Back at home, Mother washed me, dressed my wounds, and did not scold me.
“Venerable Mother,” I said as I lay on my bed, “Sheep said that your heritage counts for nothing. Only the father’s origins count. Am I a commoner like all my cousins?”
She thought for a moment and replied: “Long ago the Emperor of Peace from the ancient Zhou dynasty had several sons. The lines on his second son’s hand featured the august word ”warrior. When he divided up the Empire, he gave him the domain of Wu, and all his descendants bear its name. Now, the kingdom and the palaces have disappeared, and wars have scattered the former inhabitants of the Yellow River region. A new people emigrated into the alluvial plain. Your origins have become a secret that ill-educated men will never know. It is true that in The Book of Identities your father’s clan, Wu, is classified as a Minor Name. But don’t forget that the source of your clan goes back to time immemorial. One of your ancestors is the Emperor of Peace, venerated by sovereigns from all the former dynasties!“
As a punishment, the clan council voted to have me locked up. There was a dilapidated pavilion called Regret in the cemetery. An elderly guard passed food to me through a tiny window, and I lived in darkness with rats, fleas, and cockroaches. During the day I lay with my hands behind my head and drifted in and out of sleep. The silence of the cemetery was more deafening than the roar of a river. When the sun disappeared, the wind would wail mournfully like a woman. Footsteps, snapping twigs, someone breathing; all these sounds hovered round the walls. I closed my eyes and saw colored shapes, dancing flames, white figures and threads of red. When I opened my eyes, I could make out ghosts in the darkness. They wanted to strangle me, to drag me into the eternal shades, but I would chase them out of my room, furiously shaking a broom.
Over the three months after my release from the pavilion, I secretly hoarded rat poison. When I had accumulated a large enough dose, I slipped into the stables.
A few days later the horse that had been a gift from Great General Li Ji died. Eldest Brother blamed it on his groom who fled, fearing a fatal punishment. The men of the clan regretted this death for a long time. They would sigh and say: “He was a magnificent steed.”
FIVE NIGHTS SPENT in the Ancestor’s cemetery-that was enough to impress all the children in the village. Sheep could not hide his admiration: His gang of urchins became my escort and my servants. The summer of my twelfth birthday was upon us. To the south of the River Long, the shy retiring hills shrank into a cloak of mist; to the north of the Yellow River, the shameless mountains revealed their forests and their peaks like open books.
I came of age to serve the Goddess of Silk. Every morning, barefoot and without a ladder, I would climb the mulberry trees and pick the tenderest leaves to feed the silk worms. Up in the tops of the trees, I could sense their roots tunneling through the dark earth and see their gnarled arms embracing the sun. Their luxuriant foliage whispered the mysteries of an invisible kingdom. Sometimes I would glimpse the train of a mauve tunic or a green stole. The girls of the village said it was one of the Goddess’s servants coming to oversee our work.
Out in the fields the sprouting wheat and maize, the sorghum and sugar cane creeped toward the sky. Soon they surrounded our village. At noon, when the adults were resting with straw hats over their faces, I would run through this ocean of green waves and play war games with the young boys of the clan.
At dusk I would sit by the gate, resting my head on my hands, and watch the clouds bedecking themselves in shimmering colors. The cumulus clouds created faces, mountains, lakes, and drifting boats. Sometimes they would reveal palaces with roofs of crystal, embellished with gold columns and steps of lapis lazuli.
The period of deep mourning came to an end. After the ceremony in which I first wore my hair in a topknot, I was ready to fulfill my destiny as a woman. The clan began having talks with a number of local families, but Father’s death had diminished my value, and my brothers were offering only a meager dowry. The few families that showed any interest in this alliance were those of minor landowners.
Mother rejected these unworthy suitors. The Clan Council were impatient to find me a husband and decreed that they would forego her opinion. Mother, who had always been so conciliatory, then lost all her calm. She ordered that we should pack our things and go back to the Capital. The cousins confiscated our belongings and our carriages. I watched this conflict with detachment. At thirteen, I had lost my childish puppy fat; I was fine and slender and wore trousers like a boy. I was not afraid of marriage. Ever since Eldest Sister had left, I had understood that this banishment was every girl’s inevitable future. I could marry an untouchable, a dwarf, a madman, an old man… and it would be a pleasure to be exiled from that village. I pitied Mother for her blindness: The men of the clan would impose their authority. Sometimes, weary of the ridiculous arguments, I thought it might be simpler to set fire to the grain stores one windy night-the village would perish in the flames, and I would be done with this miserable world.
One morning, an ordinary morning like any other, when I was sharing out the mulberry leaves to the silk worms, a military messenger arrived at the village and gave a letter to the head of the clan. As I swept the courtyard, the elderly uncle unrolled the letter and read it. I was wandering dreamily through the woods, listening to the birdsong, when the head of the clan went to see Mother and showed her the confidential communication. On my return I thought the village seemed strangely quiet; children stood watching for me in doorways; the men were drinking in the principal room; the women were behind curtains, sitting round Mother and smiling at me.
The Great Uncle told me the news: Great General Li Ji, Governor Delegate of our province, had spoken highly of me at the Imperial Court. I was to be called for by a decree from the sovereign to go into service in the Forbidden City.
DISCONCERTED BY THIS unhoped-for honor, the clan decided to move us into a larger, more comfortable house, although they did not actually return our belongings. The women looked at us differently: I could see indignation and envy in their eyes. I lost the freedom to run through the fields and the right to wear trousers. I was confined to my apartments and was subjected to treatments to lighten my skin, which had been tanned by the sun.
Two years after our conversation over a cup of tea, I could only half remember the Great General’s face, which I had scarcely seen. But his voice still rang in my ears: It had a magnificent resonance, like some magical scale that allowed my imagination to climb toward a world of inaccessible heights.
The Emperor was no common mortal! As the Son of Heaven, he had the celestial mandate to govern all men. He was protected by the gods, taught by great philosophers, and watched over by benevolent spirits; he was a demigod. His mind was agile as an eagle, his body majestic as a dragon. In the Imperial City, he had the support of ministers and generals, the heroes of our world; in the Inner City, the most beautiful women took turns to fulfill his least desire. To serve the Emperor was to venerate Heaven and Earth, which blessed us with peace and prosperity.
Mother was distraught. She gave me lessons in applying makeup and dressing myself. She crammed my head full of her recipes for cosmetics and medicines. She oversaw my trousseau and tried as best she could to explain the rules of Court to me. Her monologues would sometimes grind to a halt, and she would be unable to hold back her tears and sighs. Going to the kingdom of the divine Emperor would be a one-way journey; I was giving up the outside world forever. The sovereign had no fewer than ten thousand serving women in his gynaeceum. Only very few ever found favor with the Emperor and knew the joys of motherhood. I was too wild, not beautiful enough, and I did not have a powerful father behind me: I had no hope of standing out. I would live and die there, an ephemeral flower living one brief season and never truly blooming.