“You said she left because of a scandal. What was the reason?” Memories are all I have left of her, and I’m desperate for any other knowledge.
“It was a bitter cold winter, and the empress was pregnant with the princess…，” she tells me. “The empress fell ill, as did the midwife who was in charge of her care. Same with many of the royal physicians. Your mother used magic from Shénnóng to save her, and she found favor in the eyes of the emperor and the empress.”
My uncle—my mother’s brother—had always bragged about how he could have attended the imperial college but chose to remain with the family business instead. He always looked down on my mother’s profession, even though the process to become a shénnóng-shī was similarly selective, if not more so. Why did my mother never mention that she attended to the empress herself?
“The emperor had arranged for a suitable match for Yiting, for all who serve at the palace may leave at the age of twenty-five to start their own families. But during that winter she fell in love with your father, an up-and-coming imperial physician, and he with her. And to refuse the emperor’s blessing means a death sentence.”
I envision in my mind this younger version of my mother and father, with their own dreams, their imagined futures lit up in front of them like lanterns glowing in the sky. The tenderness in my father’s face as he watches her while she shapes pottery for the kiln. The way she laughs when they prepare herbs to dry in the storeroom.
“With the permission of the empress, your mother began to secretly study for her shénnóng-shī trials. She managed to win the attention of the Esteemed Xu when he visited the palace, and gained a token for admittance to the next trials at Hánxiá. She returned from the academy with her name inscribed in the Book of Tea, and she asked for an audience with the emperor and the empress. She requested that they honor the boon they offered when she saved the life of the empress and the princess, asking to be freed from the engagement the emperor had arranged for her. The emperor was furious, but the empress was understanding. She helped your mother flee the palace in one of her own carriages when Yiting admitted she was with child.”
“And she returned to her family in Sù,” I say to myself softly. “She gave birth to me a few months later.”
This is why Father’s mouth turns into a hard line when I ask about his family. Why Mother’s face always smoothed into a blank mask when Shu would wonder aloud why some children had two sets of grandparents, while we had only one. I’m not even sure where Father’s family is. All I know is they are in one of the prefectures west of Jia, but we have never met them. His name must have been stricken from their family books in disgrace.
The implication of this knowledge stabs me in the chest. If Mother hadn’t gotten pregnant, she could have continued her comfortable life in the palace. As a favorite of the empress, she would have served her as shénnóng-shī and adviser. She would never have needed to toil in the fields. She would have walked among the nobles and the court officials.
“You are halfway through the competition, girl,” the steward scoffs. “You are just as intelligent as your mother. She risked everything to keep you. You know that, right? She fought for you and you are here, following her legacy. You are the symbol of her strength. Be careful. Don’t get yourself killed in the process.”
I stand and mumble my thanks. I stumble over my feet in my haste to get out of that suddenly suffocating room, heavy with the burden of my new knowledge.
* * *
To my relief when I return, I find our room empty. I sit down heavily on my bed, narrowly missing crushing the note Lian left for me.
Dear Ning, I have been called to be plucked like a chicken and paraded in front of musty old officials as part of Father’s diplomacy obligations. I will see you tomorrow.
Even though I am choking on tears, I still chuckle. Lian’s brashness, her carefree demeanor, feel so similar to my mother, forging her own destiny. I should follow their examples, instead of wallowing in my own self-pity. I pick up Mother’s pendant, wrap it in Shu’s handkerchief, and tuck it away in my sash. For them, I will be strong.
* * *
Without Lian’s company, I debate whether I should still join the other competitors for the evening meal. In the end, hunger wins out. I promised Steward Yang I would not associate with the kitchen staff any longer, and I’m not as confident as Lian, able to request extra portions from the serving staff without hesitation.