The Moon in the Palace (The Empress of Bright Moon Duology)(10)

I had to agree with her. Embroidery was a slave’s duty. “What are you going to give him this year?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”

I had a feeling she was unwilling to share her idea. I did not blame her. She must have desperately wished to impress the Emperor and move to the real Inner Court.

I watched her finish painting the flower. A black peony. It was strangely appealing. When it was time to leave, I took my basin and thanked her for telling me about the Emperor’s birthday.

I came to the pavilion often after that day. Jewel was not like the Selects in my chamber. She was not talkative. She always looked quiet, and many times she fell into a serene repose that reminded me of a figure in a painting. It was only her catlike eyes, deep and unfathomable as a summer’s pond, that made me wonder whether, like me, she had experienced a great pain in her life. I did not inquire, as I thought of Confucius’s advice: “The friendship between gentlemen is plain as water.” I believed it should apply to women as well.





5


Soon the Selects heard of the birthday as well. So excited, they spent day and night discussing what gifts they would give to the Emperor. The discussion intensified as the date of the Emperor’s birthday approached. One night, a Select mentioned consulting her family; the next night, another declared her family would send her gold and silver to present to the Emperor. It seemed there was no limit to what they would give.

Some Selects worked on their embroidery fervently. They fought over the colorful threads and tried to hide their designs as they labored, afraid the others would steal their inspirations. I often awoke in the midnight hours and saw shadows crouching by the hemp oil lamp, the threads flying between their fingers.

Sitting in front of my bronze mirror, I stared at my reflection. This was perhaps my only chance to get noticed, and I had to choose a good present, an unforgettable present.

What should I give to the Emperor?

There were no exotics he had not seen, no finery he had not touched, no prizes he had not won. He could have had anything he wanted, and he would not care what treasure he received or who gave it to him. And if I was right about the court protocol, the only people who would see the presents would be the court recorders, who might neglect or misreport the items, and the Emperor would never know, or care, who gave him what.

Perhaps I should have considered him not as the Emperor, who owned the kingdom’s extravagance, but simply a man.

What would a man want?

Many things: big or small, expensive or cheap. But there was nothing I could afford.

I thought of Sun Tzu. What would the master advise me to do if he were me? “All warfare is based on deception,” he had said. That did not help. I needed only a suggestion for a gift. Gift giving was not warfare, and his strategies of attacking were not relevant to my need. But wait…did he not say that prior to attack, one must hold out bait to entice the enemy?

Bait…

I had an idea.

A week before the Emperor’s birthday, the eunuchs came to collect the gifts. There were handkerchiefs lined with silver threads, belts encrusted with jade, fragrance sachets embroidered with flowers and love ducks, and vests with images of dragons and phoenixes. The Xu Girl had the most precious present—a pair of rhinoceros horns with gold tips. She wrapped them in a piece of red silk she had embroidered and handed her package to the eunuchs with care. I slipped mine into the bottom of the pile.

Then we waited.

“What did you give to the Emperor?” I asked Jewel in the pavilion that afternoon.

She leaned over the table to paint. “Myself.”

I stared at her. “You gave him a portrait.”

How clever. She was a beautiful lady, and I could imagine how attractively she had painted herself.

She nodded. “What present did you give him?”

“I can’t paint, and I do not have anything valuable.” But wealth and treasure would not be what the Emperor sought, if he sought anything among us.

“You did give him something, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat and recited:

“I have no beginning nor an end,

I have no mother nor a friend.

Seldom do I give you warning or fear,

but when you think of me, you shall shed a tear.

“So fair and just I’m known,

Like the wind and air that you cannot own,

On and on I shall continue,

When your heart hardens to a stone.”

Jewel arched her painted eyebrows. “What is that?”

“A riddle.”

She paused for a moment. “You gave the Emperor a riddle for his birthday?”

It was a good choice, I saw it in her eyes, for she looked surprised and then almost rueful, as though regretting why she had not thought of it. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I like it. An ingenious thought. But I have never heard of the verses. Where did you find the riddle?”

“I wrote it.”

She was quiet again. “I certainly did not expect a girl of your age would have such an inspiration—a riddle for the Emperor!—and express it so poetically. But I wonder. Are you not worried you would offend him? It is rather bold, isn’t it?”

It was risky. The Emperor owned everything and beyond, and what I said in the riddle could certainly be read as a challenge. “I took my chances.”