She waited, her head touching the ground until, at a word from him, she rose and extracted a richly ornamented loose-stitched book from the case.
It was Emperor Hsiao Ching’s practice before the business of the day to listen to five verses from the Analects of Confucius. Ying Mei’s task was to read these passages, carefully chosen by the Grand Chamberlain.
Lifting the book with dignity and reverence she found the first selection and paused. As usual, her father had chosen a generality to begin.
To one side the soft reverberation of a gong sounded. In a courtly high-pitched chant she began: ‘The Master says: he who governs by his moral excellence may be compared to the Pole-star, which abides in its place, while all the stars bow toward it.’
She inclined her head and waited.
The gong reverberated again.
‘The Master says: “I will not grieve that men do not know me; I grieve that I know not men.”’ Ying Mei’s gaze remained resolutely on the parchment: this was a scholarly admonishment at the Emperor’s recent leniency toward the warlord Kao Yang. It could only bring trouble, for the man was an unprincipled viper and-
Another soft boom.
‘The Master says: “Observe what he does; look into his motives… can a man hide himself?”’ She remained bowed; it was a call to take heed of the reckless vainglory of the man, his barely concealed ambitions and dark streak of cruelty.
The melodious note from the gong never came. Instead there was a strident triple strike as a dusty messenger ran in, throwing himself prostrate before the throne.
No one except an imperial herald with tidings of the utmost urgency came into the Presence without obtaining leave at the highest level. First Eunuch Yuan shot a glance at Kuo.
‘What is this news, that you disturb His Imperial Majesty so?’ the Grand Chamberlain demanded, ignoring Yuan, who stood tight-faced.
‘Great mandarin, General Wu desires you should be aware that Lord Kao Yang is under arms and advancing on the city.’
Ying Mei caught her breath. Not only had Kao Yang betrayed the Emperor’s trust in refusing to disband but he was now insolently approaching the capital.
‘Sire, what I have feared has come to pass,’ Kuo said to the hanging gauze. ‘It is time to-’
‘Wu has six banners of Yeh spearmen. We are not concerned.’ The voice from within, however, was weak and elderly.
The Grand Chamberlain persisted. ‘Do not underestimate Kao Yang, Sacred Ruler. His spies and agents are everywhere and they cry disloyalty and insults to your august name upon the common people. If we-’
‘Minister Kuo! The Wei Lord of Ten Thousand Years is not to be dismayed by mere posturing. Instruct General Wu to offer Kao Yang mercy. If he submits to me this day, then his life will be spared, and that of his family. If not, then the wrath of heaven will surely be called upon his head. That is all.’
‘Sire, it is essential that-’
‘Enough! Let the readings continue!’
Ying Mei returned to her chamber shaken. The times were strange and disturbing. She recalled the portent of a golden eagle taking a fox within the imperial compound that had terrified many by its thinly veiled meaning; there were mutters that the previous month’s partial eclipse was the sun turning his gaze from horrors to come. Now, the warlord Kao Yang was not so far from the capital. Had he come to pledge fresh allegiance to the Emperor or was there a real threat? She knew much of the imperial army was away, dealing with an uprising among the peasants.
She busied herself and tried not to worry: in China’s long history there had been other disturbances and challenges to an emperor’s rule, this would not be the last.
Within the high walls of the palace, the morning wore on in its usual measured calm and after a delicate midday repast the Emperor honoured his court by attending a recital of music on the pipa, a five-stringed lute, played by his ladies at the Hall of Tranquil Longevity. Despite a subdued atmosphere, Ying Mei brought smiles of delight with her gay, ‘White Snow in Spring Sunlight’, and then the more introspective ‘Flute and Drum at Sunset’.
Another lady of the court stepped forward shyly to take her place, but in the stillness before she began, faint but insistent sounds of a disturbance came from somewhere out in the city. The Emperor frowned and Kuo immediately dispatched a uniformed eunuch to investigate. He returned minutes later, politely waiting while the pipa music drew to its close, then announced, ‘Sire, it’s nothing but the humble classes in a witless frenzy about the Lord Kao Yang.’
The Emperor held motionless for a space then said calmly, ‘They are my loyal subjects and without understanding. It is within my power to ease their fears. Grand Chamberlain – this night I shall offer sacrifice before the people.’
Emperor Hsiao Ching then retired to the Hall of Bright Holiness to contemplate and purify.
The imperial palace meanwhile hastened to prepare. The Grand Master of Tao carefully cast his horoscope. It transpired that the hour before midnight was the most propitious. Heralds and runners fanned out to every office and department with orders from the Grand Chamberlain, others carried gongs and trumpets to announce to the populace what was about to take place.
At the appointed time, on either side of the Imperial Way, thousands silently came up to witness the ritual that would see the Emperor join earth to heaven in personal supplication. The great families of state took position about the altar at the steps of the Supreme Temple in strict order of seniority. From her place in the centre, Ying Mei had a privileged view of the processional way, lined by the Imperial Guard in their finest robes with the Emperor’s insignia on their tabards. At the other end she caught sight of the ceremonial chariot being brought to the door, drawn by a pair of magnificent black horses.
The people pressed forward: peasants, beggars, shopkeepers, entertainers, thieves, brothel-keepers, all eager to catch sight of their near-mythical emperor.
Then, piercing the night, came the pure sound of trumpets, followed by shouts of command up and down the line of guards.
Flares blazed into life at the gateway to the palace as Emperor Hsiao Ching of the Eastern Wei dynasty appeared in all his glory. Resplendent in his dazzling yellow robes embellished with the five-clawed imperial dragon, he gazed out on his people. A giant drum began pounding and all along the line of guards, kindled torches were raised in a stunning spectacle.
The chariot ground off, the imperious figure of the Emperor looking neither one way nor the other. As he passed, his subjects fell prostrate and the air was wreathed with the fragrance of incense.
At the steps of the temple the Emperor dismounted. Officials and noble families quickly knelt in obeisance. He progressed up to take position at the altar, then turned and faced the multitude.
On one side of him Grand Chamberlain Kuo held the jade-bound Book of Wei, a compendium of proverbs and rules of the dynasty that came down from centuries past in the country’s long history, written in antique characters revered for the excellence of their execution.
On the other, First Eunuch Yuan prepared the instruments of sacrifice.
Ying Mei could sense the guarded hostility in the two men. She knew her father resented the privileged access the eunuch had by reason of his personal attendance on the Emperor; he suspected that much of what he counselled was being overborne by Yuan to advance his own interests.
‘My loyal subjects – listen now to your Heavenly Lord’s words!’ A spreading sigh came from the people who flung themselves down again in kowtow.
‘We are gathered to offer sacrifice in order to gain the smile of benevolence from heaven in our need and…’
He finished and motioned for the people to rise, then beckoned to the Grand Chamberlain. Kuo stepped forward and opened the precious book. In a commanding voice he read the passages he had painstakingly selected, nodding in satisfaction at the humility and trust they were evoking.