Shan Sa - Empress

Hearing Wisdom’s name infuriated me.

“Have you received letters from this banished commoner?” I asked, scowling. “Any exchange of information with those excluded from Court is a crime of betrayal punishable with imprisonment and exile. As King of Yu, you should not allow yourself to flout the law.”

But Miracle insisted, “Supreme Mother, Wisdom is ready to-”

“Wisdom,” I interrupted him, “committed an unforgivable crime in trying to usurp the throne. Even if my heart felt pity for him in his exile, I could not call him back to Court. Such an action would prove a destructive influence for posterity. It would serve as encouragement for every prince to rebel against his sovereign father. As for your brother, Future, I do acknowledge that his rash words did not correspond with his true intentions, but I am obliged to apply the ancestral ruling because to tolerate such negligence would debase the power granted to an emperor. Without respect and without fear, reigning would become child’s play, and the dynasty would be overthrown. It is pointless discussing this further: You shall be Emperor of China.”

A few days later, I watched with satisfaction as Miracle officially acceded to the throne. Chants and incense, praises from officials, cheers from soldiers, and feasting offered to the people helped to erase the dark days. The new sovereign’s wife, Lady Liu, became Empress, and their eldest son took the title of Supreme Son. I inaugurated a new era called the Awakening of Culture. Future and his wife were exiled to the south of the River Long where they would have to meditate on the vanities of this world as they contemplated the inhospitable terrain. Members of the deposed empress’s clan were deported to the province of Qin and would perish in poverty.

The new sovereign refused to reign and gave a decree that paid homage to the role I had played beside the late emperor, recognized his own lack of political experience, and announced his decision to entrust the Empire to me. He had his throne removed from the Palace of Audiences and left me to receive the morning salutations alone. He shut himself away in his palace with his discreet retinue and court and appeared by my side only for major occasions.

One evening, my people informed me that the commoner, Wisdom, was secretly planning to escape from his guarded residence. Letters addressed to his uncles and cousins in posts in kingdom-provinces had been intercepted. In them, this unworthy son claimed that my regency was a usurpation and called on all princes by birth to rebel.

I was wracked with sorrow and fury, but I had no time to waste on pointless lamentations. That very night, I called for Qiu Shen Ji, the Great General of the Cavalry of the Left, overseer of the imperial Forest of Plumes Guard, and sent him hastily to the mountainous province of Ba with an army of one thousand cavalrymen. Their mission was to dissuade Wisdom from launching into such foolish behavior again.

My second son had been born in the fifth year of the era of Eternal Shining, in the month of December, during the pilgrimage to the tomb of the Emperor Eternal Ancestor, in an eerily white landscape where naked trees pierced the fog with their slender branches. I carried this embryo in my belly as if issuing a challenge to the Outer Court that refused to grant me a title. Wisdom came into the world as the first snows fell. His life would be one of cold elegance and anxious agitation.

From his earliest years during childhood, it had pained him to be the younger brother of the Supreme Son. There were two years between the boys, and Wisdom had been appointed as his brother’s official companion. They were taught by the same masters, read the same books, played the same sports, and were even the same height, and yet the inequalities between them could be seen everywhere: the number of valets, the different salutations, the choice of meals, the colors of their clothes associated with their rank, and the attention paid to them by the Sovereign Father. Wisdom was the King of Yong and would always be his brother’s servant.

When he was eight years old, Wisdom left the Forbidden City and moved into his royal palace. He was taught by officials I had chosen and grew up in the outside world, slipping into adulthood behind my back. At fifteen he climbed up the Vermilion Steps and started attending the morning salutation. During ritual ceremonies and imperial banquets, he made sure he was the most elegantly dressed courtier. As well as the ceremonial tunics prescribed by his rank, he always added details that secretly transgressed restrictions and highlighted the fact that he was different. He was made-up by the most skilled, graceful hands; enveloped in the most subtle fragrances; and surrounded by beautiful adolescents with cherry-red lips: His magnificence eclipsed the Supreme Son.

My eldest son, the lamented Splendor, had not worn his name well. He had suffered from shortness of breath even as a child, and had looked on the world with the tenderness and indulgence of a young man struggling under the weight of his own death. Wisdom was eloquent; Splendor spoke only softly. The younger had pink cheeks, the elder a pale face dotted with sickly red patches. The prince liked rare jewels, precious fabrics, wine, and good cheer; the heir to the throne was happy with sober tunics, vegetables, and tea.

One winter’s day when Splendor was having difficulty breathing, he begged me to listen to him: “My health is failing, and I am growing weaker. Despite my wishes, I will not be able to perform my duties to the full. Now, the Imperial Father’s successor should be a vigorous man: Wisdom is strong and gifted-he will one day make an excellent sovereign. Please do not take my birthright into consideration! I would be happy to surrender my title as Supreme Son to him.”

Since the very highest dynasty, there have been countless brothers in the imperial family who have fought for the position of Supreme Son. It was a rare thing for an eldest son to offer his future to someone he deemed worthier than himself. Moved by this selfless act, I took his hand in mine. It was the first time I had touched one of my sons, and this unaccustomed contact made me shudder with happiness and sorrow. Splendor lifted himself up and rested his head on my knees; I held him tightly in my arms.

“It is you that your Sovereign Father and I wish to see on the throne,” I told him, stroking his hair. “It is you who have the virtues necessary to be sovereign. You must regain your health!”

Tears trickled over my child’s cheeks: “Thank you, Venerable Mother, thank you.”

At the time, unbeknown to be me, Wisdom had spies planted in his brother’s entourage. It was only later that I learned that this conversation had sown the seed of furious resentment in a jealous brother’s heart.

I did not have the time to make a great emperor of Splendor; I did not have the time to teach him the truth about cruelty and compassion, tolerance and punishment; I did not have the time to tell him how to turn cowards into brave men, to make the lazy hardworking, and to make traitors loyal. Splendor died suddenly. Once again Buddha was showing me that everything is illusion.

My beloved son was buried on the Mountain of Eternal Peace near Luoyang. He was given the posthumous title of Emperor of Piety; this was the first time since the ancient dynasties that a king had been raised to the absolute rank after his death. The frescoes along the long subterranean corridor depicted the sumptuous delights of the afterlife. At the entrance I commissioned paintings of scenes showing feasting, hunting, and games with horses whinnying and dogs barking. The very chariots could be heard rumbling, the banners cracking in the wind, and the horns sounding to announce the Emperor’s arrival. On the star-studded vaulted ceiling of the funeral chamber, the sun gazed across at the moon, and the most beautiful wives strolled through a garden of blooming peonies. I hoped that Splendor, who had renounced the light and the changeability of this world, would still be living amid happiness and beauty thousands of years later.