THE EMPEROR WEPT over Purity’s death and called for an imperial funeral. He raised Mother to the position of Lady of the Kingdom of Rong and granted her the ultimate privilege of coming into the Palace on a litter. I adopted Purity’s son and named him as heir to my late father. To the detriment of my brothers’ children, when Intelligence was twenty years old, he inherited the title and the revenue of the Great Lord of the Kingdom of Zhou, he became the principal officiating priest in the worship of the Wu ancestors, and he took on his duties at Court.
The generous offerings and elaborate ceremonies devoted to the deceased did nothing to heal my sorrow. I could not shake off a feeling of guilt. To cut short this pointless grief, I gave orders to close the residences that had belonged to the Lady of the Kingdom of Han.
But her death had thrown the shadow of doubt over my life. Instead of accepting the changing of the seasons, the loss of her happiness and the decline in her beauty, Purity had rebelled against the laws of nature. The demon she had fought had been nothing other than an obsessive desire to make time stand still. Mutilating herself and destroying herself were her ways of refusing inevitable failure. There was a nobility and veracity in that desperate gesture that constantly troubled me.
I felt I was growing old, floating. Everything pitted an Empress nearing forty against a young favorite: The beauty treatments and the beneficial effects of medicine that were a constraint and a necessity to the first were a distraction and a waste to the second. Specialists had started to treat my failing kidneys, my slackening intestines, and my back damaged by the weight of my headdresses. The eunuch masseurs ran their vigorous hands over my face to smooth my wrinkles; they rubbed my breasts, pulled my stomach, and twisted my buttocks to firm up the muscles. All these manipulations convinced me that this body, which had brought four children into the world, would soon be a wasteland.
In the sixth moon of the second year of the Breath of the Dragon, I brought a chubby pink boy into the world. His laughter and tears gave me new confidence. I called him Miracle. Let him drive the demons from my life and fill my horizons with his golden beams of light!
The blissful happiness of this event devastated Harmony. Now over twenty, the very noble Lady of the Kingdom of Wei could not escape the torments that ambush women at particular points in their lives: All the pride of youth was also a fear of decrepitude. To keep the sovereign’s favor for any length of time, she felt she must have a child.
She summoned Mother with her tears and sent her to me as an emissary. I offered a cushion to the Lady of the Kingdom of Rong who had hardly made herself comfortable before she started describing the agonies of imposed sterility and begging for my clemency.
Determined not to give in, I told her: “Only concubines, wives, officiators, servant girls, and ladies in finery-in fact all the women inscribed on the register of the gynaeceum-may conceive for His Majesty. The Lady of the Kingdom of Wei is a relation from the outside. She has palaces outside the crimson walls of the Forbidden City. Her freedom means she could conceive a child by a man in the ordinary world. If, by mistake, the Emperor recognized the infant as his own, it would be a terrible blow to the imperial lineage.”
“Majesty,” Mother began, trying to move me with her words, “I have survived every hardship in life thanks to my children. Without you I would have let myself die of grief when my husband died. The most appalling suffering in life is to be alone in old age. I do not want Harmony to end her days alone. My granddaughter is prepared to give up her freedom and to accept all the constraints of the Inner Court. Give her a title as an imperial concubine; she could have a child quite legitimately…”
“Good lady,” I interrupted her sharply, “in every era of dynastic history, imperial children have been used as weapons by ambitious favorites. The births of princes have brought more disruption than happiness. That is why the sovereign and I have decided to control women’s fertility to serve him. It is their duty to entertain the Son of Heaven and mine to be responsible for procreation. This ruling is a guarantee of peace within the Palace and of stability in the Empire. At present I have brought four sons into the world: The continuation of the dynasty is guaranteed; the sovereign is satisfied of that. He does not need any more children. Harmony will be lucky not to risk her life in childbirth. She will live longer, and her beauty will be more easily sustained. She should understand my concern and be grateful for it!”
“Majesty,” Mother said, falling to her knees and sobbing, “I shall soon die, and I want Harmony’s future to be secured while I am still alive. She is your niece. She owes you her upbringing and her destiny. She will always be your servant, indebted to you. Majesty, she will never betray you. Please let her know the joys of motherhood!”
I held my anger in check and lifted her to her feet as I said playfully: “Madam, are you encouraging incest now? Do you no longer fear the wrath of the gods? If Harmony is so determined about this idea, then she must leave the Capital, secretly marry someone, and have children!”
In that year the Emperor handed over all his political affairs to me.
His signature on the decrees that I wrote was now a mere formality. The fate of an entire people weighed on my shoulders, and I was submerged in affairs of state. In the frenzy of work, I mourned Elder Sister. I went to bed late at night and rose early in the morning, and I was no longer concerned about the sovereign who had stopped visiting my bedchamber.
My silence and indifference only increased Harmony’s resentment. She secretly accused me of having killed her mother with poison and claimed that she in turn was in danger. When I was informed of her strange complaints, I summoned her and reprimanded her fiercely. The favorite kept her head lowered, but there was a provocative irony in her prostration. News of my anger spread, and the next day the sovereign brought me a precious gift: The preface to The Orchid’s Pavilion written by the master calligrapher Wang Xi Zhi. My heart leapt with joy, but I was still wary and with good cause: He went on to express his wish to confer a vacant title of concubine on Harmony.
“Majesty,” I told him, “your servant has never forgotten that she was once a Talented One in your august father’s court, and she is still infinitely grateful to Your Majesty who defied custom by making her Empress. But would it be sensible for Your Majesty to turn his back on conventions twice in the same reign by receiving the niece of this Empress-whose legitimacy is still contested-into the Gyneaceum ten years later? Imagine the consternation of the Outer Court and the rest of the world! Future historians will not be able to distinguish between love and flippancy or sincerity and perversion. Their frivolous comments would cast a shadow over Your Majesty’s glorious reputation! Would Your Majesty deign to give me an answer: Is there a difference between an imperial wife and the favor the Lady of the Kingdom of Wei enjoys? Your Majesty’s generosity is boundless, and this favorite has not been neglected in any way. Why make a change for the worse when Your Majesty treads the path of righteousness?”
My celestial husband lost heart, and I spoke in a softer voice: “My mother, the honorable Lady of the Kingdom of Rong, has spoiled Harmony. This young woman belongs to a new generation that knows nothing of duty and sacrifice. Her boredom is the sickness that comes with a life of luxury and leisure. I shall put her to work! Would she like to conduct the Inner Institute of Letters?”