The Hall of Two Ceremonies.
The woman in the bronze mirror was richly dressed but indistinct. Shangguan Wan’er stood at the back with her hands at her sides, watching Empress Wei hold a golden hairpin up to her elaborate high coiffure and try its effect. The scene gave Shangguan Wan’er a brief, disorienting sense of unreality — for a moment she could not tell whose reflection was looking back from the mirror: Empress Changsun? Empress Wang? Or the Empress herself in her youth?
“Wan’er, what do you think of this hairpin?”
Shangguan Wan’er snapped back to the present. She realised that the woman before her was neither Empress Wang nor the Empress — the mistress of the Hall of Two Ceremonies had been replaced by Wei Shi. Shangguan Wan’er put on a warm but respectful smile. “The Empress’s beauty is beyond compare. This phoenix hairpin only adds to your radiance when it graces your hair.”
Empress Wei laughed and set down the hairpin, feigning mild reproach: “You’re all so skilled with words — all you ever do is please me.”
“Every word your servant speaks is entirely true. The Empress has a face like a full moon and the dignity of a nation’s mother. It is the gold and silver and pearls of all the world that are honoured to be worn upon your head.” Shangguan Wan’er spoke with ease and a warm smile, delivering a stream of appropriately flattering remarks, and sure enough she had Empress Wei laughing until her face glowed with pleasure. The Empress laughed heartily, her cheeks rosy, and said: “Shangguan Wan’er — you truly deserve the name ‘Female Minister in Rouge.’ It is no wonder His Majesty has entrusted you with the exclusive drafting of edicts and decrees.”
Shangguan Wan’er’s smile remained fixed on her face, but inwardly she felt a small, tight jolt. After the Shenlong Coup, Li Xian had been restored to the throne. He had set aside his former indifference and instead took hold of power with a firm grip. Many had fallen from favour as a result, just as many had risen. Shangguan Wan’er and Princess Taiping were on close personal terms, and in the eyes of outsiders she clearly belonged to Princess Taiping’s camp. Yet while Princess Taiping’s faction was being harshly suppressed, Shangguan Wan’er had escaped unscathed — and indeed found herself with Li Xian’s trust and increased responsibilities.
This, of course, was thanks to Shangguan Wan’er’s own suppleness and talent for turning toward advantage and away from harm. When Empress Wu had been in power, Princess Taiping was most beloved of her mother, and naturally Shangguan Wan’er had cultivated closeness with Li Lingyue. But now that the Emperor was Li Xian, the person she most needed to please had become the Emperor and Empress Wei.
For being quick to adapt — and for her exceptional literary talent — Shangguan Wan’er had been granted the title of Refined Consort of the second grade by Li Xian, responsible for drafting the Emperor’s edicts and holding the power of life and death. Though Refined Consort was a rank within the imperial harem, Shangguan Wan’er and the Emperor had no relationship beyond this; it was simply the Emperor’s way of giving her a title that allowed her to move freely in and out of the palace.
Shangguan Wan’er had a clear conscience in her dealings with the Emperor, but in the eyes of Empress Wei, it was inevitably like a thorn. Shangguan Wan’er understood perfectly well what was most important, and immediately made her position clear before the Empress: “His Majesty is merciful and mindful of the bond between His Majesty Gaozong and my late grandfather. Your servant would not dare claim any merit. Your servant also has another matter on which I wish to beg a favour of the Empress. The examination official Cui Shi from the Boling Cui clan is a man of considerable talent, but his official path has been unfortunate and he has yet to meet a patron who recognises him. There is presently a vacancy for a vice minister in the Ministry of Personnel. I wonder if the Empress might be so gracious as to grant him an opportunity to be considered?”
Empress Wei grasped the implication at once. Her face curved into a smile, and she took Shangguan Wan’er’s hand and looked her over appraisingly: “You are the granddaughter of Shangguan Yi — a proper family of cultivated scholars. And he is from the Boling Cui clan. Talent in the man, beauty in the woman — a fine match indeed. I trust your eye for people, Wan’er. There is no need for any assessment — let him simply report to the Ministry of Personnel and take up his duties.”
Shangguan Wan’er and Cui Shi had shared a private romantic liaison. By recommending Cui Shi to Empress Wei, she was subtly making known that she had another attachment and would have nothing further with the Emperor. And by having Empress Wei promote her lover into the Ministry of Personnel, Shangguan Wan’er was naturally obligated to share the Empress’s burdens in return. It was an exchange of interests, and a declaration of loyalty.
Hearing that the Empress had consented so readily to her recommendation, Shangguan Wan’er was delighted beyond expectation — but she also felt, inexplicably, a vague and hollow sadness. The Ministry of Personnel held oversight of the promotion and evaluation of every official in the court. How many officials from distant provinces had served with diligence for decades and still could not obtain even the smallest grace from the ministry — yet the position of its vice minister had just been decided in the course of women’s idle conversation…
Which only made it all the more clear how vital it was to have the right patron. Even in the fiercest of winds, as long as one clung steadfastly to those in power, the rain and storm would never touch you.
Shangguan Wan’er quietly reaffirmed her chosen path for yet another time. Just then, sounds of light, trilling laughter came from outside the hall, and a young woman swept in like a butterfly, unable to contain her excitement: “Mother, look at my new skirt!”
Shangguan Wan’er turned to look — and was momentarily dazzled. Princess Anle was wearing an extraordinarily vivid and brilliant skirt. Seen from the front it was one colour; from the side, another; in sunlight it appeared yet another hue; and in shadow, still a different one. The hem shimmered with the patterns of a hundred birds, rendered in breathtaking detail — so lifelike they seemed on the verge of spreading their wings and taking flight, leaving the eye so overwhelmed it could not quite distinguish the fabric’s original colour at all.
Empress Wei exclaimed in admiration. “Rui’er, what kind of skirt is this? How extraordinary.”
Princess Anle preened with self-satisfaction. “This is called a hundred-birds skirt. It’s woven from the most brilliant feathers of rare birds — that’s what gives it this shifting lustre. It takes several thousand birds to weave one skirt!”
Empress Wei marvelled and praised, and Shangguan Wan’er joined in with flattering words. But her mind had drifted, unbidden, to those thousands of birds.
They had lived freely in the forests and mountains, and were targeted for nothing other than the beauty of their plumage. Perhaps entire species had been wiped out. In the end, all they had become was a princess’s skirt.
At least, their entire kind had perished together. They had not died alone.
Princess Anle turned in circles, showing off the patterns embroidered across the hem of the skirt. Then, with a mysterious air, she suddenly said: “Mother, look what else I have.”
Like a conjurer, she produced another hundred-birds skirt and shook it out before Empress Wei. The Empress was both astonished and delighted: “What are you doing?”
“The people below brought new fabric, and I liked it very much, so I had them make another one — specially to offer to Mother.” Princess Anle nestled up beside Empress Wei and urged her insistently: “Mother, put it on quickly and try it.”
Empress Wei, helpless against her daughter’s coaxing, was half-persuaded, half-willing to try the hundred-birds skirt. Once she came back out wearing it, every palace maid in the Hall of Two Ceremonies — Shangguan Wan’er included — called out in united admiration.
Empress Wei was all smiles, and tapped Princess Anle on the nose. “You — all you ever do is keep me happy. Go on, what is it this time? What do you want?”
Princess Anle made a string of coquettish denials — “Nothing, I only want to show filial devotion to Mother” — while quietly stealing a sidelong glance at Shangguan Wan’er. Shangguan Wan’er caught her meaning at once, and immediately said: “Your servant would not dare linger and intrude upon the Empress and the Princess in their deliberations. Your servant respectfully withdraws.”
Once Shangguan Wan’er had gone, Princess Anle dropped all pretence. She immediately moved to sit beside Empress Wei, wrapped both hands around the Empress’s arm, and said: “Mother, are you truly going to make that lowborn son the Crown Prince?”
The keenness in Empress Wei’s eyes sharpened. She glanced around at the palace maids, who promptly withdrew with quiet discretion. Reassured, Empress Wei put on a show of reproving her daughter: “Rui’er, he is your Third Elder Brother. You must not be disrespectful.”
“What has he done to deserve that?” Princess Anle said with contempt. “He’s nothing but the son of a mean-born concubine — his mother was a servant, which makes him a born attendant himself. What right does he have to be Crown Prince? Is he worthy? I am Father’s and Mother’s own flesh and blood. I will be the one to care for you in old age — naturally it should be me who inherits the throne.”
“Outrageous,” Empress Wei said, with neither force nor meaning behind the word. Princess Anle could see that her mother had no real intention of reprimanding her, and pressed further, continuing to urge: “Mother, the Celestial Emperor Empress began as nothing but the daughter of a merchant in Jinyang, whereas I am the Empress’s own legitimate daughter. Her original standing was not even that of a proper concubine — merely a Talented Lady — whereas my husband is the heir of Prince Liang. The Celestial Empress had everything; I have everything she had, and my position is even higher. By what right was she permitted to become Emperor while I may not?”
The Empress Wu was, after all, Li Xian’s own mother — to negate the Empress Wu was to negate himself. And so, after the coup, Li Xian had continued to treat the Empress Wu with scrupulous respect. In the early days he had even gone through the motions of visiting the Shanyang Palace, urging his mother to oversee state affairs. Though the Empress Wu had shut her doors and refused to see him, withdrawing from governance entirely, no one in the court dared genuinely dismiss her.
Princess Anle was the same: she had never in her life set eyes on her imperial grandmother, and knew only that this woman had deposed her father and kept their entire family imprisoned in a remote and desolate land. Princess Anle felt not the slightest regard for her imperial grandmother, let alone any love or reverence. Yet once Princess Anle had been given a measure of choice, she had gone half-mad in her efforts to imitate her, to admire her, to become her.
Why? Why could the Empress Wu do it, but not she?
The same thought flashed through Empress Wei’s mind. She and the Empress Wu were alike in one thing: both had married a man who was not quite man enough. In that regard, Li Xian was even less than Emperor Gaozong had been.
Because the lord of all under Heaven was her bedfellow, Empress Wei understood better than anyone how irresolute Li Xian was, how weak and hypocritical. And yet this man, simply for having been born with the surname Li, could become Emperor.
Had there been no Empress Wu, Empress Wei would never have questioned this arrangement. The Buddha taught that everyone had their fate; her father had taught that women should be humble and yielding. There had been a time when Empress Wei felt that each person should remain in their proper place and not covet what lay beyond their reach. But having witnessed the Empress Wu’s ascension to the throne with her own eyes, Empress Wei suddenly found herself asking: Li Xian — a third-rate man at best — could be Emperor. Where exactly did she fall short?
By what right could she not?
Because she did not bear the surname Li? Neither did the Empress Wu. Because she was a woman? The Empress Wu was also a woman.
The thought had taken root in Empress Wei — the desire to follow the Empress Wu’s example and rule with true authority. If that was what she wanted, she needed both supporters and a successor. Li Chongjun had been her original hope, but her son was dead. She had no choice but to settle for her youngest daughter as her designated heir.
Li Chongzhang bore the name of calling her mother, but that which was not born of her body would never truly be hers. Should Li Chongzhang ascend the throne, he would never show her genuine loyalty and devotion. If she wanted to hold power, she must place someone of her own on the throne.
Anle was perhaps a little foolish, but a beautiful fool was far easier to control. If Li Chongzhang were deposed and Anle installed as Crown Princess, mother and daughter would together hold the reins of power — would not the great Tang be hers to command?
Empress Wei was moved — but she played at being won over by her daughter’s persistent pleading, as though helpless against it, and said with the air of reluctant concession: “You have always been so headstrong and wilful — but what can I do? You’re the only child I have. Very well. I will speak to His Majesty about it in due course. Whether it can be done depends on how much your father dotes on you.”
Upon hearing that her mother had agreed to support her bid to become Crown Princess, Princess Anle was overcome with joy, and launched into a stream of praise for the Empress. “I knew Mother loved me best! Don’t worry — Father will never bring himself to refuse me. If he won’t agree, I’ll make such a scene he’ll have no choice!”
Empress Wei watched Princess Anle laugh, and said: “You — your father has completely spoiled you. By the way — I hear that a few days ago your servants had some altercation with the Princess Yong consort over her trousseau?”
Princess Anle had shown no restraint in calling the Crown Prince a servant-born nobody, but at the mention of Prince Yong, she faltered and became evasive: “Not really — it was a misunderstanding, and the item has already been returned.”
Empress Wei heard that and immediately knew the full picture: “So the business of your servants fighting over Princess Yong consort’s trousseau was real? That was thoroughly foolish. Prince Yong has lineage, popular support, and merit. Your father would have to consider the opinion of all under Heaven before he dared to strip away his power, and you had the audacity to make trouble for Princess Yong consort? Today — no, right now — send a gift to the Duke Zhenguo manor. You will go in person to offer Princess Yong consort your apology.”
Princess Anle puffed out her lips and refused to comply. She had been sheltered and indulged from childhood, accustomed to everyone coddling and accommodating her — she had never suffered a single grievance in her life. How could she possibly lower her head and apologise to anyone? Empress Wei knew her own daughter well enough, and understanding that relying on Princess Anle was pointless, she sighed and said: “Very well. I will prepare the gift myself and send a palace lady to the Duke Zhenguo manor. She is to place it personally in Ming Huashang’s hands. You — how old are you now, still causing trouble at every turn, and still your mother who has to clear up after you.”
Princess Anle said indignantly: “Prince Yong has already lost all his power. Why should I go and apologise to a subject’s daughter? Is she even worth that?”
Empress Wei looked at her youngest daughter, and her heart was full of a complicated ache. She found herself thinking suddenly of Yongtai — Yongtai had been quiet and sensible from childhood, and Empress Wei had always felt that her eldest daughter was less loveable than her youngest, who knew exactly how to delight her. And so the love she had given her eldest was far less than what she had lavished on her. Yet now, a year after Yongtai’s death, Empress Wei could not help but admit that Yongtai had been right.
Anle had been ruined by their indulgence. A person who aspired to become Crown Princess had, without a second thought, directed the words “is she even worth that” at the daughter of a loyal minister. Empress Wei sighed, and had no choice but to warn her daughter: “Rui’er, if you want to be nothing more than a wealthy princess, then naturally you can offend anyone you like and ignore everyone’s feelings. But if you want to become Crown Princess, you must be mindful of your conduct, guard your reputation carefully, and never give the censors any hold over you — above all, the charge of disrespect toward a brother-in-law and sister-in-law must never, under any circumstances, attach to you.”
Empress Wei’s expression hardened, and Princess Anle was frightened into acquiescence. She wore a sheepish look for a moment, then found some excuse and left the palace.
Even without asking, Empress Wei knew that Anle had undoubtedly gone off to cavort with those male favourites of hers. None of the words she had just said had likely been heard at all.
Empress Wei was exasperated by her youngest daughter’s failure to grasp the gravity of things, but she could do nothing with her. She could only summon a palace lady, speak to her at great length with careful instructions, and send her with the apology gift to the Duke Zhenguo manor, with orders to place it directly into Ming Huashang’s hands.
Empress Wei watched the palace lady make her way down the palace corridor and disappear into the time-worn passages of the Taiji Palace. She raised her eyes toward the high ridge ornaments on the Taiji Hall, and thought: power is truly a fine thing.
But in another’s hands, it was like a bone lodged in one’s throat. Prince Yong’s prestige in the court was really far too much of an eyesore. She must act quickly to recruit her own faction, to promote her trusted people, and gather the court into her own hands.
The Empress Wu had become Emperor. Why could she not?