The capital - Jinhai

At Yuan Song’s words, I frown.  “An opportunity?  What do you mean, I may not like it?”

Yuan Song sits and points me to a chair.  “The Emperor heard gossip about your performance on the zither.  He’s commanded a repeat performance, for him alone.”

A flash of panic shoots through me.  The Emperor! 

Yuan Song goes on, “Usually for this kind of escapade, he comes with only a couple of guards.  He’s vulnerable.  During your performance, we’ll slip a drug into his drink which mimics the symptoms of drunkenness.  The guards will escort him out into the street where they’ll meet with a misfortune.  The Emperor will be discovered unconscious in the red lantern district.”

I blink.  “What sort of misfortune?”

“As you know, there are various poisons that can knock people out.  I’ve been told about someone who can use darts and a blowpipe.  The important thing is that it should happen well away from the Pavilion so we can’t be implicated.”

The momentary panic becomes a sudden tug of long-buried fear, as I remember that day long ago when the Second Prince and his brother beat me up for daring to oppose them.  “You want me to play for him?  Suppose he recognizes me?”

“He won’t see you close up.  It’s possible he may request you to serve him and in that case, I’ll have a substitute waiting.  One of my people is reasonably similar to you in height and build.  But in any case, the drug will probably render him incapable.”

“Can you really do all that?”

“Yes,” he says, raising his eyebrows.  “All you have to do is turn up and play.”

It takes me a minute or two to consider.  He makes it all sound easy and reasonable, and indeed, it’s an opportunity that mightn’t come again.

“All right then.  When are you thinking of doing it?”

“I’ll need a few days to put everything in place.  Say five days from now?”

“Right.  Same arrangements as before?”

“The costume may be a little more provocative.”

“I don’t see how it could be.”

He smiles and makes no comment.

I don’t tell my friends what we’re planning, because Liang Zhou’s anger has made me think again about involving them.  Liang Zhou has always been our moral compass and now’s no exception.  Mo Jiang has been readmitted into the Liang house on condition that he takes no further part in any seditious actions, and I don’t want to cause more trouble between them. 

I take advantage of the next few days to sound out Hao Meng about my plan for a trained escort for merchant wagons.  He likes the idea.  It seems that Shao Ru’s thinking of joining forces with him, if and when it’s possible.  They‘d certainly be a formidable team.  I feel more than a twinge of nostalgia for those days on the road.  Life was simple, unlike the web of intrigue here in the capital.

The messages for Emporium City are sent before the really bad weather sets in, with orders for all our agents in the north-west.  A long letter also goes to my father, telling him what my plans are.  A note from Geng De is enclosed for his old friend.  Yao Lin has written a polite message to Xian Long at Orchard Town, offering to meet him and return his kindness.  He spent a long time composing this, ignoring the chuckles and nudges from our pair of mandarin ducks, who are well aware of his real interest.  Qian Hu spends most of his time at the Cloud House now.  Xinyi’s his muse and his model.  The two of them have got the garden planted and if all goes well, in the spring we’ll have flowers.  I try to put out of my mind the disquiet I feel about playing for the Emperor, but it’s not easy.  Childhood fears are sometimes the hardest to overcome.  All I can do is trust Yuan Song to protect me.

Then the message comes from the Pavilion.  All ready.  Tomorrow night.

This time things are much more businesslike.  There’s no gaggle of young men to help me dress.  Yuan Song’s accompanied by one young courtesan, a boy whose height and build resemble mine.  His professional name is Minmin.  Accompanying me into the bathing room, Yuan Song says, “He doesn’t know the true purpose of the evening.  Nobody does except the two of us.  But he’ll take over from you if the Emperor asks to be served.  You’ll be dressed alike.  When you’ve finished playing, the stage will go dark and you’ll go out of the back door.  Then you should get changed and go home immediately.  Get out of the red-lantern district and leave the rest to me.  Now bathe.”

The clothes he’s chosen for me are even more revealing than last time:  silk trousers which cling to my limbs and a transparent shirt open to the waist.   Minmin’s dressed exactly the same.  Yuan Song hands me a pot of what seems to be rouge.  “For your lips,” he says, “And…” he indicates my chest.

“You want me to rouge my…?”

“Nipples.  Yes.”

I look at Minmin, who’s applying the rouge with a stolid matter-of-factness which reminds me of soldiers greasing their armour before battle.  I swallow my protest and comply, gingerly.

“Don’t overdo it,” Yuan Song says.  He himself is in black silk, his hair ornately arranged, his beautiful face lightly painted. 

The routine’s familiar from last time, except that my audience will be one man, and a man who knows me, though he hasn’t seen me close up for five or six years.  I tie the veiled hat on firmly.  Yuan Song is reassuring.  “There’ll be a muslin curtain between you.  He won’t recognize you.  Just go on and play.”

So when I finally get onto the small stage, all I can see behind the muslin curtain is a vague shape, reclining comfortably beside a table on which I can make out a jar of wine and a cup.  I don’t recognize the features.  It could be anyone.  Behind there’s another vague shape which I realize is Yuan Song, there to wait on the Emperor.  The muslin curtain seems to be a very slight protection.  I feel a ripple of nervousness go up my spine as I prepare to play.

I haven’t changed the programme.  I play the same pieces as before.  The first receives the tribute of applause, and a voice that I do recognize, slightly thickened, says, “Worth every penny, Master.  Who is he?”

I hear Yuan Song’s voice replying, but can’t quite make out what he’s saying.  But a short grunt of laughter greets the words.  Yuan Song bends to pour more wine and the Emperor lifts the cup to his lips and waves his hand.  “Continue!” he commands.

He claps along to the second tune, slightly behind the beat, which is disconcerting.  Then, as I reach the end of the piece, I see him lurch to his feet and take a step forward.  “I have to see this beauty for myself,” says the slurred voice.  A hand reaches for the muslin curtain.  But the lights are out, the door behind me opens softly and I escape, panicky, hearing Yuan Song’s voice, “He shall be brought to you, Your Majesty.”

Thankfully, my part’s over.  I’m trembling with relief.  Back in Yuan Song’s apartment, I strip off the costume and scramble back into my own clothes, never mind about the rouge.  Then I make my way quickly to the kitchen where the porter’s waiting to let me out.  The Emperor’s guards are nowhere to be seen.  No doubt they’re enjoying the hospitality of the house like their master.  It’s still early and the streets are reassuringly full of revelers, but I don’t linger.  It’s a relief to get home and hear the gate close behind me.  Everyone’s in bed but it’s a long time before I can sleep.  The sound of the Emperor’s voice has brought back more miserable childhood memories.  Also I’m assailed by doubts.  Are we wasting our time?  Is any of this going to work?

My doubts are cleared up in the morning.  The city’s alive with gossip and rumours.  By evening, everyone knows that the Emperor and his guards were discovered in the red-lantern district the previous night, unconscious and stripped of their outer clothes and personal belongings.  Everyone knows that Yan Rong visited the capital’s most expensive brothel and was attacked on his way home by unknown assailants.  The red-lantern district’s locked down, the personnel of the Cherry Blossom Pavilion interrogated, the Pavilion searched.  Nothing’s found.  The attack bears the hallmarks of professional thieves.  The Emperor and his guards were dressed as ordinary citizens, so there was nothing to indicate their status to the robbers. It was an accident, a misfortune.

When the guards regain consciousness, they can shed no light on the matter.  Their master was drunk.  They escorted him out of the brothel but on their way back to the Palace, they were targeted by attackers using darts dipped in poison.  They had no chance to defend themselves.  Xu Yating demands their execution, but in a show of strength, the Council refuses. 

Matters that were formerly whispered discreetly in taverns are now being discussed openly in the streets.  The rumours about the Emperor’s liking for boys and his involvement in the death of a young courtesan mysteriously become common knowledge.  

Two days later, the Palace announces that the Emperor’s suffering from a disease which the Imperial doctors can’t identify.  The people are urged to offer prayers for his swift recovery.

“This is encouraging,” Yuan Song says, when I see him again.  “The Emperor’s illness, if that’s what it is, will be Xu Yating’s reason for taking over.  What with losing her pet Prime Minister, her power’s slipping away.  She has to act to get it back.”

“Did the Imperial Guard question you?”

“We were all taken to military headquarters and locked up overnight.  Not a pleasant experience.  They questioned us one by one but of course, everyone told the same story.  And then when we got back we found they’d broken all the crockery again.”

“Nobody asked questions about me?”

“I told them the zither player was on his way back to his home in the East and gave them the address.  No doubt a patrol has been sent to investigate, but they’ll draw a blank.”

“And the robbers?”

He smiles gently.  “A person who came highly recommended.  No need to worry about him.”

“Your planning was perfect,” I say.  “So that’s it for now?”

“That remains to be seen.  I predict that the Emperor’s illness will go on for a couple of weeks before dramatically worsening.  He’ll then sign an edict appointing his mother regent.”

“Will the Council accept it?”

“They won’t have a choice, if it’s an Imperial decree.  Some will approve.  A significant proportion won’t.  Your friend Young Master Wu will be able to tell you what the feeling is among his father’s colleagues.  And then there’s the army.  We’ll have to see what General Tao thinks.  In the meanwhile, we do nothing.  The New Year’s not far off.  Enjoy it with your friends.”

Yuan Song’s prediction proves alarmingly accurate.  The daily bulletins from the Palace become more and more gloomy.  Finally, just before the New Year, when everyone’s busy planning celebrations, the announcement comes that the Emperor’s health has worsened to such an extent that he can no longer carry out his duties and has therefore named his mother, the Dowager Empress, regent. 

We feel the difference immediately.  To leave or enter the city now requires a permit from the Ministry of the Interior, which interferes with the activities of the merchant community.  The army’s banned from entering the city at all without the express permission of the Palace, which means that the soldiers who have returned from the southern battlefield, including those who are recovering from the epidemic, are going to have to spend the winter in the makeshift camp outside the city walls.  Xu Yating thus manages to infuriate two influential communities at once.  Determined to root out the perpetrators of the insults to the Emperor, she orders the Imperial Guard to conduct impromptu raids in the red-lantern district and among the artistic community.  People are picked up at random and only released on payment of a large fine.  Gossipers are beaten up and left lying in the street.  Rewards are offered for information and neighbours start to look at one another with suspicion.  Qian Hu’s the victim of one of the raids.  He and a number of other artists are arrested at a meeting of a society he belongs to and he’s only released when Yuan Song goes in person to the military jail and pays his fine. We have a terribly anxious night, with Xinyi almost out of his mind with worry, until Qian Hu turns up late the next day, a little battered, but still in one piece.

The capital becomes a dangerous place. The night curfew's restored.  The city guards, who normally deal with local policing problems, suddenly increase in number and are visible on every street-corner.  The common people are scared into sullen submission.  Communication with the army becomes more difficult, though Yuan Song, as usual, finds a way by placing his street-children among the few wagons going in and out of the city.  But despite it all, the army’s still not ready to budge.

“The trouble with soldiers,” observes Yuan Song, “Is that it takes a cataclysm to get them moving.  The sense of duty’s too strong.”

“So we need to think about the next step,” I say.  “Discrediting the Dowager Empress and Du Xun.”