Imperial Lady

9

All that summer, laughter and music, not leaves inscribed with grieving verse, floated over the wall of the Cold Palace as Silver Snow, Willow, and Li Ling—three exiles from what might well have been rich, satisfying lives— shared their talents and memories.

“The most estimable Li Ling has deigned to seek this unworthy one out,” wrote Silver Snow, her brushstrokes sure and delicate, “and has taught her many things. He presents his duty to you and humbly asks that this one remember him to you . . .”

She could write with a tranquil heart to her father now and, thanks to Li Ling, be certain of the delivery of her letter. In fact, she could almost smile when she looked back at the torments of rebellion and regret that she had suffered during her entry to the Inner Courts and her banishment to the Cold Palace. The court, which she had hoped would be the instrument of her freedom and her father’s pardon, had turned out to be a snare; the Cold Palace, which had seemed like worse exile to her than the western frontier might have been for that absurd Lady Lilac, now brought her quiet, learning, even peace and freedom of a sort.

True, her physical being was restricted to the pavilions, and they were no better kept, no warmer, than they had been the previous winter. They were, however, no worse than the courtyards of her lost northern home; and now they contained a treasure that meant more to her than any warmth of brazier or luxury of gem and screen. Above them, her mind ranged afar, as if she finally had crossed the Purple Barrier and now rode free upon grassland and steppe.

If she had little treasure of silk and none at all of jade, she had the vast resources of Li Ling’s mind. At first, he had confined his lessons to such subjects as he thought might interest a lady of fine breeding: music, calligraphy, verse, botany, and herbs—though, in the study of herbs, Willow far outstripped her and rapidly became even Li Ling’s superior. Hers was the greater kinship with nature; hers was the sharper eye; and hers, Silver Snow realized now, must have been the greater suffering in the first days that they had been immured here.

This new joy and freedom, she knew, would cease one day. Li Ling was far older than she and, quite possibly, enfeebled by campaigns, wounds, and the punishment wreaked upon him for his loyalty. One day, he would die, and she would be left to her own resources. By then, however, she would be older. She could hope that the scandal surrounding her and the picture that had so slandered her might have been forgotten and that she would be allowed somewhat more liberty to move within the Inner Courts. Perhaps then, she might find and befriend someone just as Li Ling had befriended her.

. . this one cannot honor her esteemed father enough for the lessons in patience and setting correct values upon things that he has been good enough to teach. Although this one had no choice but to obey the Son of Heaven’s edict, she now esteems the order and dignity of her father’s home and the wisdom of his teachings beyond jade. She will be content to recall them and to attempt obediently to live by them for the rest of her insignificant life ...”

Early in the autumn of the second year of Silver Snow’s life in the Cold Palace, she sat in the well-swept courtyard, watching the gold leaves and the pine needles rustle on their branches. The smells recalled her homeland; the breath of the wind, even after it had spent itself crossing the many walls of the Palace, brought her a hint of motion, of freedom. In the grasslands, she knew, the wind would blow long silver swathes in the grass as if it moved over the sea rather than over green growing things.

Li Ling entered with a step more rapid than was his wont. Silver Snow bowed. Before she had half risen from her obeisance, Li Ling had interrupted her greeting.

“Where is Willow?” he asked. “Tell her to fetch her yarrow stalks and cast the hexagrams.”

“Is there change in the wind?” Silver Snow asked with a quiet smile. That too was a sign of her growth, she thought. A year ago, she might have been all flame and anticipation to hear it, and all apprehension lest it harm her. Now, she could look forward to change with curiosity, set it at its proper value, then leave it behind: it would probably be none of her concern.

“Change?” demanded Li Ling. His weary, wise eyes gleamed, and he was more animated than Silver Snow had ever seen him. “The merest maid—and I do not mean your Willow, either—could know that change is in the wind, a wind that blows across the grassland, bringing us news from the West and, possibly, a new alliance.”

A swish of robes, an uneven step, and an awkward bow heralded Willow. Hastily she knelt—“careful, child!” cried Li Ling and leaned forward to ease her descent. Out came the yarrow stalks, and as she had not done for months, she cast and scanned the stalks to see what hexagram they formed.

“Change,” mused Silver Snow. “Travel. Willow, the last time you showed me these same hexagrams . . . yes, she did, Li Ling, and I scolded her. Tell me, most worthy teacher, does this mean that you shall soon be taken from us, to travel once again to the West?”

It was too early, a childish, rebellious voice in her heart lamented, to lose the man who had been friend, teacher, and surrogate father. Yet, if he was to journey once again to the West, it could only be because the Son of Heaven had restored him to full favor. If that was indeed true, Silver Snow would rejoice. And how much worthier was that second thought than the selfish, timid first one!

Li Ling smiled and shook his head. “This one’s traveling days are done, little lady. It is the Hsiung-nu who are the great travelers, as you know. The shan-yu Khujanga—you remember his name?”

“My father was his prisoner,” said Silver Snow. “And you once said before the Son of Heaven that Khujanga, if he won his battles for supremacy in the West, would seek an alliance with the Middle Kingdom. Is it he who rides to Ch’ang-an, then?”

To her surprise, Li Ling laughed, but there was sadness in his laughter. “So you oversaw the court that day, did you, lady? Your doing, one supposes,” he shot that comment at Willow, who flushed. “You discovered a bolthole for your mistress and, from it, she heard herself reviled.”

‘‘Yet I also saw and heard you!” Silver Snow retorted. “You know,” mused Li Ling, “all that evening, the Son of Heaven swore that he had seen the shadow of his lost lady, running down the corridor. Despite the bevies of Jasmines and Precious Pearls and whatever their sentimental names are whom he possesses, the Son of Heaven is a quiet man who forms deep attachments and grieves cruelly when they are lost or, as he thinks, betrayed. Then, his punishments are all the more severe for his disappointment. Such, I know now, was indeed the case when he sentenced me and let me sit idle in the Inner Chambers. I do not think that he has forgotten his lost love. Still, it is ironic: the shadow that he saw was you . .

Li Ling’s voice trailed off as he entered a reverie. Despite herself, Silver Snow drummed fingers upon the mat.

“Does this shan-yu Khujanga come then to Ch’ang-an? I had thought he was quite old.”

“And so he is, child,” Li Ling agreed. “Old, seamed with scars, and worn out with battles. He would die if he rode this far from his grasslands now. But he has won his battles and now seeks his alliance.”

“Why?” demanded Silver Snow. “The Wall protects us from the Hsiung-nu. Beyond it, however, what restrains them from faring where they will? Barbarians they may be, but they may ride free.”

For the first time since she had met him, Li Ling almost preened himself. “I have never been more relieved to have my advice disregarded. Years ago, when I rode the grasslands myself, Khujanga used to ask me about the Middle Kingdom. And I told him, ‘Your whole horde scarcely equals the population of a couple of prefectures, but the secret of your strength lies in your independence of Ch’in for all your real necessities. I notice an increasing fondness for Ch’in luxuries. Reflect that one-fifth of the Chinese wealth would suffice to buy your people completely. Silks and satins are not half so well suited as felts to the rough life you lead, nor are the perishable delicacies of Ch’in so wholesome as your kumiss and cheese.’ “But Khujanga continues to cherish his silks and his luxuries, and to regard Ch’in as the mother of wise life. That is why he will send a son to court as hostage for his continued friendship with Ch’in.”

“And in return?”

“Ah, lady, if you overheard the court when I spoke to the Son of Heaven about the alliance that Khujanga would have, then you know what he hopes for—silks and gold, and a princess of Ch’in as his bride to seal the alliance.”

As the man who advised the shan-yu to seek alliance, Li Ling was much in favor these days, a fact that he accepted with faint irony. Nevertheless, as shortly thereafter as friends might consider at all polite, Li Ling left her. Silver Snow sat, the tip of a brush tapping against her lip. In the days before Mao Yen-shou’s caricature had disgraced her, Silver Snow had seen the pretty, pallid princesses. Which of them would be selected to make the trip west to marry the elderly shan-yu ? How could such a girl survive, a girl who wept over a pet bird’s death as if it were a worse tragedy than defeat in battle, a girl who required a bevy of maids merely to dress her in the morning?

Such a girl might well go mad even before she set off with the Hsiung-nu. Once again, Silver Snow tapped her lower lip with the brush. My father and Li Ling have told me, if not a great deal about the West, more than such a maid is likely to know. Perhaps . . . perhaps I might be able to speak with her, console her.

Envy flashed through Silver Snow so hotly that her hand, holding the brush, trembled. At least that girl will be free! She shut her eyes, the better to savor her sudden vision of a land she had never seen: the grasslands—tough green stalks waving in the summer the way that wind streaks patterns on a pond; horses pounding over the land, the grass brushing their flanks; the cold of winter with wind howling, building its fury across thousands of li; or the heat baking the grit and pebbles of the innermost desert.

Soon whispers pierced even Silver Snow’s solitude. Precious Pearl, she heard, had received a higher order of rank from the Son of Heaven; soon she might even become Illustrious Consort, or one of several. That was the only news of the court itself; the rest was concerned with the Hsiung-nu.

The ladies—yes, and some of the men and eunuchs too— of the court took positive pleasure in terrifying one another with stories of the Hsiung-nu. Those stories grew more and more common immediately after Mao Yen-shou announced that none of the princesses could be spared as a barbarian’s bride. Instead, the Son of Heaven would “adopt” one of the other ladies from the five hundred who had entered the Palace over a year ago. Royal she would be, but “daughter,” not consort; and she would not have long to enjoy the luxury of a princess of the Han.

Naturally, Silver Snow had not actually heard the corrupt, sleek eunuch make his announcement. She could imagine the bribes flowing into his well-kept hands as lady after lady begged not to be the one selected. Which lady would be chosen?

Mao Yen-shou must be enjoying himself, she thought, as the rumors grew more and more lurid. The Inner Courts boiled as might an anthill into which a warrior maliciously thrust a spear. The Hsiung-nu ate only raw meat; the Hsiung-nu ate only roots and meat pressed between their bodies and the saddles of their horses; the Hsiung-nu never dismounted from their horses; they scarcely looked human.

As gossip shrilled upward toward terror, Silver Snow dared the risk of venturing from exile if only to calm the most terrified (and poverty-stricken) of the lesser concubines, from whom the selection most probably would be made.

“If the Hsiung-nu eat but raw meat, why does the most worthy minister Li Ling speak of great brass cauldrons? If they never leave their horses, how is it that the Hsiung-nu at court walk among us like men?”

The whispers and fears spread like blight across the gardens in the Inner Courts, and high summer rose and waned without the sighs of beauty that those gardens had exacted in other years.

Did they look like beasts?

Willow, of course, had contrived to see one or two. Sullen or proud she called them, anxious not to be disgraced in this unfamiliar city and even more unfamiliar splendor; but they were indeed men, not beasts. Though the Emperor’s Hall of Brightness was, to her, a site of remembered humiliation, Silver Snow thought that soon she must contrive to enter it, to hide once again behind a screen and see these strangers for herself.