“Come!” the Emperor shouted, walking toward the stable’s entrance.
I looked up. He was beckoning to me. But I did not wish to go. I wanted to see what Pheasant was doing. I wanted to talk to him, to explain, and to comfort him too. But the Emperor was waiting. Quickly, I moved toward the entrance, feeling Pheasant’s eyes chasing me in the dark.
24
The Emperor asked for me when he had his morning meal, and I stood behind him while he dined. I accompanied him to the imperial library, where he reviewed the petitions—an honor only the second-degree Ladies and Most Adored would receive. While he made decisions and gave grants, I ground the ink chalks in the ink stone. Once, he was in an especially jovial mood and encouraged me to write. I showed off my calligraphy, quoting Tao Yuanming’s “Song of a Serene Garden Life” and Wang Xizhi’s “The Preface of Orchard Pavilion.” He was delighted. He gave me a bolt of silk embroidered with exquisite patterns of thrushes and peach blossoms as a reward.
Everywhere he went, he took me with him. His five imperial stables, the feasting halls, the library, and the Archery Hall. More and more bestowals were sent to my bedchamber: a ceramic bowl with blue flowers, a toy horse with a red bridle, and a vase painted in yellow, green, and white. I shared all the gifts with Plum, Daisy, and the other Talents.
The Emperor liked me. He really liked me. I was his new favorite concubine, and everyone knew it. People in the Inner Court turned their attention to me again. They began to treat me more courteously, and chunks of meat filled my bowl. I was also given the chance to choose whatever color, whatever pattern of silk I liked for my silk stipend, a privilege of which I had never dreamed before.
I knew why he liked me. He liked the girl he had seen that night, the soft, feminine, tempting woman who swayed her hips and arms with charm. If I wanted to keep his attention, I must continue to give him that woman.
I practiced those steps more often. I studied Jewel, the way she smiled, pouted, nodded, and even frowned. I observed secretly how she gave in, how she made a request without making it sound like one, and how her eyes misted up one moment but then twinkled with laughter the next.
I could do all those and more.
I learned how to form my hair into many innovative shapes. One week I would braid my hair in ropes, the next I kept them straight and erect like a rabbit’s ears, and another week I would build twin mounds wound with silk ribbons around my ears. In a month’s time, my fashions were duplicated by the maids and even Lady Virtue.
Plum taught me how to apply makeup. She fussed around me, plucking my eyebrows, applying white cream to my face, and coloring my lips. When I stared at my image in a bronze mirror, I hardly recognized myself. A sheet of whiteness blanketed my face, a red dot smudged the center of my lips, and above my eyes were two lines, shaped like the wings of a fluttering moth—fragile, fleeting, and destined to die.
I looked foolish, like one of the Noble Lady’s maids. But that was the style all the ladies worshipped, and my intention was to embellish rather than distinguish.
Plum asked what beauty marks I would like to paint on my cheeks. I paused to think. I could have a rabbit, a cherry, or a peony, like everyone else, but I decided on a bird. Like the pheasant.
But if someone asked, I would say it was a pigeon.
I also put my womanly figure on good show. I had an alluring body, I noticed, more pleasing than anyone else’s. My bosoms had swelled, and my body was well proportioned. I was not too short like Lady Obedience or too tall like the Pure Lady. When I passed Lady Virtue, I felt her eyes linger on me with envy.
When the Emperor was around, I donned sheer gowns that complemented my curves. I revealed the inner wrist of my hands when I ground ink, and I wore gowns with wide collars that showed my bare shoulders and nape. When he looked in my direction, I let the shawls slip.
A few days later, while we were feasting in the garden, the Emperor asked us to entertain him. Lady Obedience danced, Lady Virtue played the zither, and Jewel, to my surprise, wrote a poem. She recited:
“Cutting the finest qi silk,
White as frosty snow.
I shape a pair of love fans,
round and round like the bright moon.
To go in and out of your sleeve,
and give you cool breeze as you move.
But often I worry the coming of autumn,
when cold draft drives out summer’s heat.
And you toss me in the hamper,
your love and affection forever asunder.”
It was actually Lady Ban Jieyu’s work. The ancient court lady had written “The Sad Song of Round Fans” after she lost her emperor’s favor. I doubted the Emperor knew Jewel had stolen the verse, but it did not matter. I had to do better than her.
I looked up at the night sky where a crescent moon hung. Words came to me:
“Like an unstrung bow,
The new moon stands by,
Don’t say it’s tiny as a moth brow,