Chapter 2

Pity Me, Alone

After the Crown Prince and his party had gone far, Supervisor Li, already frightened into a limp heap on the ground, gasped for a long while before she managed to struggle to her feet. She helped Abao up and asked, “Are you all right?” Abao had just nodded when Supervisor Li slapped her across the face and demanded angrily, “What exactly happened?” Abao covered her cheek and was silent for a long while before answering, “I only wanted to look around the garden quietly when no one was about. I didn’t expect to run into him.”

Her account was vague, and Supervisor Li was naturally full of suspicion. Yet no matter how many times she pressed, the answers came back to the same few sentences. At first she could not help but feel that Abao was stubborn and ungrateful, and she cursed her a couple of times. Then she studied her for a while, seemed to realize something, and shook her head. “Forget it, forget it. Everyone has their own fate. Today I meant only to clear you of blame—it seems I was meddling for nothing. Fortunately, your affairs are no longer mine to manage. Only don’t insist on walking one road until it turns pitch black. When you go to the front hall from now on, if you carry on like this, you’ll have to pray to the gods and Buddhas to keep you safe.” With that, she did not wait for Abao, sighed, retrieved Consort Guo’s clothing, and delivered it herself.

When Abao slowly made her way back along the same path to her quarters, the entire laundry staff had somehow already gotten wind of the news. They had long since staked out the courtyard gate, and the moment she appeared they surrounded her in a tight circle, all talking at once, asking for the whole story from beginning to end. Abao answered as before, summing it up in two or three sentences. The others, naturally unsatisfied, settled for second best and asked, “Then what does His Highness look like? Did you get a clear look at him or not?” Abao shook her head. “I didn’t dare raise my head. I didn’t see him.” Seeing her indifferent expression and the air she now put on of being no common creature, the others felt annoyed and bored. They exchanged a few sarcastic remarks—”Flown up to the high branch,” “If you get rich and noble, don’t forget us”—and dispersed in twos and threes. But then they heard Abao say softly, “I only saw that beside His Highness there was a beauty, dressed differently from everyone else…” One of the servants, a habitual gossip, turned back and said with a smile, “Then that must be Chen Kouzhu, the one we’ve always talked about.” After a few steps she added loudly, with a laugh, “Isn’t she just picking up her leftovers? And still putting on airs here?” Another casually chimed in, “I expect she’ll keep picking up those leftovers. If that one is kind enough to enlighten her a little, who knows—she might even attain some proper fruit.” The first one snorted. “She herself is still a lonely ghost who hasn’t even cultivated a human form. What does she have to ferry anyone else across with?”

Though the servants’ words were unkind, they still treated the matter as an event of great importance and gathered together discussing it endlessly: “Who’d have thought she’s usually so quiet, but when it comes to the crunch she really has some tricks.” “That Chen woman was at least of palace-woman birth, and I hear she’s extremely beautiful. And on top of that, she’s served at His Highness’s side ever since he came of age and moved residence—that’s one thing. But what does His Highness see in her?” “So that’s why I said just now that you can’t judge people by their looks…”

The crowd deliberated for a long while and in the end reached no conclusion. Then one of the bolder ones led the group to question Supervisor Li. Supervisor Li, full of pent-up resentment, seized the chance to vent it all: “It’s exactly because I’ve spoiled you lot day after day—every one of you with skin so light and bones so cheap, with no sense of rank or respect—that we’re reaping our just deserts now. Every one of you can go seek your own death, only don’t drag me down so I can’t even make a decent end of my life.” Seeing them all struck dumb, looking at each other, she issued another order: “From now on, anyone under twenty is barred from outside errands.”

The next day, sure enough, a messenger came from Zhou Wu, the chief steward of the Western Garden’s eunuchs, to requisition staff from the laundry office. Not one of the servants received the slightest benefit; instead they suffered collateral damage, and not a single one went to see Abao off.

That day Kouzhu had changed into a round-collared robe, a yellow sash at the waist bound with a leather belt—the ordinary attire of a palace servant. Seeing Abao, she took her hand and asked with a smile, “Does the new outfit fit?” She looked her up and down, then added, “You came too suddenly, so we had to take the smallest one on hand, and even that’s too big on you. Fold the robe up, tighten the belt, and make do for a few days. I know the office will have new ones made to your measurements.” Abao declined, “There’s no need to trouble the honored one. This is perfectly fine.” Kouzhu laughed off the title. “Calling me that will only get me into trouble. I must be a few years older than you—if you don’t mind, you may call me sister, or just call me by my name. I’m sure they’ve already told you what it is?” Seeing Abao nod meekly in agreement, she smiled again. “As for the clothes, that’s not up to you. You may be willing to economize for His Highness, but I doubt His Highness will agree. To be honest with you, His Highness pays attention to these things. For the next few days, best keep out of his sight so you don’t provoke a scolding.” Then she sat close and went over in detail many of the Crown Prince’s habits and preferences, and asked about Abao’s background and family. Abao answered everything one by one and remembered everything one by one.

Kouzhu had not exaggerated. The rules of Baoben Palace were indeed tedious and multitudinous. The first was that the Crown Prince loved cleanliness exceedingly—not only did he set the example himself, bathing and changing clothes several times a day, but he extended this to others. Every surface—desks and tables, even the bodies and feet of the eunuchs and palace servants—wherever his eye could reach, had to be free of the slightest speck of dust. Ordinarily everyone could only snatch every spare moment to keep wiping and changing things. Abao also came to understand why the work at the laundry office had been so heavy.

Nor had the others exaggerated. The Crown Prince’s temper could not be called amiable. Everyone was on edge all day long, scarcely daring to breathe too loudly in the hall, terrified that one careless move would provoke this demon of polished jade. Once, when Abao served him freshly brewed tea, she accidentally splashed a drop onto the table. The Crown Prince was writing at the time; he suddenly hurled his brush down hard, and a sheet of calligraphy nearly finished was instantly ruined. Everyone in the hall knelt and begged forgiveness. Even after Dingquan had kicked his way out of the hall for some time, no one dared be the first to rise, until Kouzhu came personally to summon them and the matter was resolved. Every day someone was dismissed or punished for a minor fault, and every day new faces came to replace them. This was not like the laundry office—no one here was curious about why the Crown Prince had taken it into his head to pick out such a low-ranking palace woman. The turnover of personnel had become routine. But before long Abao noticed that this did not seem to stem solely from the Crown Prince’s irritability.

Autumn departed and winter arrived. As the Winter Solstice approached, Dingquan was in the study of the warm pavilion drafting documents when a eunuch came in and announced, “Your Highness, the Zhan Shi, Lord Zhang, requests an audience.” Dingquan quickly set down his brush and said, “Show him in at once.” He hurriedly added a robe and straightened his crown, then ordered the attendants to withdraw. As Abao reached the study door, she saw a middle-aged man in purple with a gold-embroidered belt, whose face nonetheless had the air of a scholar, being personally led in by Zhou Wu. Immediately the pavilion doors were shut tight, and no one came near. Abao could not help asking Kouzhu softly, “Sister, who is this man? Why does His Highness treat him so courteously?” Kouzhu gestured for her to be quiet for now, and only after they had left the hall did she answer in a low voice, “This is Lord Zhang Luzheng, the current Minister of Personnel, who also holds the post of Zhan Shi of the Zhan Shi Prefecture. His Highness values him above all others.” Abao nodded and said no more.

Dingquan ushered Zhang Luzheng into the study. Sovereign and minister exchanged greetings, and after Dingquan offered him a seat, he asked, “Has the Minister come from the ministry or from the prefecture?” Zhang Luzheng answered, “This subject came from the prefecture, on ministry business.” Dingquan asked, “How goes it?” Zhang Luzheng knew what he was asking and replied, “The Prince of Qi recommended one man to the Ministry of Revenue and two to the Ministry of War. This subject and the Right Attendant remonstrated strongly and in the end blocked the two for the Ministry of War—one was transferred to Works, one sent out to a provincial post. I expect the decree will come in a couple of days.” Dingquan asked again, “What is Zhu Yuan’s position on this matter?” Zhang Luzheng said, “The Left Attendant has reported illness and has not been to the ministry these past days.” Dingquan nodded and, addressing him by his courtesy name, said, “Mengzhi, I have put you to trouble.” Then he sighed. “Relying on the Emperor’s longstanding favor, the Prince of Qi has grown more and more contemptuous of me over the years. It was better when the late Empress was alive. Now I fear the Emperor has long harbored the thought of changing the heir, and my position grows more difficult by the day.” Zhang Luzheng consoled him: “Your Highness need not worry too soon. After all, Your Highness is the eldest legitimate grandson whom the late Emperor loved most. Even if His Majesty has other ideas, he must still take that into account.” Hearing this, Dingquan laughed coldly. “I hold this position of heir only by virtue of the late Emperor’s lingering grace—and I reckon I have never committed any great fault. As for being the legitimate eldest, the Prince of Qi’s birth mother is now the Empress, so he is the legitimate eldest in the Emperor’s heart. I, a lone minister and a bastard son, hardly know where to place this body of mine anymore.” Zhang Luzheng had not heard him air grievances for a long time and for a moment had nothing to say. After a pause he responded, “His Majesty and Your Highness are ultimately of one body. There will always be some measure of a father’s affection for his son.” He himself felt this official rhetoric was dull and flavorless, hardly moving, and added, “This subject and the others will always loyally support Your Highness unto death.” At these words Dingquan seemed somewhat moved. “Mengzhi, I have always relied on you.” He paused, then said, “Only, let us not speak of father and son again hereafter.” Zhang Luzheng did not know whether he had suffered some indignity in the palace these past days. There was nothing to be done; he could only answer, “Yes.” Dingquan asked again, “As for the position Li Bozhou left vacant, has the Prince of Qi made any move?” Zhang Luzheng considered a moment and replied, “His Majesty keeps saying there is no suitable candidate. This subject has heard from the Left Attendant Zhu that the Prince of Qi’s side did recommend two men, but His Majesty did not consent.” Dingquan nodded. “I will still find a way to push you into the Secretariat.” Zhang Luzheng shook his head. “This matter requires long deliberation. For now, let us first observe His Majesty’s intentions. The storms in the Secretariat are fierce at present—this subject truly dares not set foot there for the time being.” Dingquan nodded. “Rest assured, I understand.” After a moment of silence he added, “Only to have borne such a bad name, to have given others such a pretext, and in the end to have made a bridal dress for someone else—I am truly unwilling.” Zhang Luzheng had no answer and could only deflect the topic, speaking of a few newly acquired letters by Jin-dynasty hands. Dingquan’s interest picked up slightly, and he questioned him closely on whether they were genuine or copies from the previous dynasty. Zhang Luzheng smiled and said he would bring them another day for him to judge in person. Then he brought up the Winter Solstice ceremony, when the assembled ministers would go to Yanzuo Palace to offer congratulations to the Eastern Palace. This was nothing but stale convention; after speaking of it a while, he took his leave.

Before the hour of mao on the day after the Winter Solstice, Dingquan rose to prepare to enter the palace and pay his respects to the Emperor. Abao and Kouzhu attended him as he dressed in his official robes, and they saw his face full of melancholy. Abao had been at his side for over three months now and knew that what he found most difficult was facing the Emperor. At such times his inexplicable temper was at its worst, and she took extra care beyond usual to avoid bringing down undeserved disaster on everyone. The whole party did not breathe easy until they had watched him leave the hall door and be surrounded by his escort—then they felt the relief of having diverted the floodwaters elsewhere.

Dingquan rode in a light carriage to the Donghua Gate, the eastern gate of the forbidden city. After entering, he turned north and passed into Yong’an Gate, which joined the front court to the central court. There he saw two men in single-layered purple robes and black gauze folded caps approaching from the side. The elder, some twenty-three or twenty-four, had a martial air about his brow. He already wore a black leather belt with a square-round jade plaque, and on the belt was an additional jade fish—clearly an imperial gift of rank exceeding his station. This was none other than Dingquan’s half-brother by a different mother, the Prince of Qi, Xiao Dingtang. Accompanying him was the fifth prince, Dingkai, wearing a gold belt according to the regulations for a prince of the first rank. The boyishness had not yet faded from the corners of his eyes; he was the newly enfeoffed Prince of Zhao within the year, also born of the present Empress. The three brothers exchanged greetings, and Dingtang asked with a smile, “Is Your Highness going to pay respects to His Majesty?” Dingquan answered with a smile, “Indeed. Since I’ve run into Second Brother and Fifth Brother, why don’t we go together?” Dingtang nodded. “Couldn’t be better.” Along the way Dingquan and Dingtang chatted in low voices, with Dingkai following behind—altogether a picture of fraternal affection and respect.

When they reached Yan’an Palace, the Emperor’s principal residence, the three straightened their attire and stood respectfully beneath the eaves. After a short while a eunuch came out to announce that the Emperor summoned them, and led the three into the warm pavilion. Because the Winter Solstice had just passed, it was the period of旬休, the ten-day rest, and no morning court was held for seven days. The Emperor had risen later than usual and was just preparing for breakfast. Seeing Dingquan and the others enter to pay their respects, he smiled and said, “I suppose you haven’t eaten either. Come join me.” Servants hurried to move tables and set chopsticks, and word was sent to the kitchen. Seats were set for the three below the Emperor’s seat. After thanking him for his grace, they sat, and before they had even lifted their chopsticks, the curtain stirred, a fragrance of clothing wafted in, and a beautifully made-up noblewoman swept into the pavilion with a smile. She wore a short upper jacket of bright red and a long skirt of kingfisher-green with gold threading, double sashes hanging to the floor, her high bun uncrowned and stuck with more than a dozen flower-headed gold hairpins. On her forehead and both cheeks were pearl-adorned flower ornaments, and behind her crowded five or six palace women in brocade and fine dress. As this woman entered the warm pavilion and glanced about, she seemed all rouge and glory, her beauty proud and radiant. The three princes quickly rose again to greet her, reciting, “May the Empress know ten thousand blessings.” The Emperor, however, did not move, only looked at her with a smile and said, “You’ve finally finished dressing. We couldn’t wait for you.”

The Empress Zhao shot the Emperor a glance, her lovely eyes still clear and lively, so that one could imagine her former elegance. She walked straight to the Emperor’s table, gave him a token bow, and said with a smile, “This concubine has grown old, and unworthily occupies the position of little sovereign. If I do not dress formally, I fear I would sully Your Majesty’s august gaze.” The Emperor laughed. “There you go again. How could my Zitong be old?” The Empress blushed slightly and scolded playfully, “Your Majesty, the boys are all right here.” The Emperor laughed. “Zitong to the little sovereign—it was you who started this line of talk.” The three waited until the Empress had taken her seat beside him before sitting down again. Watching this scene, Dingquan knew the Empress had spent the night in Yan’an Palace. For some inexplicable reason, a faint disgust rose in his heart. After the Empress was seated, she glanced at him quietly and asked with a smile, “The Crown Prince came all the way from Baoben Palace early this morning—it must have been tiring.” Dingquan bowed and answered, “This subject does not dare accept the compliment.” The Empress turned to the Princes of Qi and Zhao with a smile. “You two as well—in such cold weather, it’s hard on you to be up so early. Eat more. Second Brother likes shad, and it happens your father has some here today—count it your good fortune. Only mind the bones.” Then she turned to Dingkai. “Fifth Brother, what do you like? Have your father reward you.” Dingkai smiled. “I’ll have whatever Second Brother has.”

The Emperor watched Dingkai dismiss the servants and slowly pick out the bones himself as he ate the fish. He smiled and said, “There’s no court today. Informal dress would have sufficed—why dress so elaborately?” Dingkai set down his chopsticks and answered, “This subject did not know Your Majesty would grant us a meal, so there was no time to change.” Dingtang glanced at Dingquan, seated above him, and said with a smile, “We knew Your Highness would be in official dress, so we did not dare be casual.” At these words the Emperor’s gaze passed lightly over Dingquan, and he said no more on the subject. He turned instead to ask Dingtang about his trip to the southern suburbs to reward the troops the day before, and then asked Dingkai about his recent studies at the princely school.

Dingquan watched this husband, wife, and sons—a scene of perfect harmony—and felt himself stand out as though he were an outsider of another surname. It was like a fishbone stuck in his throat. He ate a few careless bites and found it tasteless as chewing wax, unable to distinguish the flavors. The Empress smiled and glanced around the table, then ordered a servant, “The Crown Prince usually likes sweets. Send him the preserved plums with ginger and the carved honey preserves. Invite him to try them.” Dingquan rose and said, “This subject thanks Your Majesty for his grace, and thanks Her Highness the Empress for her grace.” At this the Emperor’s face darkened, and he said mockingly, “Since you came in full official dress, and for such a trifling matter you address your mother with an official title, why not do the whole thing properly and seem more solemn?”

Dingquan was silent for a moment, then left his seat and knelt, thanking them again: “This subject thanks Your Majesty for his grace, and thanks Her Highness the Empress for her grace.” Seeing the Emperor’s expression, the Empress quickly smiled and urged, “It’s a festival day, Your Majesty. Do be kind to the boys—why frighten them again?” Then to Dingquan she said, “Third Brother, get up quickly. Your father only thinks you’re too formal—that among family in private, such things make one feel distant and constrained. You’re a bit too honest, child, that you can’t even understand that.” The Emperor acted as though he had not heard. He eyed Dingquan coldly for a moment, then slapped his gold chopsticks onto the table with a sharp crack and said, “If you’re not hungry, then leave first.” Dingquan bowed respectfully and answered, “This subject takes his leave.” He turned and walked out of the hall.

The remaining few looked at one another. After a while the Empress had a servant fetch a new pair of chopsticks and place them back in the Emperor’s hand, and she urged him softly, “Why must Your Majesty? The Crown Prince did not mean it.” The Emperor said angrily, “You needn’t speak for him. He did it deliberately for me to see. Look at that face of his—the look of a man whom everyone in the world has wronged. Does he still have any regard for me in his eyes?” The Empress sighed and did not try to persuade him further. The four went on with their meal, the atmosphere awkward and silent, until Dingtang and Dingkai stealthily exchanged another glance and each put a piece of shad into his mouth.