While the Empress Dowager’s orders could have been half-heartedly fulfilled, the results exceeded my expectations. Within the hour, six maids belonging to the greater palace arrived to serve me, as well as a bunch of young eunuchs to handle the gardening. By nightfall, all the old furniture had been replaced and new linens and clothing brought in.
However, the good luck couldn’t last forever, the next morning a eunuch coming to the gate to pass on a message.
“His Majesty requests Consort’s presence.”
Before the eunuch left, I raised my hand, stilling him. “That is, His Majesty said exactly that?”
“That is correct,” the eunuch said, bowing.
“Then I must decline. His Majesty has so much to remember, it has perhaps slipped his mind I am ill and wouldn’t dare endanger him,” I said, smiling.
The eunuch looked at me, his expression as if saying, “You are so ill as to endanger the Emperor?” But such things couldn’t be said. Still, for a short while, I thought he might insist on it.
In the end, he left with an apology for disturbing me. Well, if nothing else, the Imperial Harem ran on technicalities.
That obviously wasn’t the end of the issue, though. While the “request” had come in the early morning, my next guest arrived a little before lunch, fortunately before I had sat down. It was rather clear who it was by those that preceded him.
“Your Majesty, to what does this servant owe the pleasure?” I asked, tilting my head as if to say I couldn’t think of why.
His polite expression looked as cold as on our “wedding” night. “You servant certainly look ill,” he said and he stepped close, his hand coming up to hold my chin, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
“Your Majesty says it, so it must be true,” I replied.
A curl tugged at his lip for a moment, then he squeezed harder. I didn’t particularly try to hold in the cry, letting it come out, letting my tears fall and mouth quiver. In a cold whisper, he said, “Do not think tattling to the Empress Dowager will spare you.”
“What tattling? Your Majesty is truth and justice, his words and deeds to be spread far and wide. If this servant is to be punished, let it be known that it is just and righteous,” I said, teary gaze meeting his.
Empty eyes stared back. To say I wasn’t afraid would be a lie, my heart tight, not daring to beat. As distant as my old memories felt, some were branded as if fresh, first among them my father’s cold gaze that came before he’d hurt my mother—slow and methodical, simply squeezing her wrist as she bit back her cries and mumbled apologies.
If this Emperor wanted to hurt me like that, he could. He could do worse.
However, if he played the same kind of game as my old father did, then he had his own rules, rules none but he knew, always twisting to suit his mood, but rules nonetheless. Perhaps a reputation as a monster wasn’t in his interest, monsters inspiring heroes to slay them.
“Indeed. A sick person need not wander aimlessly, nor eat heavy meals, nor indulge,” he said, his voice back at his normal volume and projecting through the courtyard.
In other words, a prisoner. “Naturally, Your Majesty is correct,” I said.
He finally let go of my chin, no doubt two deep bruises already there; the spots certainly still ached. With that pressure gone, though, I could bow my head.
Leaning in, he whispered, “Care that your tongue not become a witch’s, weaving truth into lies, else it shall be cut out,” then turned around and strode off.
I did not follow to the gate and stare off after him. No, the moment he showed me his back, I showed mine, returning for my lunch before it grew cold.
His words not for show, that was the last of my luxurious meals—albeit only my third. Another Imperial Physician now prescribed me various kinds of gruel to eat and advised constant bed rest and forbid fresh air, apparently so delicate that a gentle breeze could kill me. Oh Xiao Mei wasn’t pleased by all this, whispering her complaints whenever helping me change, but I would simply settle her with a pat of her head.
“Life is not fair, so let us enjoy what we can,” I always told her, and she always huffed before letting me distract her with some task. Even if I couldn’t see it, I knew our little vegetable garden would soon look incredible.
The bright side of my “illness” was that I continued to be spared from the politics of the harem. I simply stayed in my room, falling back on the hobbies one can enjoy whilst in bed. Not drawing the Emperor’s attention again, no doctor came along to tell me that painting was too strenuous, and I had kept my ear for music; if not the piano, then the zither—something I had learned growing up in this life. My dowry since delivered, I had my pick of zithers and paints and comfortable clothing.
To keep myself from getting weak, I practised my old yoga routines and just walked around my room in the evenings. Not enough to work up a sweat, but enough to keep from wilting, a way to pass the night hours. Only so much I could sleep.
What did work up a sweat, ever since I’d “woken” up in this world, like that first night, I sometimes felt… restless. Doing it wasn’t exactly a new thing to me. In my old life, it had been my one selfish thing, something I did to make myself—and only myself—feel good. I had discovered it pretty young, taking long baths to have time away from all my father’s expectations, and it was probably what had kept me sane.
However, something had changed.
My breath slipped out, buried fingers held in place by clenched muscles, and in my ecstasy I chased the flickers of the woman I couldn’t remember, a silhouette, her clothes tight. Circling my palm, I needed to see her again, the excitement flooding my body bringing me closer even as I felt painfully sensitive.
Until finally it was too much, collapsing as the tension holding me together snapped. Panting, muscles twitching, slick with sweat and other fluids, I stared at the dark ceiling that still looked bright, the after image of my bright fantasy lingering. Blink by blink, that silhouette so close and yet so far disappeared into the night.
Finding some strength, I raised my hand and looked at my hand, strands like a spider’s web connecting them, glittering in the trickle of moonlight.
Although not disgust, my feelings weren’t simple. It hadn’t felt so intense before, I hadn’t thought of anything while doing it, not made more mess than a tissue could clean up. That last point somewhat frustrated me, now needing to put down a hand towel and, unwilling to have the maids clean it in that state, first rinsed it myself when I bathed.
Well, at least for the moment, I felt at peace. My heart sang, muscles relaxed, and mind cleared. After cleaning myself up, sleep followed.
The next morning carried on as usual, albeit my morning painting featuring an eerie portrait of a figure among the fog. “Eeh, Mistress, why are you painting a nine-tailed fox? It’s going to haunt my dreams!” Xiao Mei said, covering her face, yet peeking through her fingers.
I softly laughed. “Is that what it looks like to you?” I muttered.
“Yes! Look at her shape, she is there to tempt men into the mist, never to be seen again,” she said, already sounding much more energetic.
“Perhaps Mei Mei is right.”
Xiao Mei had come to prepare for lunch, getting out the tray and such, which included putting my painting away—very away, as if seeing it again would give her nightmares. After my mild meal of rice porridge and a bitter herbal tea, I had the maids ready my zither.
Though I knew many songs for it, what I liked to play were things like Mozart. My old father had hated Western classical music, yet made me learn piano, just another of his “rational” decisions.
I wasn’t an expert musician by any means, trying to play piano tunes on a zither not easy for me who had been taught through repetition, but I had hour after hour, day after day, to gradually work on refining the sound, making something that at least sounded nice to me.
Today was no different, plucking at the strings to pass the time. However, I didn’t know how different today would be, the courtyard apparently silent, letting my siren song call out to the passer-by.
Who could that person be?
Interrupting my performance, Xiao Mei burst in and said, “M-Mistress, the Mistress Empress Dowager r-requests an audience.”
“Alas, I am ill and resting as ordered,” I replied lightly.
“No, that is… she’s here and wants to see you!” Xiao Mei said.
Raising an eyebrow, I thought it over. “Stay in your room until she leaves.”
“Mistress?” she said, her eyebrows pulled together.
“That is an order. Have the others see her in,” I said.
After a long moment, she bowed her head and left, easing the door closed on her way out. There was little I could do, but I could spare her this opportunity to court death. While I waited, my heart began to pound, perhaps aware of how I would be the one courting death.
Then the door opened.
The Empress Dowager entered with only one of her maids, two of “mine” bringing in a seat for her, another carrying a tray with tea. Although awkward to pour while in bed, I did and the maid carried the cup over to my guest.
“Your servant apologises for the lack of hospitality, that His Majesty instructed her to rest,” I said, smiling softly.
“This one knows, pray do not fret,” she answered, pausing there to sip her tea. “Bitter,” she muttered.
Perhaps I wasn’t meant to hear, but I did and so said, “Alas, your servant is only permitted medical teas. If this is not suitable, may we send for something suited to Mistress Empress Dowager?”
She merely shook her head; the next moment, her maid ushered mine out, but remained in the room. Me, her, and her maid.
After a few more sips, she said, “One heard pleasant music from this palace.”
“Your servant cannot think what that would be, but it is the case she was practising some tunes she heard from distant lands.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. Conscious of her now, not shrouded in shadow, I noticed how thin her lips looked, only the middle stained crimson. “Please, this is nothing so formal. Call yourself as you wish and call this one mother.”
I could have laughed, such blasphemy. “How could a mere consort call Mistress Empress Dowager mother?” I asked, keeping the humour on my lips.
“Then aunty,” she said.
“Mistress Aunt,” I replied, cheeks puffed up as my smile grew again.
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, not the cold stare of her son. If anything, it felt warm, comforting—like a mother’s. “Since the Emperor hasn’t given Consort a title, you are Yin….”
“Yin Yulian, but my family called me by Lian as I had no siblings,” I said, bowing my head.
“Lian… then, yes, Shu Consort,” she said, speaking slowly to herself. Her decision made, she turned to me. “Pure suits you, doesn’t it?”
Well, considering how my “wedding” night went, that certainly was a fitting title. “My thanks to Mistress Aunty, Shu Consort graciously accepts her title.”
Bowing for a long moment, when I sat up, I saw her still watching me closely. I didn’t dare ask her why, but she indirectly answered soon enough. “What is it about you that frustrates the Emperor?” she softly asked.
“His Majesty warned me that I may have a witch’s tongue, weaving truth into lies,” I said, my smile anything but contrite.
She chuckled, bringing up her tea. “Then let us not speak any more, for the Emperor has benevolence and unfathomable plans,” she said, finishing with a gesture towards my zither.
Her message understood, I moved the instrument back to my lap, her maid taking away the tea tray, and then I played.
Strangely, I felt compelled to perform better for her. How easy that was to do when the fear of making a mistake didn’t hang over my head, my father not in the audience, just her and her gentle smile, sipping the bitter tea like it was nectar.
A nice way to spend an afternoon.
