Elio’s Notes: The chapter title comes from Duan Keji’s lyric Jiangchengzi: Peony. In that poem, the peony’s “heavenly fragrance” is already being blown almost away, a fitting image for a chapter built around Ehuang’s peony symbolism at the moment her splendor is nearing its end.
A few days later,
the evening bell had already sounded.
Fengque Palace had indeed followed the imperial order to the letter and removed every candle. For the Empress’s illness, she was to avoid smoke and flame, so pearls from the Southern Seas had been hung along all four walls, their radiance at night no dimmer than lamplight.
Li Yu’s imperial carriage stopped before Fengque Palace. When he entered, Liuzhu barred the doorway with trembling hands while hysterical shouting rang continuously from inside.
Li Congjia’s heart tightened at once. “Has the Empress fallen ill again?”
Liuzhu clung to the door and reported in panic, “Your Majesty… Her Majesty is not in her right mind. It would be better not to go in right now…”
“Open the door.”
It was obvious that when Ehuang lost control, the person she cursed was him. Everyone in Fengque Palace had dropped to their knees in terror, afraid the Emperor’s anger might turn upon them.
“All of you, leave!” Worried about her condition yet kept outside the door, he could no longer restrain his voice. Liuzhu hurriedly moved aside, then waved all the other palace attendants away.
Li Yu went in. Ehuang sat on the couch with her hair loose around her shoulders. The instant she saw him enter, a faint flash of despair crossed her eyes. Then she lunged at him as though mad, clawing and tearing until he had no choice but to hold her. “Ehuang… Ehuang, it’s all right now.”
Her face pressed against his chest, and for one instant it almost created an illusion of peace. Then she began shouting again. “All right? Of course you’re all right! You know very well what you’ve done!”
“All right, all right. It was my fault.” He kept coaxing her as he carried her back to the couch. Ehuang continued to struggle, then suddenly thought that things had already reached this point and there was nothing left to lose. If words that could not be spoken could be poured out under the cover of madness, perhaps that too would be a kind of release. She seized his hand and refused to let go. “Your wrist! You…”
Li Yu followed her lead, wanting only to calm her first. “My wrist? What about my wrist…” Before he had even finished, his own eyes fell upon the long, narrow scar. “I…”
She burst into laughter. “Tell me yourself. Back then, who was capable enough to wound the wrist of the Crown Prince?”
He said nothing. He simply let her struggle until she exhausted herself and collapsed against the couch, sobbing without tears. Li Yu knew how much pain she was in. “Ehuang? Look at me. Be good. Calm down and everything will be all right.”
And she truly did quiet. Curled against his chest, she greedily breathed in the scent of red sandalwood. “Your Majesty, I’ve finished restoring the incomplete score of the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance.” Li Yu sighed. “I told you there was no need to wear yourself out over it. You still haven’t recovered.”
Ehuang sat up slightly and looked down at her hair spilling loose around her. After a long silence, she murmured, “Soon… It should be over soon.”
“Give me the score.” In truth, he had never studied it carefully. If anything, he had felt a kind of resistance toward it. Li Yu rubbed the scar on his wrist without thinking, but Ehuang refused him. Suddenly she seemed entirely recovered, without the slightest trace of madness. Her eyes moved brightly as she smiled at him. “Your Majesty thinks he can swindle away a month of my labor just like that?” Seeing her appear lucid, Li Yu felt a little reassured. He relaxed and leaned back against the couch. “Then what does the Empress propose?”
Ehuang ignored him and sat before the dressing table, gathering her hair while looking into the mirror. Behind her in the bronze reflection, the man in imperial yellow was almost painfully brilliant. Li Yu reached for his tea and sipped it slowly, every movement perfectly elegant. Ehuang laughed softly. “The Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance is among the surviving echoes of a golden age. Naturally, no ordinary occasion would be worthy of it.” She leaned closer to the mirror and studied her brows with a trace of regret. “This consort truly is worse with every passing day…”
Hearing the grief beneath her words, Li Yu was afraid she would sink into sorrow again. Pearly light filled the room, hazy and luminous without the smoke of candles. He looked around, his gaze finally settling on the Shaocao pipa. “State affairs have been endless lately. I haven’t touched music in a long time.” He watched her look into the mirror and remove the peony from her forehead. “Ehuang, if you can compose a song for me right now, I’ll dance one for you. How does that sound?” A smile rose on her face, yet through the mirror her eyes remained fixed on the dragon scales embroidered across his imperial robe. The last time… the last time he had said such a thing, when had it been?
She rose to fetch her instrument. As she turned, her cheeks flushed and she pushed him lightly away.
It had been so long since they had been like this. When they were still in their teens, they had once possessed such a temperament. After Li Hongji’s relentless pressure and every upheaval that followed, with none of it avoidable, the man in imperial yellow before her had not looked at her with clear double pupils and said, “Shall I dance for you?” for a very, very long time.
For a moment, it almost seemed she was seeing him for the first time again. Ehuang nodded. Then, after turning away, she suddenly spoke. It was phrased as a request, yet the tone admitted no refusal because she knew he would agree. “Your Majesty, I can play for you, but you must promise me three things.”
He smiled, his gaze mildly inquisitive, and Ehuang continued. “First, the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance may only be performed at a grand feast.”
“Tomorrow I will hold a palace banquet for you. The ministers and every citizen of Jinling will celebrate together.”
Only then did Ehuang settle at the head of the room with the Shaocao pipa in her arms. She thought for a moment, then found it a little amusing and turned her face toward him. “A sovereign does not jest. If I compose a song now, will Your Majesty truly dance?”
Li Yu calmly spread his sleeves, a hint of urging in his eyes.
The air held a rare ease, letting them set aside their hidden sorrows for a little while. Ehuang’s fingers moved, and the instrument answered in a smooth, ringing flow.
He sang along with the melody: “Evening makeup freshly done, a touch of aloeswood softly laid; between the lips a clove-tip barely shows. One clear song begins, and cherry lips part…”
Suddenly Ehuang stopped. He stopped as well and looked toward her.
The woman bright as a phoenix abruptly seemed to lose her color. Her voice became hesitant as she made a quiet request. “Your Majesty, change out of the dragon robe.”
Li Yu stood frozen for a very long time.
From the corner of his eye he caught sight of himself in the dressing mirror. Beneath the bright yellow and pearly glow, the color looked especially harsh. For some reason unease rose inside him. Neither he nor she liked that shade. It was too glaring, too declarative.
Li Yu obeyed and ordered someone to bring Tianshui Blue. When Liuzhu carried the robe in, both she and Ehuang went briefly still.
It was the garment Ehuang had once dyed with her own hands after days of gathering dew. Light as air in Li Yu’s hands, yet he did not dare put it on.
Ehuang broke the suffocating stillness in a voice deliberately easy and gentle. “Congjia, I would very much like to see you wear it once more.”
His hands trembled faintly. Hearing those words hurt him more deeply than seeing her delirious and unwell.
“All right.”
With no outsiders inside Fengque Palace, Li Yu changed into the Tianshui Blue robe. Loose sleeves, easy sash, warm as jade. When he stepped out from behind the screen, Ehuang suddenly began to cry. At last she saw again the image upon which she had once fixed the whole of her infatuated heart. She had only one heartbeat’s worth of happiness before a clear tear soaked into the gauze, and she quickly hid it away. “Tell me, who goes blowing the flute toward purple mist, who once learned to dance away the flowering years? If we could become paired fish, why fear death? Better mandarin ducks than immortals.”
Elio’s Notes: The closing thought here echoes Lu Zhaolin’s famous line from Chang’an: Ancient Intentions: lovers would rather be paired mandarin ducks than envy immortals. The novel folds that ideal of mortal love into Ehuang’s final attempt to recover the world she and Congjia once shared.
Her face opened into a smile. She lifted the instrument again and sang. Who had said it? Better mandarin ducks than immortals.
“Crimson stains remain upon the gauze sleeves; the deep cup is swiftly splashed with fragrant wine. Leaning sidelong on the embroidered bed, charming beyond restraint, she chews the red floss to pieces and laughingly spits it toward her beloved.”
＊
Mountains and rivers lay dim beneath the night, while pipes and songs filled Jinling.
＊
The next day, Song ordered the Tang court to send an envoy north to pay audience. Li Yu personally appointed Han Xizai to go. Though summoned, Han shut himself inside his residence for days and refused to come out. Li Yu ordered him into the palace several times, only to be told he was ill at home. Yet when palace servants went to the Han residence, song and dance still filled every corner. There was no sign whatsoever of a man confined to his sickbed.
A palace attendant discreetly made the purpose clear. “If my lord would restrain himself a little and return with us to answer the summons, it may not be long before you are appointed Chancellor…”
Han Xizai raised his cup and laughed loudly. “Han has spent his life behaving without restraint and has done the state little good. Better to drink today’s wine while today still lasts.” Song had coveted Jiangnan for years, and the true Son of Heaven had already appeared. It was merely that the proper moment had not yet arrived, allowing the Southern kingdom to survive in its corner a little longer. In such circumstances, how could he accept appointment as Chancellor? Still less did he wish to become a joke for the ages.
The palace men could do nothing. Han repeatedly invited them to drink, and cups crossed back and forth. Before long, the scene recorded in the Night Revels of Han Xizai was laid before Li Yu: sensual pleasures used as concealment, nightly feasts thrown wide, the host abandoning himself to amusement with his guests.
“This man is absolutely not suited to travel north.”
Li Yu smiled faintly and rolled up the painting with his fingers. “He simply does not wish to step into a place of right and wrong. Unfortunately, aside from Han Xizai, there is no second person I can entrust with this.”
The imperial order did not change. Han Xizai was commanded to travel north as envoy to the Central Plains.
Before leaving, he did something entirely unlike himself and dismissed the hundred singing girls in his household.
Once he went, it would be difficult ever again to remain outside the struggle.
＊
Rain had fallen without pause along the southern bank in recent days.
A young woman stood by the river beneath an umbrella, gazing into the distance. Perhaps she had just seen someone off. A little maid behind her, watching the river wind blow without rest, brought a cloak to shield her mistress from the chill.
Even from afar, the embroidery was obviously of the finest quality. She must have been the daughter of a wealthy household, spared every worry of food and clothing. Her only sorrow was when the one she waited for might return.
Gray already touched Han Xizai’s temples. Jiangnan was, after all, a gentle and intoxicating land of fish and rice. Behind the gaudy screen of endless music and dancing, flowers still bloomed everywhere. From the boat, looking back toward Jinling, Han Xizai suddenly thought of Li Hongji.
If Li Hongji were alive today, what would he be like? He might never have agreed to purchase temporary peace with tribute measured in thousands of gold. Would smoke from war already be rising on every side?
If Li Hongji were still here, perhaps the riverbank would not now be a place where women stood beneath umbrellas seeing people off.
A few idle retainers in Han’s household had heard of his mission some days earlier and become indignant. “They hand my lord such a degrading errand, going north to offer tribute and curry favor. If he had even a little backbone…” Only halfway through did the speaker realize his words could exterminate nine clans, and his voice slowly died away.
It was merely the reckless courage of men shouting from the bottom of a well. Han Xizai felt no anger. On the contrary, he was unusually calm. “His Majesty is benevolent. If he did not act this way, would countless lives not be ground to ruin?”
Li Congjia. Li Yu.
Whichever name he bore, once that nine-dragon robe was removed, he was still the child from that year in Flowing Wind Pavilion, smiling as his fingers moved over the strings, double pupils gentle as jade.
The river wind grew too fierce. Han Xizai went inside the cabin and closed his eyes.
So Li Yu also understood that aside from himself, there was no one Han could trust to wade through these muddy waters.
＊
On the night the incomplete score of the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance returned to the world, the painted pleasure boats and singing houses on both banks of the Qinhuai fell silent.
“The heavenly gate lies deep in a night not yet half spent; beneath blue clouds, immortal music dances the Rainbow Skirt. One jade flute dies into the empty sky; moonlight fills Mount Li while the palace water-clock runs long.” Atop Yuxiao Pavilion’s gilded roof, pearls and jade served as lamps, their brilliance so dazzling against the darkness that for a moment even moonlight seemed dim.
The whole city lifted its face and waited, waiting for the first sound of the Shaocao pipa to shake the world.
At last Ehuang’s slender hands moved smilingly across the strings: “Kunshan jade shatters, phoenixes cry; lotus weeps dew, fragrant orchids laugh. Cold light melts before the Twelve Gates; twenty-three strings stir the Purple Emperor.”
Elio’s Notes: The imagery here is borrowed from Li He’s celebrated poem Li Ping Plays the Konghou. The original describes the supernatural force of another plucked string instrument, the konghou; the novel repurposes those lines for Ehuang’s pipa performance.
She wore only a simple dress, without a trace of deliberate imperial magnificence.
The ministers were astonished. The Empress’s makeup that day was extraordinarily light and elegant, despite the grand feast having been declared in honor of the beloved Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance she had restored to the world. Ehuang’s beauty had never lain in seduction or softness. It came precisely from her brilliance, a brilliance so overwhelming that ordinary words could not contain it. Hers was a beauty rooted in self-possession and pride.
Her innate hauteur was unmistakable. That brilliance seemed capable of burning all the way into the human heart.
＊
Ehuang wore a dark cinnabar feathered gown, huge peonies edged in gold thread blooming across it. The cut was simple enough that daughters of ordinary great houses might wear something similar. Though still splendid, it was far less extravagant than the jeweled opulence filling the hall. Li Yu looked at her, and suddenly remembered.
This was the gown she had worn when they first met, when she was seventeen.
This very one. Dark cinnabar feathers. In the Zhou residence, she had played behind a gauze veil while he stood beneath the corridor, intoxicated beyond reason. He had remained drunk on that moment for seven or eight years.
Though now Empress, she still covered her face with gauze. Behind the curtains, palace women whispered among themselves that Her Majesty’s appearance today was astonishingly unexpected. Could it be that the rumors of the Empress losing her mind…
At once music rose from every side and drowned out every word.
＊
On Yuxiao Pavilion, Ehuang’s pale fingers moved lightly. Low, languid pipa notes began to flow. Listening, Li Yu found something strange in them. Had the music of the High Tang truly differed so greatly from that of today? Many passages ran against expectation, enough to make the listener vaguely restless. Just as he was thinking this, Ehuang smiled. The music turned with her fingers and rose bright and powerful, the five tones gathering in surging currents, rhythms opening into a vast and magnificent world. The other dancers followed the Empress, each carrying banners and ceremonial staffs, sleeves spread from feathered robes until they seemed like cranes flying through clouds.
Along Flower Street and from the painted boats on both banks, scholars and gentlemen lifted their heads and listened, hoping only to hear the southern wind of a flourishing age.
Such human splendor made even jeweled towers seem lonely beneath the moon and frosted sky. Li Yu suddenly frowned. Someone had once told him, “You are the mad ones. Every person in this Southern kingdom! You live inside the dead glory of the Tang and refuse to wake, imagining yourselves masters of this beautiful dream!”
Yes. A trace of pity suddenly entered his face. His gaze moved past the ministers inside the hall toward the jade towers behind them, every man lifting his cup in delight, dazzled by what he saw. At least they did not yet know they were dreaming. With the magnificent music of a golden age in his ears, Li Yu’s heart abruptly became still.
Sorrow lay in Li Yu’s eyes. Ehuang’s fingertips trembled. She saw straight through that instant in which his spirit wandered away.
A long, low sigh seemed to stretch without end.
Wine and face powder scented the air. She could no longer distinguish the fragrance of red sandalwood.
Perhaps it was a blessing for all who lived across these three thousand li of rivers and mountains to remain drunk together. Unfortunately, Congjia… you woke too soon.
＊
A scream tore apart every false surface.
A life spent drunk and dreaming was merely a noble veil painted over false peace. You say it, he says it, but when the performance ends and the lamps thin out, only a pallid ending remains.
The sudden upheaval on Yuxiao Pavilion startled someone badly enough to shatter a wine cup. Li Yu already felt a faint premonition. He sprang to his feet and saw Ehuang suddenly begin screaming as though her heart were being torn apart, flinging the Shaocao pipa aside.
No one knew what had happened. The hall fell into panic and people recoiled in every direction, while behind Li Yu the mountains and rivers seemed utterly silent. Everyone stared helplessly at the dazzling phoenix-like woman high above them as she broke apart and screamed.
Had the Empress… truly gone mad?
＊
Liuzhu recovered first and rushed forward, repeatedly trying to stop Ehuang’s hands. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty, wake up! We’re in the great hall, Your Majesty…”
Ehuang shoved her away again and again like a madwoman. Her eyes turned viciously toward Li Yu. Seeing him dressed in bright imperial yellow, she burst into laughter. “Your Majesty? Is Your Majesty pleased tonight?” Everyone looked toward Li Yu, wondering how the Emperor would respond, only to find his face still calm, neither sorrowful nor joyful, so quiet it frightened them.
Step by step, he descended the jade stairs and approached her. Trying to draw near, he called, “Ehuang?”
A soft veil still covered her face, leaving only those eyes, and those eyes wounded worse than anything else. Hearing him call her name, Ehuang’s fingers dug hard into Liuzhu, who was trying to restrain her. Her expression clouded and confused, she continued shrieking. “Your Majesty, do you still remember what you’ve done? You may have forgotten, but I have not! Now that you sit high upon the throne, has every wish of yours finally been fulfilled?”
Li Yu did not grow angry. His eyes remained clear. He smiled faintly and held out a hand. “Ehuang, it’s me. It’s all right. Let’s go back, all right?”
Ehuang shrank away in terror as if violently provoked. The palace women who had been supporting and restraining her hurriedly closed in, afraid that in her struggle she might rush forward and hurt someone.
Li Yu frowned at them. His voice was not loud, but it carried command. “Who gave you permission to handle the Empress this way?”
Everyone released her at once.
＊
Ehuang laughed. “Are you afraid? Afraid I’ll say it here?” The same fingertips that had just bestowed on everyone the illusion of a golden age were now digging bloody marks into her own palm. She pointed straight at Li Yu. “I’m not mad. You are.”
Li Yu shook his head. “You’re tired, Ehuang. Let’s go back, all right?” His tone remained light and even, still coaxing her to leave the banquet, return to Fengque Palace, and rest. His composure was infuriating.
Suddenly Ehuang quieted too. Hearing him say go back, she stared fixedly into his double pupils for a long while before speaking. “There is no going back.”
In an instant, Li Yu’s eyes deepened to ink. Ehuang only smiled. He was hurting.
＊
Before him stood the woman in the dark cinnabar feathered gown she had worn at seventeen. She wore it again today, but he was no longer that pale blue-green figure. Ehuang smiled and slowly lifted one hand, a reunion across a thousand years made new again.
Li Yu drew in a sharp breath.
She let the veil fall and smiled for him.
＊
Li Yu reached out and seized her. “Ehuang!”
She tore herself free. Whether mad or lucid could no longer be distinguished. Tears spilled even as she laughed. “Your Majesty, you must be very happy… He gave you Jiangnan’s sun and moon. What did you promise him in return?”
There was a sob beneath her voice. It was not loud, yet enough to send shock through every seat, whether people heard each word clearly or only half understood.
Li Yu released her as though burned. “Ehuang!” At this point he could no longer remain entirely without anger. Seeing her lose all awareness of the setting and speak wildly beyond recall, he had no choice but to order that she first be sent back to Fengque Palace.
The dream of a flourishing age had been too short and ended in haste. Li Yu followed them to Fengque Palace. When the imperial physicians heard what had happened to the Empress, they only shook their heads, with no idea what else could be done.
A farce.
Once returned to her own palace, Ehuang suddenly became silent and said not a word. No matter how Liuzhu and the maids questioned her or brought medicine, she gave no response. Only when Li Yu came himself, carrying the bowl with his own hands, did she react. Uneasy, afraid she still had not regained lucidity, he called softly, “Ehuang?”
Her eyes were clear as she looked directly at him. “What did I say?”
Li Yu fell silent for a moment. “Nothing. Drink the medicine.”
“I embarrassed you badly, didn’t I? Did I…”
Li Yu did not answer. Seeing that she made no move to drink, he set the bowl aside. She was so proud a woman that if she remembered the wild words she had spoken, something terrible might happen. He was still thinking this when Ehuang suddenly reached for the bowl and quietly drank the medicine down, sip by sip.
“Your Majesty, I once said I had three requests. You promised me. Does your word still stand?”
Li Yu took the empty bowl from her. “It does.”
He could still feel the warmth of her body beside him. Ehuang spoke with perfect calm. “Then you must agree to the second one as well.” Li Yu nodded. “Tell me.”
“The Empress has behaved improperly and offended the sovereign. Grant me a cup of poisoned wine.”
Li Yu heard every word but showed neither shock nor anger. He set the bowl steadily on the table. Several pieces of osmanthus cake rested in a delicate translucent dish. He offered one to her. “Is it bitter?”
“A sovereign does not jest. Will Your Majesty agree or not?”
He ignored the question entirely. Ehuang watched him raise the osmanthus cake to her lips, insisting that she eat something to ease the bitterness of the medicine. His expression was gentle and warm. She could not help lifting a hand to his face. “Congjia…”
He smiled softly, coaxing her. “All right. Eat.”
Ehuang obediently opened her mouth. He fed the soft, fragrant osmanthus cake between her lips, and his fingertips brushed them…
Blood.
Something warm stained his pale fingers. He did not look down. He looked only into her smiling eyes, his double pupils filled with despair. Still holding the tender pose, he whispered, “Ehuang… Ehuang, don’t…” His voice finally began to tremble, almost breaking into sobs.
Ehuang smiled. His hand slipped away from her lips, and blood ran in drops from the corner of her mouth.
＊
Pearls blazed around them. Golden bells hung from the gauze curtains of Fengque Palace, blue brocade knotted above them like layered clouds. What a jeweled, glittering dream of a thousand autumns. At its center, the figure in imperial yellow began to shake. He flung the plate to the floor as though mad, her blood still on his fingertips.
Those who could not be confined within cages of gold and jade were gods and Buddhas. Those who could not endure were human hearts made of flesh. And those who clung to life at any cost became demons.
She was simply tired, tired enough to want to go home. A single pipa melody in the Zhou residence courtyard when she was still in her teens would have been enough.
A human heart is made of flesh. She simply could not endure any longer.