Chapter 4

There are no secrets within the palace.

Although the palace maids and eunuchs were repeatedly admonished not to listen or look carelessly, they naturally wore expressions of meek submission, observing the rules: do not look or listen improperly. Yet, whenever given a chance to lift their heads, their eyes sparkled brighter than night hawks, and their ears were far keener than the prized raccoon dogs cradled by the noblewomen.

They had their own grievances. The palace forbade prying or gossiping, but the nobles’ taboos extended far beyond these two points. There were countless secrets and prohibitions—ranging from colors to dishes, flowers to patterns—that the nobles never revealed in advance to the palace attendants. Instead, they were left to guess; guess correctly and receive no reward, guess wrongly and face punishment.

Thus, these figures with identical hairstyles and uniforms, standing like wooden statues behind the nobles, naturally developed their own minds. They devised various means to gather information, making their already difficult lives just a little easier to bear.

With extensive eavesdropping, if their masters were lenient and intelligent—or at least adept at pretending to be—they gradually gleaned much about the preferences, taboos, character, and integrity of their relatives and rivals from the whispered conversations.

Take, for example, Princess Chaozhen of the imperial line. Though she led a reclusive life in the Baolu Palace, being an imperial “immortal fruit” highly valued by the sovereign, the noblewomen of the various palaces naturally sought to learn about her. Perhaps with some cunning: How did the sovereign truly regard her? Was she meant to cultivate the Way for a lifetime? Or was she to be married off to a powerful noble family? If the former, would she remain by the sovereign’s side forever, thus wielding considerable influence? Would it not be wise to establish connections? If the latter, since she was to marry, why not to one of my kin?

Though they had met only a few times, the palace maids sent by Lady Wei had already recounted every detail about this young princess to Prince Kang, Zhao Gou.

This princess was a kind soul. The maids said that though somewhat cold in temperament, she was unwilling to cause trouble, and the young attendants who accompanied her reclusive cultivation all liked her.

Zhao Gou believed it.

As Prince Kang approached, the maids paused their work, composed themselves, bowed, and lowered their heads, while some younger maids stealthily glanced up to catch a glimpse of the heroic youth before them.

The young man remained unaware, his face full of admiration.

“The verses my sister sang, so impassioned and stirring, rival those of Master Su Dongpo himself. Truly as the ancients said, one must seek a great man from the western lands wielding an iron tablet to achieve such subtlety!” he exclaimed. “I wonder who the author was? I would dearly like to meet him.”

The princess sat on a small round stool beneath a willow tree, lifting her head to look at him, as if smiling—but the expression was elusive.

“An ancient author,” she said.

“An ancient relic, yet buried and unheard of until now?” Zhao Gou was shocked. “Such spirit and ambition, so fierce and vital—who could remain unmoved?”

“I have never heard of it either,” her cousin Cao asked, “May I inquire the name and life story of the author?”

The princess stroked her chin—a somewhat unrefined gesture—but both noble youths were focused on the story, and no one pointed it out.

“It was during the Southern Tang,” the princess said.

“Probably a minister of Li Jing, or maybe Li Yu. I found the story in a tattered scroll. It told of a general who, witnessing Emperor Zhou Shizong’s relentless advance, the loss of land, and the suffering of the people, was filled with rage and sorrow.”

“And then?” a curious maid could not help but ask.

“That general intended to lead the army to reclaim the land. He had the ability, but the Southern Tang ruler, cowardly and resigned to survival in a corner, forbade it. Under the pressure of Zhou Shizong, he even had the general executed.”

“To kill such a loyal man—does that not chill the hearts of all under heaven?” sighed Cao Ershiwulang. “What crime did he commit to deserve such a severe punishment?”

“None,” she said. “It was nearly a ‘trumped-up’ charge.”

“A truly doomed ruler,” Zhao Gou said.

“Yes!” the princess answered quickly.

“Such a hero in Southern Tang, yet untrusted and unused. No wonder the mandate of heaven passes to our great Song!” Zhao Gou added. “And you, cousin Cao, your ancestors were the ones who destroyed Southern Tang and established our dynasty!”

“Even if such a hero existed, he would have been captured by my Cao ancestors! The Southern Tang ruler was wise indeed,” Cao’s cousin said loudly, “This man was but a mantis trying to stop a chariot!”

“Southern Tang deserves to perish!”

The princess was stunned for a moment, but the scene had spiraled beyond control.

Now was the time for the two handsome youths to boast loudly, with the palace maids joining in to fill out their praises.

They extolled the Song, praised General Cao Bin, mocked the inevitable fall of Southern Tang, and firmly reiterated: Our Great Song will endure for ten thousand years!

“We have never heard such wild tales,” they said. “Our imperial Song would never have such matters. The princess must have read a counterfeit book.”

“Oh, it seems she was frightened by the book,” Lady Wei reproached. “Those immortals in Baolu Palace really shouldn’t have let her read such wild writings.”

“Indeed,” an older female attendant nodded. “What does it matter to us? Now that the Liao invaders have been defeated, the Song has no enemies.”

“Yes, yes, the princess is truly innocent and adorable,” the maids laughed and clapped, “Even if such people existed, so what? With Lord Cao here, a reincarnation of Han Bai, what could they do?”

The maids buzzed their praises so fervently that Cao Ershiwulang’s face turned red, showing he was well-liked in the palace—or rather, that the Cao family was.

The modest young man finally sighed in a mature, steady voice.

“Alas, our ancestors pacified the Tang, destroyed the Han, repelled the Liao, and attained the rank of chancellor. Now that the Song is prosperous, unifying the four seas, what can we accomplish?”

“Our Song’s heavenly might commands submission from all barbarians. We may comfortably enjoy peace!” Zhao Gou agreed, nodding enthusiastically, not forgetting to comfort his sister, “Though it’s a counterfeit book, those verses are well written.”

The princess looked at him as if seeing a brand new world.

Indeed, a new world—but one worse than the old.

A golden beast incense burner crouched in a corner, its eyes bright, teeth bared, scales shining, claws sharp.

Such a valiant and warlike posture, yet it exhaled soft smoke—thin wisps, faint tendrils—not initially sweet, but later permeating the air with a subtle fragrance, bewitching and soul-stirring.

Perhaps the incense was not truly soul-capturing, but its maker certainly understood many pleasures of romance; at the thought, the hundreds of beauties in the palace seemed pale and dull.

The sovereign lay on his couch, leisurely pondering flavorful people and flavorful affairs, even the many joys of cultivation now seemed faded.

When a eunuch quietly approached to replace the untouched fruit, the sovereign suddenly spoke.

“Leave that orange,” he said. “Cut it.”

The eunuch obeyed, preparing to fetch a knife, when the sovereign suddenly added, with a hint of disdain,

“Don’t you cut it.”

The eunuch realized immediately.

Though the original person who cut the orange was temporarily unable to enter the palace, finding a common pretty palace maid was not difficult.

The maid took the knife and carefully began to cut the fruit, when another person entered the hall—pale-faced, beardless, dressed as a Taoist, but with sharp, piercing eyes. Once he entered, the working maids and eunuchs held their breath, while the sovereign barely lifted his eyelids to glance at him.

“All settled?” he asked.

“Master Immortal,” the newcomer smiled, “the matters of the immortals have all been handled.”

He finished speaking but did not withdraw or say anything else. The hall fell silent for a moment.

The maid put down the knife. The eunuch in charge of the utensils stepped forward and took away the small item, only a few inches long. After a while, no footsteps sounded; those working and attending the sovereign gradually vanished like the smoke from the golden beast’s mouth.

During the reign of Emperor Huizong, the great eunuch Li Yan—one of the so-called “Six Thieves” despised by the common folk of Northern Song—crept forward.

“Your Highness, the princess’s recent return to the palace is unusual.”

The sovereign lazily toyed with the plate of oranges, then suddenly stopped.

“She is a clever child,” he said. “Extremely spirited.”

“More than spirited,” Li Yan immediately corrected himself. “When the celestial child was born, all in the palace witnessed the white deer! She is an immortal fruit, with an immortal root! With the celestial child here, the immortal path of the Master Immortal will surely be eternal and long-lasting!”

This seemed to please the sovereign, who resumed idly toying with the oranges.

Li Yan cautiously gauged his expression, choosing his words carefully.

“However, the celestial child has been cultivating quietly in Baolu Palace for years, diligently devoted to immortal matters. How is it that this year she has spoken much about political affairs and criticized current evils?”

The sovereign remained silent. After a moment, he said, “What she said is not entirely without insight.”

This was finally a crack in the wall; Li Yan breathed a sigh of relief and pressed on.

“Your Highness should consider carefully—how can those words be deemed ‘completely uninformed’? The Jurchens are such barbarians! Now they are but the last embers of a dying bow, barely holding on! Moreover—”

“Moreover what?”

“Moreover, it is said the Jurchen ruler is gravely ill, and there is much dispute among the generals regarding succession.”

Whether there was dispute or not, Li Yan did not know. But the Song people already had fixed impressions about “brother succeeding brother”—stories of shadowy murders, scheming, and untimely deaths. Every citizen in Bianjing could recount eight versions of these treacheries. Of course, no one would say such things openly on the imperial road, but behind closed doors, who could stop them?

This was still the Song, a land of propriety and ceremony. Everyone was dignified enough to cover up this shameful history for a smooth transition. The Jurchen barbarians? Probably before Aguda had even died, his brothers’ axes would have flown wildly!

So what was there to worry about? The celestial child must be speaking nonsense! But who taught her such words? Surely there are traitors in court!

It is one thing to corrupt the princess; to corrupt the celestial child—such minds deserve death!

After hearing Li Yan’s words, the sovereign was still uneasy and summoned the historian to inquire thoroughly about the past.

The historian was clever, answering every question in a way that struck the sovereign’s heart. In the end, the wealthy emperor exhaled completely.

The advantage is his, he thought.

He had finally found a new position from which he could safely lie back and relax.

“You are indeed thoughtful,” he sincerely praised Li Yan. “The celestial child is growing; I ought to discipline her properly.”

The eunuch smiled with relief. “How will Your Highness discipline her?”

The sovereign pondered for a moment. First, he had to find out which court official taught her to utter these ‘startling’ words.