racing against time. Quickly and precisely, he ran through the field like an unsheathed sword.