They all had much at stake. If Taizi disappointed the Emperor, he might be forced to leave the court again, or face something worse. If Prince Yo scored more, he would greatly please the Emperor, and his mother, the Pure Lady, would rise with him. The same went for Prince Ke.
“Do you think we will win?” I asked the Noble Lady.
“I just hope Ke will be safe.” The lady’s gaze followed her son, who spurted forward and struck the ball but missed. “Polo is a dangerous game.”
I did not speak, but I thought she would have wished more than that.
“I would like to tell you, the workshops are no longer my responsibility,” she said. “The Emperor ordered the Pure Lady to replace me.”
Surprised, I turned to her. Had Jewel whispered something in his ear? “He should not have done that.”
Prince Ke had another reason to win the game—to compel the Emperor to reconsider his mother’s duty in the workshops.
The Noble Lady shook her head. “Never question him, Mei, for your own sake, and remember that we shall always obey him and respect his decision, no matter what it is.”
“But—”
“Look.” She turned, and I followed her gaze. Four female porters, carrying a sedan chair, were heading toward the Emperor. Sitting on the chair was an obese scholar with massive girth that seemed to spill onto the porters.
It was Prince Wei, Taizi’s younger brother. He was only nineteen but larger than the four women combined. His enormous weight apparently took a toll on the porters, who doubled over, their faces raining perspiration. But he seemed oblivious. Holding a calligraphy brush, he gestured as though composing an important poem in the air.
“And that’s Prince Zhi,” the Noble Lady said, looking behind the porters.
My body tensed, but I kept still. Pheasant was holding the reins of a piebald horse, his head turning toward the men on the polo field. He cupped his free hand around his mouth and shouted something, and Taizi waved his mallet as a response. Grinning, Pheasant went to the Emperor, who gestured for him to sit beside him. They lowered their heads together, nodding, pointing at the men on the field, and then both raised their heads, laughing.
“He’s his favorite,” the Noble Lady said.
“Prince Zhi?”
“Yes,” she said. “The Emperor gave him the nickname Pheasant when they went out hunting together. The Emperor saw a large pheasant with a magnificent tussock of tail feathers that none of them had seen before. Everyone vowed to shoot it and give it to the Emperor as a gift. But Prince Zhi stopped them. He said to leave the bird alone. The bird would be happier to be with its family in the wild, he said. The Emperor was touched by his kindness. He praised him and has called him Pheasant ever since. He was only five at the time.”
What a beautiful story. My heart sweetened.
“But later, the Emperor told me something else. Prince Zhi had too much love, he said. A ruler does not rule the kingdom by love.”
I was quiet. But perhaps it did not matter. Pheasant did not have a chance to ascend to the throne anyway.
“Here he comes.” She waved at her son, who dismounted and walked to her. The practice was over. “I shall go.” The sunlight gleamed on her golden headdress. She turned to face me. “I’m happy for you, Mei. The game is your chance. When everyone sees you next to the Emperor, you will be luminous, rising like a new moon in this court.”
I bowed. “I thank you. I shall do my best.”
The Noble Lady smiled and left to meet Prince Ke. Ever an affectionate mother, she kissed her son’s forehead and smoothed his robe.
I stood alone under the tree, chewing her words. She was right. My fate would change after the game.
Her servants came to me to ask their leave. Deeply, they bowed. I nodded, acknowledged them, and left as well, but I was surprised by their obsequious manner. Nearby, all the servants, some I did not know, turned and dipped their heads to pay me respect.
I held my long sleeves tightly in my hands.
I was eager for the game to start.
? ? ?
When I returned to my bedchamber that night, I took out Father’s mortuary tablet, which was tucked under my clothes. I wished I could tell him of my progress in the court, and I promised him, as soon as I could, I would ask the Emperor to return our family’s fortune to us.
I thought of the day Father died and how my life had changed. Those images swirled in my mind again: the yellow, bulbous eyes, the whirling leaves, and the desperate cries echoing in the sky. “Mei, Mei!”
I could hear it was Father calling my name, and there, I sensed it too, a bright orange figure, silent and sinister, looming a few feet beside me. What was it? I wanted to see, I wanted to know, but my neck was stiff, and I could not turn. And suddenly, a gust of wind swept around me, and all the memories vanished. I held the tablet tight. Mother had told me Father fell off a cliff and died. I did not believe it. Something else must have happened.
What really happened to him? Why could I not remember?
AD 642
the Sixteenth Year of Emperor Taizong’s Reign of Peaceful Prospect
SUMMER
19