The Empress would collapse, and her shrill cries would echo round the room: “Snuff out the lights! Snuff out the lights!” She would shrug off every hand offering to help her and would spend the night on the spot where she had fallen. With day break the servants would come and open the shutters. The hope and disappointment began again with the sun as it circled endlessly across the sky.
Her rival, the Resplendent Wife, had had her belly filled three times, and her son had been given the crown of Yong, the kingdom-province that boasted the capital Long Peace and one that was usually reserved for the eldest son of the Mistress of the Palace. Every time the Empress heard her accursed name, she faltered and dissolved into tears: She wanted to drive this whore out of the Forbidden City. She accused her of practicing black magic to make her sterile; she was a demon incarnate in a woman’s body who wanted to steal her throne and destroy the Empire!
At twenty-three the Resplendent Wife’s heart was ravaged. The more the emperor cherished her, the more she feared. At the height of her beauty, aging obsessed her and she trembled to be abandoned one day. In government, ministers despised her very existence, and in the gynaeceum the women leagued against her. Her desperate loneliness, her violent sensuality, and her fierce struggle to survive had a strange hold over the Emperor, who was weary of bland, characterless women. With the Empress he had to observe rituals and ensure he spoke in imperial vernacular. Sleeping with the Mistress of the World was a sacred duty, an attempt at procreation, an anxiety that chilled his entrails. In his favorite’s palace, he could dispense with the solemn poses and courteous conventions. His pleasure had only one aim: to be satisfied.
Despite his renewed promises to the Resplendent Wife, the Emperor could not remain faithful. He succumbed to all temptations, and his every adventure was devastating to her. On those evenings when he disappeared into other pavilions, she could see herself reduced once more to the starving orphan wandering barefoot through the streets of Luoyang. The thought of losing her savior, her boat in the ocean of misery, drove her demented with worry.
Younger and more beautiful ladies constantly challenged her. With the passing of every moon, when the blood flowed between her legs, she had to resign herself to the nights of silence, alone with her own stain.
She always had to think, calculate, lie, and smile when she wanted only to weep. Her adversaries were as cunning and determined as she was. She confronted her rivals more and more often, but her strength was flagging. The Empress and her Lady Mother had declared war: They were waiting for the sovereign to grow weary of her and throw her into the Cold Palace. She sought relief in drugs, but found the mornings all the more painful. One morning she decided that the title of Empress would be the remedy to so much suffering that she should now fight to give her son the title of heir. She enlisted her slanderous tongue and her fevered imagination: Night after night, she succeeded in inciting the sovereign’s disgust for his sacred wife.
The duel between the two rivals spread terror throughout the Inner City. The two camps in this battle had concentrated the energies of all these women on the brink of madness. Poisoned wine, toxic clothes, and fans dusted with fatal powders were frequently found in their palaces. Servants died mysteriously instead of their mistresses, but the investigations never went any further than the eunuch valets. Some servants were punished for their betrayaclass="underline" They were beaten to death, put into a sack, and thrown into the imperial river that flowed beyond the thick walls and into the outside world. The Emperor became fearfuclass="underline" Unable to untangle the web of crimes and to impose his authority, pursued by fits of weeping and threats of suicide, he wanted to escape but did not know which way to turn.
Once again he relied on me to give him counsel, to support his will, and to provide a haven of peace.
I HAD LOST some of my naivete and gained strength. These women with their pointless scheming could not contain me, and I watched the volatile world of the gynaeceum with a detached eye. The Forbidden City had buried my youth, and in the monastery, I had died and come back to life. Friends, enemies, and mistresses had all disappeared. I was a ghost from a lost world, still going from one season to the next and still living for one man alone.
But this time it was not a provincial adolescent terrified by the sensuality and corruption of the Inner Palace: Women would bow to my strategy and my experience. From the very first day, I succeeded in securing the loyalty of servants who had grown weary of the despotic Empress and the vindictive favorite. My instructions were respected and carried out; the Court Ladies wanted to escape the conflict between the two mistresses, and, in me, they found the peace and wisdom they sought. At first they were disconcerted by my disdain for tunics that revealed too much flesh, then they decided that modesty was more sensuous. The Court started to imitate my warrior-nun style. The young girls tried in vain to squeeze their ample waists into the wide belts of sculpted leather in an attempt to make themselves attractive. They had neither my slender figure, nor my muscles, nor my fine waist. They did not know that my habit was my armor.
I was ashamed of our sex and disgusted by its aggressiveness. I attended to the daily management of the Palace as a way of forgetting all the misery it harbored. The Middle Court appreciated my abilities, and the Empress entrusted me with more and more responsibility. Little Phoenix tried to find me the whole time and constantly sought my advice.
At night, despite his supplications, I refused to join him in his palace. He then alighted on the idea of summoning me to his offices to dictate letters. He had the entrance to the pavilion closed and welcomed me in the entrance to the secret passage. He would smile at me as he tore off his tunic, untied his silk trousers, and bared his vigorous body. My heart would beat wildly. I would let him kiss me and draw me down to the carpet. Our muscles rubbed against each other; our sweat mingled. When Little Phoenix penetrated me, I was surprised that I did not feel pain, but I recognized the pleasures of this act. Soon a feeling of warmth would roll around within my belly and spread throughout my body. I kept my eyes open and saw Little Phoenix’s face blending with the frescoes on the ceiling. I saw the gods dancing on clouds and pouring millions of petals on us. I saw myself raised up from among the hordes of chained women who were still struggling. Then, at last, I was borne away from this life, from its short-lived seasons and its murderous weakness.
After making love, Little Phoenix would rest his head on my knees and whisper all his problems to me. When he had acceded to the throne, he had had no experience and had left important matters to his uncle Wu Ji. Since then the Great Chancellor had taken a liking to ruling the Empire and paid little attention to his opinions; Little Phoenix was inexplicably afraid of his all-powerful uncle, and he lamented that he had betrayed his Emperor Father’s wishes and become a puppet sovereign. I encouraged him to impose his authority gradually on the government. To avoid the balance of power falling once again into the hands of an ambitious lord, I offered to read political reports for him and to help him prepare for his audiences.
Having served the Eternal Ancestor as a secretary for many years, I still remembered his words. When Little Phoenix spread out the various ministers’ requests before my eyes, the words they used held no mystery for me, and I had no difficulty finding answers. Soon Little Phoenix reported back that, unaware of the authorship of these suggestions, the Council of Great Ministers had praised them, and Wu Ji had bowed before his resolutions for the first time. The Outer Court ’s reaction boosted my confidence, and I returned to work in Little Phoenix’s offices every day. After his moment of jubilant ecstasy, the sovereign would succumb to sleep while I read State reports and wrote up my commentaries. With every sentence, the teachings dictated by the Eternal Ancestor on his deathbed came back to me. By dictating his book The Art of Being Sovereign to Little Phoenix, he had linked me to his future reign.