Shan Sa - Empress

After Pei Yan was arrested and his quarters had been searched, the examining magistrate informed me that the Great Secretary had lived in a state of destitution. His furniture was rudimentary and his rooms quite without ornamentation. In his six-year term of office as a Great Minister, he had managed to save up a few bags of rice and a dozen rolls of silk, gifts given to him by my late husband and myself.

I was moved by the man’s honesty. In prison he would not admit to the crime of which he was accused and never proclaimed his innocence. In mid-autumn he was decapitated in the middle of a public crossroads. Before dying he allegedly asked for forgiveness from his banished brothers: “When I was in power, I never let you benefit from my position; now, because of me, you have been exiled to the ends of Earth. I am so sorry!

I chose to ignore whether he deserved to die. His condemnation had been a deciding factor in the fight against the insurgents. I secretly ordered for his head and body to be collected and given a decent burial in the countryside near Luoyang. Occasionally, on the anniversary of his death, I would send a few offerings and prayers to his grave.

Within the Forbidden City, my voice echoed solemnly around the Palace of Virtuous Authority: “Gentlemen, I have never disappointed Heaven, you know that well! I served the previous sovereign for more than twenty years, and the Empire’s affairs have caused me much concern! I have watched over the stability and happiness of this world. I have offered wealth and nobility to all of you. Since the previous sovereign abandoned you and entrusted me with command, I have never troubled with my own health; my every thought has been for the happiness of the people. These rebels were ministers, generals, and Court officials. Where, then, is loyalty, and where is honor? Shame on you! I am not afraid of treacherous, rebellious men. I ask of you: Who among you would be more powerful, more sour-tempered, and more stubborn than hereditary minister Pei Yan? Who would be more violent, more reckless, and more inflamed than Xu Jing Yei descended from one of the dynasty’s Veterans? Who would be more experienced, more adroit, and more tactical than Cheng Wu Ting who never suffered military defeat? Those three men were believed to be indomitable! When they tried to betray me, I cut off their heads. If you consider yourself better than them, then you must revolt straight away. If not, work together and save all your energies for helping me in affairs of State. Prove yourselves worthy of posterity!”

IN THE FIRST month of the first year in the era of the Residence of Sunlight, I begat a new world. The imperial banners of ancient times disappeared from the city’s ramparts, and my golden standards edged with mauve now flapped in the wind. At Court I distributed new colors to the dignitary’s clothes: mauve to scholars and generals above the third rank, crimson to the fourth rank, and vermilion to the fifth rank. The sixth rank had to make do with dark emerald green, while the seventh rank wore light green. The eighth and ninth ranks, at the very bottom of the grading system, were given consolation for their humility; I attributed the color of blossoming springtime to them. In government, I did away with the age-old names given to ministers of state. Inspired by the venerable Zhou dynasty from which our Wu clan descended, I wanted politics to be a celebration of life from now on. I published an edict renaming the Great Chancellery the Terrace of Divine Birds; the Great Secretariat became the Pavilion of the Phoenix; and the Ministry of Supreme Affairs became the Lodge of Prosperous Letters. The six ministers responsible for the administration of the Inner City, human affairs, religious rites, armaments, punishments, and major works became Officers of the Heavens, the Earth, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, respectively.

When stars move across the sky, they transcribe a mathematical perfection. When flowers open, they reveal a universe of harmonious architecture. The seasons unfold in keeping with the order of creation-Germinating, flourishing, ripening, wilting, because where there is death, there is also harvesting. The pinnacle of poetry is silence; a painter’s crowning achievement is the white of a virgin sheet of paper; sages meditate with a vacant mind; the illumination of Buddha is the extinction of the world. A sovereign’s ultimate power is the abstinence of his authority. The sovereign’s will is motionless, highly concentrated, serving as a vehicle for Nature’s intelligence in maintaining the balance between light and darkness of the shades. The sovereign’s command is calm, steady and determined, transcending the universal evolution of perpetual motion. The sovereign’s hand is infinitely powerful and infinitely gentle, applying the invisible laws that fertilize the fields, shift the stars, and call forth migrating birds.

Four months after the era of the Residence of Sunlight was inaugurated, I was ready to pass to the higher phase of my policies.

The era of Lowered Arms and Joined Hands announced my resolve to govern the world without recourse to violence but in a posture of prayer. Before me I would have the gods who had stepped down from the heavens, leading us to happiness, and behind me, a whole country prostrate on the ground. From now on, there would be no arms raised, brandishing the lance of repression. There would be no fruitless struggle and pointless agitation. The demons had been driven out; I would dominate the turmoil of this world with immutable strength.

My periods had stopped.

The moon waxed and waned in vain. The crimson tide had run dry.

In this lowly world, women are the ocean’s pearls, their brilliance derived from the stain of their flesh. The blood had been the thread linking me to an underground world where a grim labyrinth twisted around a perpetual furnace. It had been the source of all my energy.

As Supreme Empress I had to conceal my failing, but the changes in my mood did not escape my old servant Emerald. One evening she forced me to accept a visit from a woman doctor, an austere creature who wore a man’s hat. After a brief examination the doctor prostrated herself and congratulated me: My divine body had returned to its original state. The serenity accorded me by my resting senses would allow me to achieve immortality at last. I did not like the term “resting,” and I interrupted her croaking pronouncements with a desultory wave. None of these women who officiated in the palace had known the violence of a phallus or the seismic upheavals of childbirth; virginity had made diaphanous creatures of them. A tree emptied of its sap loses its leaves and dries out. Stripped of my womanly barbarity, it was as if I were dead. The gods were imposing a virtuous widowhood on me, and I accepted their censure. The pleasures of the flesh no longer interested me. Carnal gratification would be the sacrifice I made to the heavens.

My duties running the Empire came to the fore again. Once again I was the weaver before her loom, unraveling inextricable threads. During the day, surrounded by ministers and generals, I forgot my age, my weariness, and the absence of a man to listen to me and support me. In the evening, sitting before my mirror in the Inner Court, I watched as my women dismantled my topknot, my pride, and my deceptive youth. Servants smoothed little squares of dampened silk over my face, and the white powders and red makeup melted away. I had to contemplate my bare skin and the wrinkles that had begun to knit their mesh in the corners of my eyes and lips. There in the candlelight, the mirror invited me to step into the abyss. I pictured Little Phoenix young and beautiful, his eyes brimming with desire. Then an aloof young woman appeared behind him, laughing, teasing him, and then drawing him up onto her horse. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, they disappeared into the dark night of my memory.