Tan Ying and Xu Qiang’s wedding was set for the twelfth day of the twelfth month in the ninth year of Jingtai. The almanac said that day was blessed—Azure Dragon in the deep, Bright Hall illuminated, auspicious for all endeavors. The Xu family sent gilded invitations to both the Emperor and Empress. Meng Guqing glanced at hers and told Fusang to prepare a gift to send, but that she herself wouldn’t go.
To be fair, she’d been in the palace nearly half a year and was indeed curious about the world beyond the walls. As half a matchmaker in this marriage, it would be proper sentiment and courtesy to attend. But after all, the Xu family was Noble Consort Xu’s natal home and Noble Consort Xu was over five months pregnant. The imperial physician had advised more walking, and of course, she would personally attend her sister’s wedding procession.
When the Consort went home for the ceremony, it would be a grand and glorious occasion—what need had she, the Empress, to show up and overshadow her? Better not to invite resentment.
That day, after seeing the Emperor and Noble Consort Xu off at Moonlight Gate and watching the long, dragon-like procession fade into the distance, Meng Guqing resisted the urge to stretch lazily and turned instead toward the Empress Dowager’s Shoucheng Hall. By coincidence, the Empress Dowager had another guest, a rare one ,none other than the Emperor’s elder sister, Princess Yang’a.
Princess Yang’a was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, married for ten years. Her mother had passed away early; rumor said she’d been close with the Empress Dowager, so the motherless princess was raised by her, nearly as if she were her own daughter.
This was Meng Guqing’s first time meeting the princess. When she married into the palace, the princess had been away, her husband’s mother had passed, and the couple had gone back to their hometown for the funeral. She’d been gone half a year, and upon hearing that the Empress Dowager’s health was failing, hurried back to the capital before year’s end. The mother and daughter hadn’t met for months; tears and laughter filled the reunion until a maid announced the Empress’s arrival.
According to Caiwei’s inquiries, Princess Yang’a and Noble Consort Xu were close friends. Because Noble Consort Xu was not favored by the Empress Dowager, the princess often spoke for her, even inviting her into her own mansion when the Empress Dowager forbade her entry into the palace and then “coincidentally” inviting her imperial brother as a guest, creating opportunities for the two to meet. Though the Empress Dowager had been displeased at her daughter’s meddling, she hadn’t truly gotten angry, proof of how deep their mother-daughter affection ran.
Generally, those close to Noble Consort Xu were unlikely to think fondly of the “usurping” Empress. Meng Guqing was well aware of that. After exchanging polite greetings, she noticed the princess’s cool expression and low spirits, enough to tell what she thought of her. But that was fine. Even banknotes have people who dislike them; why insist on being liked by everyone? After a few perfunctory words, she excused herself, claiming she needed to check the Empress Dowager’s medicinal diet, and slipped away.
Princess Yang’a pouted, her expression, much like her imperial brother’s, rolling her eyes at the retreating back, only to be caught by the Empress Dowager.
“You child,” the Empress Dowager sighed, “how old are you now? Still wearing your feelings on your face. The Empress hasn’t offended you. Why won’t you talk to her? She’s the Mistress of the Inner Palace, one day, you’ll have need of her.”
Princess Yang’a giggled, clinging to her mother’s hand. “I have you, Royal Mother. Why would I need anyone else? No one loves me like you do, you must live to a hundred!”
The Empress Dowager couldn’t help but smile. The princess was indeed like her own daughter. During those long years when she’d been separated from her son, it was this girl who had filled her days with laughter and comfort. Clever and tactful too, though close to Xu Wan, she was always cold toward Xu Wan’s mother, Madam Yang, knowing full well that the woman was a thorn in the Empress Dowager’s heart.
Now, with Noble Consort Xu pregnant, much of that old resentment had faded, and the princess was happy for it. She’d even brought the Empress Dowager local specialties from her trip and, leaving the Empress Dowager’s palace, sent a large chest of gifts to Jianjia Palace, where Noble Consort Xu resided. Remembering her mother’s words, she also decided that improving ties with the Empress might indeed be wise, after all, her mother was nearly fifty and not in good health; who knew how long she could shield her?
Still, she’d met many noblewomen of the Donghu clans: proud, domineering women who looked down on others. Rumor had it the Empress had brought rich dowry and, though her husband had placed her far away in Fengyi Palace, she’d made it luxurious and comfortable, spending lavishly, just like those Donghu women she’d met. The princess almost wanted to roll her eyes again, but restrained herself, later sending a separate gift to the Empress.
In Meng Guqing’s household, diplomatic matters were handled by Fusang: steady, practical, and with a sharp memory. When the princess’s gifts arrived, she immediately brought them to Meng Guqing. Caiwei followed in, still fuming.
“Yesterday after leaving the Empress Dowager’s, the princess sent a whole chest of gifts to Jianjia Palace, it took four eunuchs to carry! And what do we get? Scraps and leftovers other people didn’t want.”
Meng Guqing hadn’t even spoken yet when Fusang pulled her sleeve. “Don’t talk nonsense. How many times have I told you, this is the palace, not home. Words can cause trouble. Can you gossip about a princess? Last time you ran your mouth before His Majesty, you nearly caused disaster.”
Caiwei was generally cautious. She knew her temper, so she rarely went near important people. That last time had been a misunderstanding, who could’ve guessed the Emperor would show up unannounced? She’d been so scared she didn’t dare raise her voice for half a month. And it wasn’t as though she’d been wrong, this capital really was unlucky for their lady; always being looked down on, forced to curry favor here and there. Even a princess dared to slight her. The gifts truly weren’t great, less fine than even their second-rate palace decorations!
Still, she backed down when she saw her mistress silent. “Alright, I know, I know. I was just muttering in front of our own people, wasn’t I? I never said a word outside. You two really don’t give me enough credit.”
Though Caiwei complained a lot and wasn’t as steady as Fusang, she was warm and well-liked. Her gossip network in the palace was unmatched. The two maids balanced each other well, and Meng Guqing didn’t want to stifle either though she wouldn’t indulge them too far either.
Fusang’s scolding done, Meng Guqing just watched quietly. It was natural the princess favored her friend Noble Consort Xu; that she’d sent her something as well was already face enough for “the Empress of the Central Palace.”
Having not grown up in such circles, Meng Guqing didn’t possess the ingrained pride of the aristocracy. She didn’t feel the so-called “dignity of the Empress” was something so desperately worth guarding. Later, when Princess Yang’a came to the palace again, first visiting the Empress Dowager, then Noble Consort Xu, often skipping the Empress entirely, Meng Guqing only pretended not to notice. If she didn’t come, all the better. As long as the Empress Dowager and Emperor were appeased, everything was fine.
***
The young Emperor, Zhao Donglin, indeed had the makings of a wise ruler. The Great Wu Dynasty had been built on war, its emperors and regents, all men of conquest. For thirty years, battle had been constant: overthrowing the former Yan, founding a new dynasty. By the time Zhao Donglin came of age and began to rule in the eighth year of Jingtai, the nation was exhausted, its treasury drained, its people weary and resentful.
The Donghu nobles still strutted with arrogance, relying on their mighty Gaochang cavalry to rule by force. Only Zhao Donglin, raised on Confucian teachings, objected. The southern faction, led by the Xu family, supported him but lacking military power, they could not back their ideals with strength. The same arguments had played out in court again and again.
Newly in power, Zhao Donglin was often cornered by his uncles from the regent faction, his face flushed in frustration. When he realized debate was useless, he simply stopped arguing.
Fine, if they wanted to command the armies, let them. He remembered the saying: Before resisting outsiders, one must first settle within.
He had a few childhood companions in his scholar circle, but too few competent men he could truly use. He needed to build his own court faction from the ground up.
When selecting new guards some time ago, he’d hoped to recruit from among the southern men and unexpectedly, the Empress had given him a remarkable surprise: Tan Ying, a man of real talent. Tan Ying was granted only four or five days’ leave after his wedding before being summoned daily to spar with the Emperor.
Tan Ying had grown up in the streets, his training partners either bodyguards or fellow apprentices, hardy men who could take a beating. He’d never sparred with pampered nobles, much less an Emperor raised in luxury.
The Emperor’s previous instructors, cautious of blame, had always taught with restraint, avoiding mistakes rather than striving for excellence. After a few sessions with Tan Ying, Zhao Donglin realized how shallow his old “training” had been. His strikes, once thought powerful, were nothing but flowery poses to a real fighter.
Excited, and afraid Tan Ying might hold back, he ordered him to go all out. The result: the one suffering was himself. But since he’d said it, he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t lose face or make Tan Ying start pulling punches again. So even when Tan Ying hit too hard, Zhao Donglin gritted his teeth and bore it in silence.
Feng Tianbao, who had watched the Emperor grow up, knew better than anyone how fragile His Majesty truly was. Sometimes, hearing the thud of a blunt blade against flesh made him wince in pain. He wanted to speak up but one glance from the Emperor silenced him instantly.
Zhao Donglin had of course suffered plenty. Thinking of how his father the king and his uncles had carved their way through blades and shadows to win the Zhao family its present standing; if he still whined about a bit of hardship during martial training, it was no wonder his uncles felt he was unfit for heavy responsibility and refused to cede him any power. He treated the present pain of muscle and skin as nothing more than a tool to temper his willpower. Besides, the suffering of martial training wasn’t for nothing. After being beaten thoroughly by Tan Ying every day, he would bolt straight to the Empress’s Fengyi Palace as soon as it ended, acting spoiled and clingy: “Empress, my legs hurt so much, and I’ve got another bruise on my back. Guard Tan is way too heavy-handed.”
