“We pay our respects to Mu Taihou! May Mu Taihou know everlasting joy and boundless years!”
In the main hall of Ganquan Palace, Ying Yang followed her mother in saluting the woman seated above them. Once everyone had greeted Taihou, they paid their respects in turn to Zhao Furen, who sat below her on the western side. Zhao Furen returned their greetings. Ying Yang and the other royal children then exchanged salutations according to seniority, and at last everyone took their places.
Children whose birth mothers held high rank sat beside their mothers. Those whose mothers occupied lower positions sat near a friendly consort of higher standing. Ying Yang had already been taught this rule and obediently settled upon the same mat as her Ayi, Xia Furen.
“A-Mei! A-Mei!” someone called softly.
She turned and met the eyes of a little boy leaning toward her. He and his mother, Zhao Furen, sat nearest Zhao Ji on the western side, immediately beside Xia Furen.
Yet the instant he saw her looking, the boy froze. His round eyes widened in astonishment. Then he curled his lip and turned away.
Ying Yang: ?
*Why does he look as though he despises me? What’s his problem?*
She curled her own lip and looked away. Taking advantage of the liberties permitted a child, she began discreetly studying the people around her.
It was now the fourth month, the beginning of summer. According to Zhou ritual, the clothing of rulers and nobles ought to accord with the season. Who knew how many years had passed since ritual propriety began its long collapse? Even the Zhou royal house had finally perished more than a decade earlier. Yet the custom of changing one’s colors with the seasons had survived.
Of the eighteen consorts assembled in the hall, nine wore red or pink. Stranger still, as though by prior agreement, not one had chosen the same shade. Every red was different.
Xia Furen wore a magnificent vermilion *quju* patterned with phoenix-birds. In the design of a phoenix carrying the sun in its beak, the sun itself was a brilliant disk embroidered in gold thread. The robe was dazzling, yet its splendor retained an air of solemn grace.
An ordinary beauty would have been overwhelmed by so much scarlet and gold. On Xia Furen, it was another matter altogether.
Hair dark as gathering clouds, skin white as frost and snow, eyes clear as autumn waters, a gentle oval face and delicately shaped lips—her extraordinary beauty eclipsed everyone else in the hall.
Zhao Ji gazed appreciatively at Xia Furen, seated to her left, for quite some time before speaking as though savoring the sight.
“Several months have passed since we last met, Changjun, and somehow your beauty has improved yet again.”
The remark was amusing. Half from habit and half from genuine pleasure, the consorts suppressed their envy and joined in the laughter.
For a moment the gathering appeared wonderfully harmonious.
Ji Meiren was herself dignified and beautiful, with impeccable bearing, as though a straight pillar had been set within her spine. Her deep-crimson shenyi, patterned with interlocking diamond motifs, lent her an air of noble magnificence. Raising her sleeve to conceal half her face, she declared, “To sit beside Xia Furen leaves this humble concubine too ashamed to show her face!”
Ying Yang had imagined Ji Meiren to be one of those stiff, etiquette-obsessed women. To her surprise, the woman joked with perfect ease. Self-deprecation and witty little stories came readily to her, and she had Mu Taihou laughing until she bent forward and back.
Even Xia Xianshi, who had been rigid with nervousness, could not help lowering her head to stifle a laugh. Dressed in a pink quju, she looked wonderfully fresh and radiant when she smiled.
Ying Yang happily admired her mother’s beauty.
When Xia Xianshi lifted her head, she glanced at her daughter out of habit.
Their eyes met. Ying Yang gave her a delighted grin.
Xia Xianshi stopped smiling. Almost deliberately, she averted her gaze and composed her face.
She too had an oval face, though her chin was pointed and delicate, which the people of this age considered insufficiently imposing. Nevertheless, she was lovely: a finely shaped nose, lips like cherries, and large eyes that tilted upward, resembling peach blossoms when she smiled and taking on a faint, cool melancholy when she was troubled.
The pink quju made her seem especially tender and charming. Yet within a few breaths, she had grown stiff and wooden, and the radiance of her beauty gradually dimmed, as though a lovely clay vessel had been wrapped away from sight.
Mother really does get terribly shy…
After silently lamenting this for a while, Ying Yang resumed her observations.
Across from them, Mi Furen and the women behind her all wore shades of blue and green. Their coiffures, belts, and embroidery were also strikingly similar.
Were they all women from Chu?
Or, rather, from Jing.
The previous king had once changed his name to Zichu to please his principal mother. After his death and ascension among the ancestral spirits, the character Chu became subject to naming taboo throughout Qin and had to be written as Jing instead.
The customs of Jing-Chu differed considerably from Zhou ritual. When everyone else dressed in red, the women of Jing-Chu preferred green.
Among the red blossoms and green leaves were several touches of pale yellow. Ying Yang glanced at Mu Taihou’s splendid robes of vivid imperial yellow and at Zhao Furen’s shenyi, dyed the yellow-brown shade of huanglu. She guessed that the women in yellow belonged to the Zhao faction.
Three Taihou. Three branches of imperial in-laws.
Of the eighteen consorts, four wore yellow, five green, and nine red.
Coincidence? Or a reflection of the three great factions—the Han-Xia, Chu-Mi, and Zhao maternal families?
…
“Wu Gongzhu presents a pair of jade bi.”
Hearing her own designation, Ying Yang came back to herself. The ceremony had already advanced to the recitation of the grandchildren’s gifts.
Mi Furen, representing the consorts, had delivered respectful greetings to Mu Taihou and presented the garments, shoes, and stockings they had made. Xia Furen, speaking for the royal grandchildren, had offered the customary elegant expressions of longing and devotion. All those stages were finished.
The children’s gifts were announced according to seniority. Ying Yang could not even remember when she had supposedly prepared one. When she heard that the two little seventh-born children, who knew nothing beyond crying, eating, and sleeping, had each “presented” a pair of jade rings, she understood.
The royal children’s gifts were purely ceremonial.
“Yangzi! Yangzi!”
Her mother gave her hand a little squeeze. “Mu Taihou is calling you!”
*I’ve drifted off again… It’s all because these courtly greetings are so boring…*
“May Mu Taihou forgive her,” Mi Furen interposed. “A moment ago, Fusu wished to demonstrate his filial devotion and walked here together with Da Gongzhu, San Gongzhu, and Wu Gongzhu. Wu Gongzhu must have grown weary, which is why her attention wandered.”
Ying Yang could not help giving Mi Furen another look.
Now there’s a talented woman.
Everything she had said was true. Yet by rearranging the order of events ever so slightly, she had changed the implication entirely. Nor could anyone easily correct her without seeming to make a mountain out of a molehill.
You really can’t judge people by appearances.
Mi Furen looked and carried herself like an elegant orchid. But after these two encounters, Ying Yang suspected that, orchid or not, she was the sort that devoured people and lashed them with its tendrils.
Ying Yang raised her face in a sweet smile.
“Damu~”
Zhao Ji thought nothing of her granddaughter’s wandering attention. Children were all like that. Finding the little girl rather a novelty, she beckoned her forward, took her hand, and made her turn around.
“Well, isn’t this remarkable!” Zhao Ji exclaimed. “Yangzi is utterly different from before. It’s almost as though she’s been granted a new life!”
She turned to Xia Xianshi. “Have you performed sacrifices to thank the gods above?”
Xia Xianshi replied that she had.
Zhao Ji asked about the details of the offerings, then pronounced, “For one afflicted to be made whole again is a divine miracle. Nothing short of a great sacrifice can adequately thank the gods.”
She summoned the Ling of Ganquan Palace and issued an order on the spot: after the Summer Solstice festival, the palace’s ritual specialists and shamans were to conduct a grand sacrificial ceremony on Ying Yang’s behalf.
The consorts were startled. The looks they directed at Wu Gongzhu and her mother changed at once.
Xia Xianshi felt honored, yet uneasy. She stole a glance toward Xia Furen, hoping her elder cousin might guide her.
But Xia Furen’s eyes were lowered to the rush mat beneath her. Lost in thought, she did not notice her cousin’s appeal.
Xia Xianshi had no choice but to accept Mu Taihou’s command with nervous submission. A Furen might have some small room to speak before Taihou; a Bazi certainly did not. All she could do was assent obediently.
While her mother fretted, Ying Yang was staring into space.
[Ding! Popularity +100 points.]
Why?
Unable to understand it, she scratched her head in bewilderment.
Finding her granddaughter adorably innocent, Zhao Ji drew her close and chided the others.
“Yangzi’s A-Mu is young and inexperienced. Did none of you think to look after them?”
Zhao Furen was her niece, so Zhao Ji directed her gaze toward Mi Furen and Xia Furen.
Mi Furen maintained an impeccably respectful posture as she calmly passed the responsibility elsewhere.
“Fifth Gongzhu resides in Huicao Hall. This concubine believed Xia Furen ought to be the one in charge.”
There was some sense in that. A Furen was not a Wanghou; she could hardly interfere freely in another Furen’s palace affairs.
Zhao Ji turned to the woman beside Mi Furen.
“Changjun?”
With Xia Taihou still alive, other women of the Xia family were addressed either by rank or by personal name.
“Changjun? Changjun!”
Xia Furen started violently, came to her senses, and hurriedly begged forgiveness.
Zhao Ji waved the apology away. Rather than rebuking her, she supplied an excuse.
“You must have tired yourself yesterday making tooth powder with Yangzi.”
Gratefully, Xia Changjun bowed and followed the offered lead.
“It is rather embarrassing to admit, but after receiving the tooth powders Yangzi made yesterday, I went to bed still thinking about the different varieties I had not yet tried.”
“Oh?” Zhao Ji exclaimed. “There are others besides the Puji Five-Herb Ointment and the Taiping Eight-Herb Ointment? Yangzi, Yangzi, how do you know so many recipes? Could it be that an immortal really has been guiding you?”
The consorts who had been listening closely were thoroughly confused.
Tooth powder? What was that? Something Wu Gongzhu had made? Why did Taihou know about it, and Xia Furen too, while the rest of them knew nothing?
Ying Yang grinned foolishly.
“More or less!”
Zhao Ji had not expected her to admit it outright. After a moment’s surprise, she asked with curiosity and genuine gravity, “Which honored deity is your teacher?”
Ying Yang answered at random. “Lots of them! I can’t tell them apart!”
“Could Fifth Gongzhu describe one or two distinguishing features of these honored deities?” Mi Furen suddenly asked. “Though this concubine’s learning is modest, I studied a little with my father and grandfather from childhood. Perhaps I could identify the honored deity’s name.”
Zhao Ji clapped her hands. “Xiuyi’s family once served as the Left Historians of Chu. They do possess a scholarly tradition.”
Oh no.
She had only meant to muddle through with a vague answer, but her tongue had moved too quickly and dug her a pit.
Ying Yang inwardly cried disaster. She was troubled, and more than a little frightened. She had never been one to stir up trouble for the pleasure of it; now that she was facing the terrifying business of palace intrigue, she was even more alarmed.
Instinctively, she looked at her mother.
Xia Xianshi was plainly anxious. Her carefully painted red lips were pressed tight between her teeth. Her eyes held not only worry, but so much grievance and helplessness that she looked close to tears.
*That’s right. Mother is only eighteen. She’s practically a young girl herself.*
Ying Yang looked at her Ayi.
Xia Furen’s brows were drawn together in worry and thought. Beads of moisture had risen upon her forehead.
Cold sweat?
That’s right. Ayi is pregnant, and the pregnancy hasn’t been going particularly smoothly. She mustn’t be made to worry too much.
Shame stirred within Ying Yang.
She was not truly an ignorant child. How could she place all her hopes on two young women who were not even as old as she had been in her previous life?
However frightening palace struggles might be, she was still a Gongzhu. She was not going to die over a careless remark. At worst, someone would scold her. Besides, the younger a child was, the more forgiving people tended to be. No normal person would relentlessly pursue a three- or four-year-old over every word.
So what on earth is wrong with Mi Furen?
Ying Yang gave her a speechless glance. Her earlier thought—that she ought not offend Fusu’s mother—faded away, replaced by a considerably less charitable one.
Other people might not know, but I do. Even if I wanted to depend on Fusu in the future, I couldn’t! He’ll die even earlier than I do!
Her sudden enlightenment was like a mobile phone abruptly acquiring full signal bars.
Without the slightest hesitation, Ying Yang turned toward the smiling Mi Furen, arranged her features into an expression of innocent curiosity, and asked directly:
“Mi Ayi, how can you prove that your family’s teachings are correct?”
Her question struck the assembled company like a thunderclap. The whispers that had been passing through the hall died away at once.
To have one’s family learning questioned before everyone—anyone who valued dignity would find it intolerable.
Some of the consorts cast sympathetic looks at Xia Bazi.
She had borne a daughter, and that daughter had been considered inauspicious. Worse, the girl was foolish! When she could not speak, she had been an embarrassment; now that she could speak, she was making mortal enemies for the Xia women!
“Ayi, please don’t be anxious or angry just yet,” Ying Yang said with a beaming smile. “Let’s play a game. Then you’ll understand why I asked.”
Had her granddaughter begun a formal debate, Zhao Ji would have smoothed things over and decisively ordered the child to apologize. But now the girl claimed that a game could reveal errors in the Mi family’s transmitted learning.
Zhao Ji, who had her own doubts about the origins of her granddaughter’s strange knowledge, immediately agreed.
“The game is very simple,” Ying Yang explained. “All we have to do is pass a message along. I need six people. Damu, would you like to choose them, or shall I…?”
“Can I play?” Zhao Ji asked. That was the question that concerned her most.
Ying Yang was momentarily at a loss.
“Of course! We just need another five people to sit in a row before you. The message has to be passed secretly, in a whisper.”
So Zhao Ji chose her niece, two of her own maids, and two eunuchs.
Ying Yang rose onto her tiptoes, shielded her mouth, and whispered a sentence into Zhao Ji’s ear.
Zhao Ji laughed, then leaned toward her kneeling niece and whispered the sentence to her.
Zhao Furen maintained her ceremonious smile as she turned to the maid beside her. The maid passed the message to a eunuch, who passed it onward…
The whispering game involving six people was soon finished.
Zhao Ji looked toward her granddaughter. Ying Yang presented her with silk and a writing brush, and gave Zhao Furen the same.
“Damu and Zhao Ayi, please write down the words you heard.”
The maids and eunuchs could neither read nor write, so Ying Yang omitted that step for them.
Once the four attendants had recited their versions, the writing on the two pieces of silk was revealed to everyone.
Any adult in the hall who possessed eyes and ears could see who had won today’s contest.
A faint greenish tinge crept over Mi Furen’s jade-like complexion. A genuine smile blossomed upon Xia Furen’s face.
Xia Bazi gazed at her daughter in delighted pride. Ji Meiren turned her head aside; though she hid behind her sleeve, the brief burst of laughter could not be disguised.
Taihou was puzzled.
“A-Ran, what I said to you was, ‘What day is it today?’ Why did you write, ‘Today is the xuwu day’?”
Zhao Furen froze.
“But today really is the xuwu day!”
Ying Yang had known that the message would be distorted beyond recognition by the end. What she had not expected was for it to go so badly wrong at the very first exchange.
“Damu, what I said to you was, ‘What numbered day of the fourth month is today?’…”
She had already emphasized that the rules required every word to be repeated exactly, without adding, deleting, or substituting even synonyms. Nevertheless, everyone had passed along what they understood rather than what they had actually heard.
Regional accents had made matters worse.
Zhao Furen spoke with an accent from Zhao. The maid who listened to her thought she had said, “It is almost noon today,” and told the eunuch behind her, “Noon is approaching.”
The first maid in the chain was of mixed Chu and Qin parentage, and her speech blended the sounds of both regions. The eunuch behind her was a native of the old Qin heartland around Yongcheng. No one knew precisely what he heard or how he interpreted it, but when he passed the message onward, it had become, “What shall we eat for lunch today?”
The young eunuch behind him was from Xianyang. He heard, “Are we eating dried shrimp for lunch today?”
The last maid was also from Xianyang. She neither misheard nor misquoted the words spoken by the person before her.
Unfortunately, those words now bore almost no resemblance to Ying Yang’s original sentence.
Ying Yang turned to the company and bowed with clasped hands. Her voice was not loud, yet every word rang clear.
“Even with so simple a sentence, passed among no more than six or seven people, the words have changed beyond recognition. How much more uncertain, then, must accounts of immortals and gods be?”
Author’s Note
I’ll write a little more about the brothers and sisters who rank higher in seniority. The younger ones won’t receive nearly as much attention, apart from Huhai. They’re rather difficult to invent stories for.
Zheng-ge had thirty-odd children—and that doesn’t even include those who failed to survive childhood! Thirty-something is a conservative estimate. _(:з」∠)_
Who on earth keeps claiming Zheng-ge lived an ascetic life and showed no interest in women? (Utterly bewildered.)
Translator’s Notes
– Mu Taihou / Damu: Titles and kinship forms retained in pinyin. Damu is Ying Yang’s affectionate address to her grandmother.
– Quju / shenyi: Styles of formal clothing worn in ancient China.
– Jing / Chu: The chapter refers to the avoidance of the character 楚 (Chu) in Qin writing because of its association with the deceased King Zhuangxiang’s name, Zichu.
– Jade bi: A flat, circular jade disk with a central opening, commonly used in ritual and gift exchange.
– Xuwu day: A day designated by the traditional sexagenary calendar.
– Ayi: A familiar form of address for a father’s consort.