I bowed, raising my arms to offer up my flute. An attendant rushed to take it and passed it to Minister Wu. His expression was one of bored disinterest, a far cry from the eagerness he had shown in my mother’s troubles. Did he find today’s proceedings tiresome? Did he resent being ordered around by the empress? Nevertheless, he performed his role admirably, inspecting my flute with meticulous care. How I hated seeing my precious instrument—my mother’s gift—between his gloved fingers.
Finally, he turned to the empress. “There is no enchantment.”
Her displeasure was evident in her curt nod. “Proceed,” she ordered.
As the empress’s attendant returned my flute, my fingers closed tight around it. I breathed deeply, trying to loosen the tightness in my chest, still burning with the humiliation of her accusation. Closing my eyes, I tried to shut out the indifferent strangers around me, searching for the melody I wanted—of a bird’s desperate hunt for her stolen children, until she froze to death when winter came. One of sorrow, grief, and loss, to channel the emotions swirling through me. As a stillness swept over me, I lifted the flute, rejoicing in the familiar press of the cool jade against my lips. How I had missed this. The song began playfully, with joyous notes rippling through the air, soaring clear and pure. Slowly, the melody morphed into jagged uncertainty and terror, before plunging into the abyss of despair.
The last note faded. With trembling hands, I lowered the flute. Ping’er had praised my playing, but would it be deemed lacking here? I glanced up to find the empress white-faced and furious—surely, that was a good sign, though I could not read Minister Wu’s expression. A clap rang out, joined by others, the sounds crashing together like thunder. A fierce gladness coursed through me that regardless of the outcome, I had tried my best.
Prince Liwei and the empress conferred for a long time. As the last performer of the day, I had remained in my seat before them and caught snatches of their conversation.
The empress tried her utmost to sway her son. “Lady Lianbao’s heritage is impeccable. She is well-educated, intelligent, graceful, and musical. How can you prefer a mere attendant to her? She looks so common and that mark on her chin is a sure sign of an ill-temper.”
I clasped my hands in my lap, squeezing my fingers together.
“Honorable Mother, if we chose someone based only on their heritage, there would be no need to hold this event today.” His tone was respectful yet firm.
Silence hung in the air as they stared at each other. I saw little resemblance in their features, for which I was glad—a warmth to Prince Liwei’s face, instead of the cold, stark planes of the empress.
Finally, she sighed, an exasperated sound. “Such a trifling matter does not merit my time. I expect you to obey us in more important concerns.” Without another word, the empress rose and left the courtyard, her attendants hurrying after her.
When my name was announced, I did not hear the cheers and well-wishes. My heart swelled with relief, yet I still feared this was just a dream. Across the crowd, my restless gaze sought Prince Liwei’s. Only after I saw his answering smile did I dare to hope, as the first flower springing forth after a long winter.
5
The sun was low in the sky by the time I packed my belongings at the Golden Lotus Mansion. I could have left the next day, but I had no reason to delay; there were no farewells to make, no one I would miss here. In the days after the competition, Lady Meiling and her other attendants had kept me busy with an endless stream of unpleasant and humiliating tasks. I would have liked to say that such maliciousness slid off me as water on oil, that the joy in my heart left no room for bitterness to fester. But I was neither so magnanimous nor forgiving. I had learned by now that nothing irked my tormentors as much as indifference. And so, I had smiled at their commands, bowed and complied, all the while imagining their dismay when I left for the palace, to never return.
As I walked up the white marble stairs which led to the Jade Palace, my feet were lighter than the clouds that drifted above. To my surprise, I found the chief attendant waiting by the entrance. His lips thinned in disapproval at the sight of me, or perhaps he did not appreciate the lateness of the hour.
“Her Celestial Majesty asked that I instruct you in your duties.” Without waiting for my response, he strode through the red-lacquered doors, leaving me to hurry after him.
Gripped by anxiety before, all I could recall was a blurred haze of vibrant color and exquisite beauty. Calmer today, I studied my surroundings, discovering that the Jade Palace was the size of a small city and laid out with methodical precision. The soldiers were housed in the outermost perimeter along the palace walls, while a little farther in were the rooms of the attendants and palace staff. Ringed by flowering gardens and carp-filled ponds was the Outer Court, the quarters of honored guests and select courtiers without an estate of their own. The Inner Court was where the royal family resided, their sprawling courtyards clustered around the heart of the palace: the Imperial Treasury, the Chamber of Reflection, and the Hall of Eastern Light.