Chapter Sixty-Four: Lethal Schemes in the Imperial Harem

Princess Anle flew into a rage, tearing the gauze canopies in her bedchamber to shreds. The eunuchs and maids were so frightened they barely dared to breathe. Empress Wei sat calmly in her chair, watching as her daughter smashed one thing after another. When Anle finally tired herself out, a young maid hurried forward to help her, only to be shoved violently to the ground. Anle shouted, “Get out! All of you, leave!” Empress Wei waved her hand gently and said, “You may all withdraw.” The attendants immediately retreated from the hall.

Full of resentment, Princess Anle cried out, “Mother! Tell me, what has he done to deserve the title of Prince of Wei? What has he ever done for our family? A so-called swordsman of Tianshan! When we were living in constant fear in Fangzhou, did he ever draw his sword to help us? Now that Father is Emperor, he comes rushing to be a prince. Such cunning! And that Li Duozuo—he was once an Inner Guard! That old witch from the Wu family used to send the Inner Guard every year to Fangzhou to threaten and humiliate you and Father. All those who served as Inner Guards deserve to die! Yet now he’s made a Grand General! I think Father was frightened witless by that old woman!”

Empress Wei rebuked her in a low voice, “Guo’er! Enough! Do you realize what you’re saying? This is grave disrespect to the Emperor—such words cannot be spoken lightly!”

Anle wanted to argue but dared not; she could only mutter, “He may be Emperor, but he’s still my father. How is that so disrespectful?”

Empress Wei said, “Li Chongjun ignored us back then, and I too bore a grudge. But at the time, that old witch’s power was unassailable; what could a mere swordsman do? You blame him for not helping us, but let me ask you: if he had stormed the residence and rescued us, what then? Would we have fled with him to the bitter cold of the Tianshan Mountains? Or wandered the world, sleeping rough, never knowing if we’d be corpses by dawn? That kind of life might have been worse than our captivity in Fangzhou.”

Anle was speechless, and suddenly she burst into sobs, covering her face with her hands. Empress Wei cradled her daughter tenderly and murmured as if to herself, “No matter how hard those days in Fangzhou were, haven’t we survived them? Do you know why I named you Guo’er? When your father was deposed and I was exiled, I gave birth to you on the way to Fangzhou. With no time to prepare, your father could only wrap you in his own clothes—so we called you ‘Guo’er,’ the swaddled one. While we were in Fangzhou, that old witch sent her envoys every year to berate and chastise us. Whenever word came that they were arriving, your father was terrified, restless, and several times considered ending his own life. It was only my constant pleading that kept him going. Ten years—ten years of that life! I still don’t know how we made it through.”

At last, she spoke each word with deliberate emphasis: “Guo’er, remember this—what belongs to us, no one else must ever take.”

Through her tears, Anle looked up and asked, “Then why did you recommend him for the title of Prince of Wei? And why did those old men confer a title on Li Duozuo? Why didn’t you stop them?”

Empress Wei sighed, “Do you think I wished it? I have my reasons. The time is not yet right; I must endure for now. You are too young to understand. When that old witch was young, to become sovereign she did not hesitate to suffocate her own daughter and blame it on Empress Wang. Do you think she felt no pain? She was weak and at the mercy of others—she had no choice but to endure.”

Anle was aghast. “That old woman was so heartless she could even lay hands on her own daughter?”

Empress Wei sneered, “There is nothing she would not do. She killed your uncle Li Hong with poison to become Emperor, forced your second uncle Li Xian to commit suicide, and had your brother Li Chongrun and sister Li Xianhui flogged to death. She has killed many. She herself once said: ‘To accomplish great things, even the closest kin may be sacrificed.’”

A chill ran through Anle’s body, and she pressed close to Empress Wei, whispering, “Mother, please don’t say more. I’m frightened.” Empress Wei replied softly, “Don’t be afraid, Guo’er. With me here, no one can harm you.”

Anle looked up at the dark, gloomy night beyond the window. “That old witch is still living comfortably in Luoyang’s Shangyang Palace—I’m so afraid.”

Empress Wei gave a cold laugh. “She is nothing but a toothless tiger now. You need not fear her.” Yet in her heart, a surge of murderous intent arose. Leaving Anle’s chambers, she went straight to the Phoenix Song Pavilion.

This was the residence of Shangguan Wan’er, now married to Li Xian as a consort. Shangguan Wan’er was painting in her chambers, her skill in painting and calligraphy renowned; her peony blossoms were so lifelike that in Chang’an, officials and wealthy merchants vied to collect her work.

A maid at the door announced, “Her Majesty the Empress has arrived.” Shangguan Wan’er hurried out and knelt in greeting.

Empress Wei smiled, “No need for such formality, sister. Why are you still awake so late?” Shangguan Wan’er replied respectfully, “Your Majesty bears the cares of the realm day and night; how could I sleep first?” Empress Wei sneered, “I suppose when you served as a central palace official, you said much the same to the Empress Dowager?” Shangguan Wan’er quickly prostrated herself. “As a palace lady, I had no control over my fate and often offended unwittingly. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”

Empress Wei motioned her up. “Rise, sister. What happened in those days was not your fault. The Empress Dowager poisoned all the princes of the Li family—if even the wise Di Renjie could not dissuade her, what could you have done?”

Shangguan Wan’er, long experienced in the scheming intrigues of the court, outwardly relaxed but inwardly grew all the more cautious.

Empress Wei settled herself comfortably on a divan, reclining against a crimson silk coverlet, and gazed at Shangguan Wan’er, who felt increasingly uneasy under her scrutiny. She knew the Empress must have some ulterior motive for visiting so late, but as Empress Wei said nothing, she dared not ask and stood awkwardly.

Empress Wei noticed the almost-finished painting on the desk and walked over. It was a peony in moonlight—a white blossom blooming quietly under a serene moon. The technique was exquisite: not only the petals and leaves, but even the subtle mist among the flowers seemed to drift from the paper, as if one could almost smell their fragrance.

“Your skill truly borders on the divine,” Empress Wei praised. “They say the greatest painter of our time is Wu Daozi, famed for his lifelike brushwork, but in my opinion, though he excels at landscapes and figures, when it comes to flowers and birds, he may not match you. If only you were a man—such talent would earn you a place in the Hanlin Academy.”

Shangguan Wan’er bowed. “Your Majesty is too generous. How can I compare to Wu Daozi? The Emperor once summoned him to paint, and I was fortunate to watch. His art ‘finds novelty within the bounds of tradition, expresses the best ideals with unbridled flair’—truly peerless. I would never dare compare myself.”

Empress Wei asked casually, “Which Emperor was that? I don’t recall hearing of this.”

Shangguan Wan’er replied, “It was the Great Zhou Emperor, Wu—” At that, she caught herself, her heart jolting. She immediately knelt, whispering, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, forgive me!”

Empress Wei scolded, “She has long since restored the Li family to power and is no emperor now! ‘Empress Dowager’ is title enough. If anyone heard you call her ‘Great Zhou Emperor,’ the consequences would be dire. You are now a consort, not of high rank, but still the Emperor’s woman. If your heart still lingers on her, what place does that leave the Emperor? As folk say, ‘Marry a chicken, follow the chicken; marry a dog, follow the dog.’ Coarse words, but the meaning is apt. As a consort, you must devote yourself wholly to serving the Emperor.”

Shangguan Wan’er kowtowed. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon. I shall not err again.”

Empress Wei’s expression softened. “Sister, though my words are harsh, they are for your own good. You were once very close to the Empress Dowager, enjoying great power, but unlike men, you could not openly build a following, so you have no foundation at court, though no doubt you have enemies. You must be cautious in speech and conduct, lest someone seize on your words and slander you to the Emperor—that would be most unfortunate.”

Shangguan Wan’er replied, “I will heed Your Majesty’s guidance and be more careful henceforth.”

Empress Wei smiled but said no more, picking up the moonlit peony and studying it for a long while before sighing, “This painting is beautiful indeed, but its mood is forlorn. Heavy dew and cold moonlight—this national beauty blooms alone to the empty night. However lovely the flower, who will know it? Blossoms fall uncherished, petals sink into the earth, their beauty lost and forgotten. Who ever remembers such rare wonders? As the poem goes: ‘A lonely valley faces the moon in vain, wasted youth blown away by autumn winds.’ This fills my heart with sorrow.

“But it is so. You are in your prime, and what woman does not wish for a loving husband by her side? Yet these red silks and golden hairpins—who is there to wear them for, save your maids and eunuchs? Your beauty can only be admired by yourself, night after night before the mirror. What a pity, what a waste.”

Shangguan Wan’er bowed her head. “I have long since banished all desire, never seeking to compete for favor.”

Empress Wei smiled, “In truth, the Emperor does care for you. Several times he wished to visit you, but I stopped him. Do you know why?”

Shangguan Wan’er replied, “The Emperor bears the burdens of state and is ever weary. He cannot be distracted for my sake. I understand Your Majesty’s concern.”

Empress Wei laughed, “You are mistaken. If the Emperor longs for you, and you for him, it is only natural joy between man and woman. Why would I spoil your happiness?”

She looked at Shangguan Wan’er, who dared not guess her intent and remained silent.

Empress Wei sighed, “The Emperor may wish to share his favors, but he cannot come. Even I have not shared his bed for several months.”

Shangguan Wan’er was surprised. “Your Majesty and the Emperor have weathered hardship together and share deep affection. Why is this?”

Empress Wei replied, “It is precisely because our love is deep that I cannot let the Emperor linger in my chambers. For when he does, each night he is tormented by nightmares and rises each morning haggard. I cannot, for mere pleasure, detain him—and this means you too must endure an empty bed. For this, I truly feel sorry for you.”

Shangguan Wan’er grew even more puzzled, “The imperial physicians are renowned for their skills—is there nothing they can do?”

Empress Wei shook her head. “It is useless. The physicians say the Emperor is afflicted by a sickness of the heart. No medicine can cure him.”

“Ah!” Shangguan Wan’er gasped softly.