The Scarlet Hill/Prologue
Prologue
1.
This last night was to be Yuhan's. Her uncle had proclaimed it. If her three beautiful sisters envied her, they did not show it. It would not have been fitting, for they were all married. After all, they were not as ambitious as Yuhan, though they were better horsewomen. And never did any of them have to worry over excess of curves. Not infrequently, Yuhan had envied them. But all that was yesterday, before she had been acquainted with the fact that she was so soon to be the property of Prince Shou. Even Uncle Yang was satisfied. He was always pleased with good business arrangements. No vinegar money was Yuhan; she was in truth a Thousand Pieces of Silver. Even the Emperor would be angry if anything happened to Yuhan now.
He had never seen her; all arrangements had been handled by Ministers of the Court. Nor did he care to gaze upon her face. So many women did he possess, one more or less was of less consequence than a boiled turnip. One rare woman like his favorite concubine, Mei-fei, was of more consequence to him than the three thousand odd others who occasionally bore him sons. Not many sons at that compared to the number of women—eighteen, a mere pittance. Mei-fei was treasure indeed. A sweet, gentle nature. In her company, the Emperor found comfort; in her young arms he found strength. As for the Empress—a good woman, but burdened with jewels, the pomp of position, and a biting tongue.
It had been the Emperor's desire that Prince Shou acquire a pleasing concubine, in order that his world might be tranquil. News had come to him that frequently the Prince did not return to his palace until the sun, like a new-drawn sword, swept across the sky. A slender concubine might insure his future.
The arrangements had been completed thanks to the good offices of his Ministers. The matter, as far as he was concerned, was like a wind gone down. Certainly it was of no interest to him that for her last night of freedom, Yuhan had chosen to go with her uncle to the bazaars of Changan, gay and colorful, where were displayed uncountable things to enthrall the sight, to entice the ear, or to captivate the heart.
Uncle Yang accompanied Yuhan to the bazaars. He had replenished the depleted store of almonds in his sleeve. Without them, he felt like a mariner without a compass. They helped him ponder weighty affairs of state. Often as he nibbled them he ruminated on his chances of being ennobled a Duke. Some day he might even aspire to a "Three Eyed Peacock Feather."
Porters carried them in sedan chairs, before which a servant ran, swinging a lantern, and shouting, "Make way! Make way!" A man of position would as soon appear on the streets after dark without his clothes as without a lantern. It was a badge of position, even as were the ropes of his chair. And on the road, perfect etiquette was adhered to. A man afoot must male way for even the lowliest coolie if he is carrying a load. A coolie steps aside for a sedan chair. If the chair is empty, it gives way to one in which there is a passenger. A chair with a lean passenger, recognizes the precedence of one burdened with the fat, which in turn gives way for a camel or a horse. And all step aside for a wedding procession or the swaggering equipage of a mandarin. It pleased Yang Yuan-kuei that he belonged in this category.
At the fringe of the bazaars they abandoned their chairs to wander about afoot, becoming colorful bits of the kaleidoscope of light and gayety.
Near by was an outdoor Punch and Judy show. They paused for a moment to laugh at the antics of Punch. "How old things last," said Uncle Yang. "I remember my grandfather telling quaint tales about how he thought Punch and Judy were real people when he was a boy. Truly, they seem to have found the ever-lasting-youth-medicine."
Yuhan tried to remain solemn, in a manner befitting her blossoming womanhood. She was no longer a child. Her gentle breasts had formed into ivory hills, pinktipped as though with coral. Tomorrow she would be concerned with charming a young prince. Nevertheless, tonight, despite all her efforts to keep a sober face, smiles came, followed by laughter. Perhaps it is the echo of the little girl within them, that makes all lovely women desirable. Let it be whispered that Yuhan insisted on seeing the show twice. Momentarily the affairs of the Court were forgotten. Vexed, indeed, would have been Prince Shou had he been aware that he had been nosed out of her affections by Punch and Judy of all people, nor would he have been mollified by the fact that it was for but a brief moment.
At last, with reluctance, Yuhan turned away. Her uncle was insistent. He had noticed a drug vendor but a short distance away, and medicine to him was indeed a drug. He liked purple medicines, or failing that, dark vegetation green. Whenever he traveled through the Provinces, in every city he walked through Medicine Street as adventurers seek out hills and valleys. For a thousand li in every direction there was scarcely a drug shop unacquainted with his footsteps. Though his health was well-nigh perfect he irritated it with enough medicines to drown all the ailments recognized by the Clio Medica of China. He drank medicine with as keen a relish as men usually drink warm wine, and a great day it was for him when he discovered a new cure. But tonight he was disappointed. The itinerant merchant was displaying only perfumes. To cover his chagrin, he purchased a small vial for Yuhan. It was called "A Thousand Hours of Love," a blending of musk and apricot blossoms. It made her very happy.
As they walked on, Uncle Yang's stomach growled with disappointment When he reached home, he would take a draught of the brew of three "Great Blessing Pills," the ingredients of which were ten drugs for ten diseases. Surely one of them would ease his discomfort. He refused to believe it was only excessive vexation. Meanwhile he continued to munch almonds, coupled with cumquats which he purchased along the way. But Yuhan, content to drink in color and light, the magic of the night, ate nothing. She had no wish for food. Her cup of happiness was brimming over.
Before the door of an improvised shop, an aged man squatted in the dust. His face was like the sunburned earth of the Great Desert, so parched and blistered it had cracked into a thousand wrinkles, lines of venerable age on a face that was set like a mask. His beard was so long it nearly touched the ground, as he sat there; a straggling wisp-like beard, thin as the frame of its possessor, long and thin and flaked with patches of snow like East Mountain in late autumn. So deep-set was the seal of age on his face, the years passed him by, unable to work further havoc. Nevertheless his eyes were bright, small eyes that glowed from the caverns of his being as though the little beings in them were carrying lanterns. There was no darkness in his heart. For the eyes of his heart could survey the universe. His name was Visram, a man from India, Brother to the Night. The stars were windows through which he gazed to the world on the other side. Keen, indeed, was his vision.
"Come, Master," he implored, "your future for a few cash. If there is aught of good to come, I will tell it to you, so that by your good fortune you may be warmed twice."
Yuhan's heart skipped a beat. Tomorrow she would be the concubine of a Prince. After that—?
Yes, the future might be worth the telling.
"Venerable Uncle," she whispered, "may I listen?"
He laughed, or was it a grunt of content? It was foolish, but tonight he was in an amiable mood. After all, it could do no harm. And perhaps it would be as effective as "Pills of Gratification." Besides, it might contain much of interest.
So they followed the old necromancer into his shabby quarters, a small room, on the bare earth, barren of furniture. In the center, a drum lay upon the ground like a table, a drum covered with sand lightly spread over its beating surface as evenly as on the banks of the far Yellow Sea. Above, exactly centering it, suspended by a thin strand of silk, was a long, sharp-pointed bamboo pen. Near by, stuck in a yellow wooden candlestick, a lighted candle spluttered feebly. It made the shadow of old Visram loom up monstrously.
Although the air had been warm and heavy with spices among the winding lanes of the bazaars, within the rude shelter it was damp and cheerless as the labyrinths of a monastery. Old Visram seemed nervous and ill at ease. He was disturbed at the way the candle was burning. Large globules of grease, formed, ran down the sides and splashed over the ridge at the base. It worried him because he was so highly attuned to symbolism. He knew the way of men and spirits and dragons under the mountains. He knew every shape that haunted the dusk. Even foxes were no mystery to him. Fishermen employed him to paint eyes on their boats, because the eyes of Visram could see more clearly than anyone else. Coupled with his gifts, he had an uncanny dramatic sense. Yet now, as he watched the candle, he grew excited. So tight-clutched were his hands, the knuckles seemed without flesh. His nostrils twitched. His body trembled like a reed in the wind. In his excitement, he all but fell over and only regained his footing by clutching Yang Yuan-kuei's shoulder. His action was a serious affront to a Court officer, but Uncle Yang ignored this lack of decorum. For something of the mood of old Visram had affected him strangely, as though the breath of pestilence had swept over Changan. He had felt exactly that way when locusts had swept over the country and turned fertile fields into sad desolation, until the greatest Capital under Heaven was a ghost city shunned even by the wolves.
The old necromancer chattered a strange gibberish. Presently, he paused as though forcing himself back into reality.
"The candle weeps," he said huskily. "How can one gaze into the future when the candle weeps?"
Uncle Yang tossed a few cash on the ground. He was thankful for the question. Cupidity was a natural force that he could understand. He slipped a few almonds into his mouth. He wished this absurd affair were over so that he could walk once more in the lanes of men.
From a small chest near by, old Visram drew a fresh candle which he lighted before snuffing out the candle that wept. The second candle glowed with a cold blue light, an odd eerie light, but at least it did not weep.
Old Visram sighed. He did not like it, but he was afraid to risk a third candle. It might not even burn as well. He appeared very tired. By lantern-light, his parchment face had a bluish tinge. Steadily he gazed at the bamboo pen, suspended by the silk thread, and now he muttered a strange gibberish more anguished than that of monkeys, or so Yuhan thought. She regretted the vanity that spawned the impulse to know the future. Nevertheless, curiosity eclipsed her uneasiness. It was foolish to be disturbed. Had she not always been without fear? Still she could not help but feel somewhat guilty, as though she were stealing fragrance or precious stones. Startled, she paused in her thoughts, for the bamboo pen was moving, though no human hand directed it. Old Visram gazed entranced as characters formed in the sand. And slowly his expression changed to one of horror. He sighed and groaned and rolled about as though he were possessed.
On Yuhan, too, the effect of the writing was magical. The old necromancer was afraid, afraid to speak because her future was concerned with affairs of the Court. No longer was the small room cold. Warm blood rushed through her veins. Her valor flamed anew. Her curiosity heightened. She shook the grotesque, shriveled, groveling old form on the ground before her. He was mumbling prayers.
"Can you read it?" she cried.
"Yes, yes," he rasped.
"Speak, what does it say?"
His inflamed eyes seemed to be bursting from their sockets, like snakes about to strike. With a shriek, he tore down the bamboo pen, and it was amazing how strong was the silken thread, though probably it was only relatively so because of the weakness of Visram. But snap it did. Then he danced on the drum-top to scatter the writing in the sand, his feet beating a mournful tom-tom like rumbling thunder. He was gasping as he ceased. Tossing the cash on the ground before Yang Yuan-kuei he cried, "Get out! Get out! Get out!" but his voice issued from his throat in only a whisper, the frenzied, fear-drenched voice of a man attacked by a blue tiger, from which there was no means of escape.
Never had Yuhan glowed more beautifully, like a peony in full blossom. Her lips were the red glory of hibiscus flowers. In her words there was a soothing quality, and yet at the same time a sensual persistence.
"Be not afraid," she murmured. "We are with you. There is nothing to fear. Tell me, what was the meaning of the strange characters written in the sand?"
"No, no," he declared, and she was surprised at his stubbornness. Though his body were tossed into a blazing fire until only ashes remained, even the ashes would tell nothing. "No one shall know! The sand is scattered in the wind, the characters are written on air. I will not speak. I like to breathe without a slit throat, for with a slit throat a man cannot breathe. My poor old head must not roll from my body by the stroke of the executioner."
He did not wait for an answer, but turned and rushed in anger from the tent-room. And though they loitered for a while, he returned no more.
Yuhan stifled her anger with difficulty. Her curiosity was beyond control. She felt like weeping. But that would be a sign of weakness. No one must see her weep. After all, of what use are anger or tears against an enemy who had disappeared even as characters written in the sand?
2.
No wonder Yuhan was excited. Her future had been arranged, thanks to the clever manipulations of her venerable uncle, Yang Yuan-kuei. Fortunate indeed was she that he had not married her off to the jade merchant who had offered so many rolls of silk in exchange for the privilege of being her husband. The jade merchant was ugly and old. When he laughed, he looked like a toad. No, she could not have esteemed such a husband, who always would have appeared an object for derision in the eyes of her heart.
A Mandarin from Loyang, too, had desired her. He had hired a go-between to broach the delicate matter. He wished to make her his Number Two Wife, which was honor indeed, for his old First Wife was wrinkled, shriveled and worn out. Yuhan might bear him a son. His offer was as tantalizing as pomegranates, but her uncle had only smiled. Yang Yuan-kuei was a great statesman, for he was able to handle the heart of Yuhan, even as he handled certain affairs of the Imperial Court where he occupied a dignified position.
He was tolerant, master of etiquette and a lover of grapes from whose spirit a new type of wine had been squeezed. True, it was not as good as rice wine. It did not tickle the palate. But the fresh fruit was a passion with him. He listened, munched grapes, spat out the seeds and all offers. His rejections were not decisive. A woman grows more alluring when dangled before covetous eyes.
Yuhan was thankful, curious and satisfied. Though her uncle consulted her about nothing, she had contrived to make known to him her wishes. With artful suggestion, she had conversed with him and he had absorbed her thoughts.
Yuhan was fair to gaze upon; her beauty was celebrated throughout the Province. Secretly, she vowed, her fame would rise so greatly that it would sweep over the whole of China like the Yellow River in flood. Now she was glad that since childhood she had devoted so many hours to study. She knew the Classics, the works of the Master, wrote so beautifully that her grasswriting brush strokes were written pictures. She played the lute as sweetly as Ling-lun who invented music. When Ling, in the Kwen-lun Mountains, cut a reed of bamboo and blew upon it, birds gathered 'round him. At first he imitated the birds, but when he had perfected his talent, birds imitated him. Yuhan, too, liked to imitate birds. Nightingales flying in the blue dome of heaven, so far away their small bodies were not discernible. They never came to her, but other birds of gay plumage hopped about near by. And once a pet parrot had been so affected by her song that he fell down as though he were drunk.
She was a slender, graceful dancer, not slender enough to satisfy herself, but few about her could find fault with the gentle curves of her body. Sometimes, however, when she was sure she was not observed, she had burned tapers to her joss, bowed her head penitently, and chanted words of solemnity and devotion. But she could not help adding a supplication,—"And, please, Honorable God, do not make me too fat." She was troubled about something that was not a trouble.
Today, however, she was happy. An oriole perched on the low branch of a near-by tree. She saw his reflection in the water. He nodded approvingly. She broke off a red hibiscus blossom and placed it in her hair, her long blue-black hair, with the sheen of a starlit night in autumn. She unfastened her hair and let it fall in gentle waves about her shoulders, making sure that the hibiscus blossom remained in place beside her small pink ear. It was good to be sixteen, no longer a child.
She smiled at her own reflection in the water mirror. She had put away childish things. In her smile there was all the allure of legendary goddesses who had charmed men. Above all else, that was the work of women. Her teeth as she smiled had the sheen of pearls. Her mouth was provocatively red, and as strong as wine. Men who drank of her beauty were captivated.
It was good to appear fragile, and yet have a will that could conquer generals. Thankful, she was, to be born in those enlightened days of the T'angs when women were powers at Court. Within the lifetime of her uncle, a masterful woman had seized the reins of government and assumed the title of Empress of China. Perhaps—She was afraid to complete the thought. However, she did not banish it from her heart, but hid it away in vermilion silk to speculate upon in secret.
She would be the most envied woman in Changan, for she was to become the concubine of Prince Shou, son of Ming Huang, the beloved Emperor. To be sure there would be other concubines. Prince Shou perhaps had a First Wife. She looked at her slender hands, expressive hands. On the fingernail of each finger she had tied a balsam flower petal. Slowly she began to untie the strands of silk. Yes, the petals had been on long enough. Her nails were an exquisite pinky red that was indelible.
Perhaps someday she would be a Princess, later still—She hesitated to go on. It was true that Prince Shou was only the eighteenth son of the Emperor, but fortunately, in China succession did not of necessity go to the oldest son, even if he survived the mysterious diseases of Empire. So many had died from choking on their own blood. It was not always healthy to be an Emperor's son. A knife in the throat was a disease for which the cleverest doctors had not been able to find an antidote. Succession went to that fortunate person whom the Emperor had designated his heir.
The hibiscus blossom in her hair seemed to take on new color, reflecting the glow in her eyes, and the petal softness of her lips. She had a part to play that was intricate. Each move must be carefully drought out. She sighed. What a pity it was that she was not as small as that legendary princess who was so tiny she was able to dance on a man's hand. She watched the young larches, swaying gently in the breeze. Even though she was not able to dance upon a man's hand, she could dance upon his heart.
Yuhan, in truth, was a graceful dancer. She rose to her feet. She tried to imagine the garden was the Imperial Court. The flowers were her subjects. In reverence they swayed toward her. As she walked slowly along a marble path, a red rain of peach blossoms fell about her shoulders. She was walking toward the Yellow Crane Pagoda where her lord and master was waiting impatiently for her. It was a rendezvous he would never forget. Once a woman had been Empress of China, a hard, cruel woman. But China could be ruled peacefully.
She walked with half-closed eyes. The Court was so dazzling she could scarcely stand the light, a court of jewels and fragrance, carpeted with grass-green rugs in designs of cassia flowers, the emblem of immortality. This dream must live as long as the Yellow River flows to the sea. In the shadow of a windswept tree she paused and gazed at the sky, clear as blue tiles. The small white clouds might be white egrets flying.
A pet monkey, from somewhere near by, chattered mournfully. She shivered. Why was the monkey's cry so sad? And why should he inject sadness into a garden that suddenly glowed like a pearl-orchid? Was it to remind her that the concubine of an Emperor's eighteenth son is, after all, merely a concubine?
Momentarily, her thoughts reflected the monkey's cry, but not for long. The fragrance of the flowers tensified, as though they were trying to tell her with voices of perfume that they were still her subjects. Yes, in the flowers there was comfort. Once there had been an Empress. . . The monkey was departing. She watched his tiny figure go skipping down the path. With this vexing enemy gone, her dream blossomed anew.
3.
Some time later, Yuhan followed in the footsteps of her uncle to the section of the garden hallowed by the Hall of Ancestors. Once each month, a family gathering took place within its reverenced shelter. It was by far the most gracious and dignified of all the buildings surrounding the garden. Here pomp and simple ceremony blended. To breathe deeply of the peaceful air was a privilege. The longest wall was given over to an altar of hardwood upon which small lacquered tablets were arranged according to precedence. For centuries, the greatest calligraphists of the province had recorded the names of Yang ancestors, the earlier ones with round symbols, the later ones with brush strokes as light as fleeting clouds.
On such occasions the family wore their finest clothes. Yang Yuan-kuei took his place before the altar, beside his wife. The four daughters and two sons of his elder brother, and therefore his own children, grouped about them. A scene that had been re-enacted over and over again, millions of times, since the beginning of China, the beginning of worship.
The service began with "The Hymn to Ancestors" in which the family joined. It was a chant, soft, gentle, so that the air might not be disturbed. The service was symbolic. They knew that the souls of their ancestors did not dwell in the tablets. Nevertheless, in reverence they were there. Offerings of fruits, wine and rice were laid upon the altar, after the mother had handed them to the father, who held them above his head for a brief interlude before setting them in place. Yang Yuan-kuei repeated the names and inscriptions from the tablets. They were imprinted in his memory. Now and then he paused a moment to relate some notable achievement. This done, he returned the fruits, the wine and the rice to the mother who in turn distributed them among their children, who were also the children of his brother.
However, on this occasion there was no family gathering.
"Today," Yang Yuan-kuei said, "we shall worship at the Hall of Ancestors, you and I alone. Set it down as a whim, though a whim with a good foundation. When a task has been nobly accomplished it is better not to puff out the chest. Men might be affronted. If, however, one walks humbly, what cause is there for dismay? You become the concubine of a prince. Today it is well that we give thanks for the good fortune of which we are possessed."
Pausing for a moment, he sat down on a marble bench. Yuhan remained standing. Sweeter than honey were the ripened fruits of ambition. Her uncle was blessed with far-sightedness. He had attained wealth and tranquillity. Although he could not decipher the characters which the lightning wrote upon the sky, he knew that it must be a blessing for the house of Yang. There was no discord in thunder. The superior man is without fear. In its place is abiding surety that all will be well. Because of his foresight, his position at Court would be enhanced. He might be raised to the rank of Duke, honored with insignia of "The Riding Cape" and placed in charge of a province.
From the sleeve of his jacket, he drew a few almonds which he munched contentedly. The wind had stilled in the willows as though to bid Yuhan adieu. The trees stood on tiptoe to catch a last glimpse of her. The flowers wept. It was a somber parting. Since childhood, she had played in the garden. In that garden she had studied dancing, recited the Classics, painted figures on fans with graceful brush strokes, while the wind ruffled her hair, and the trees swayed in rhythm—the rhythm of life and peace and glowing health. For subjects, she chose the dwarf pine trees near the edge of Pavilion Lake, the bird-houses of the orioles, the moon bridge at Lotus Pond. And sometimes she painted mountains, mountains of dream and slumber shadows, mountains with lofty peaks and snow-winding roads. Yes, the wind would miss her as he tore through the garden on mysterious quests.
As Uncle Yang munched almonds, he quoted Mencius: "Which service is greatest? The greatest is to serve our kin. Which watch is the greatest? The greatest is to watch over our life. . . . What else do we do but serve? But serving our kin is the root of all service." He paused. For a moment there was disharmony. One of the almonds had turned out to be a small stone. It grated upon his teeth unpleasantly. His cook's helper must be flogged for this, though it was the cook's fault. But if the cook were flogged with bamboo his meals might be temporarily less satisfying. Uncle Yang's feelings were hurt. The cook was at fault. But as long as somebody suffered he would feel satisfied. He would eat no more almonds until this session with Yuhan had drawn to a close.
"Given this opportunity," he said to Yuhan, "I know that you will do honor to the house of Yang."
"By my being selected as a concubine for Prince Shou," she whispered, "the family of Yang is already honored."
He was gratified by her meekness. He risked having his feelings ruffled by slipping another almond into his mouth. It was delicious to the taste. His anger passed. Why have anybody flogged? Later he would reflect upon it. Truly, he had a most excellent cook, a priceless possession when one treasures one's stomach.
"Since you are aware of the supreme honor, you are worthy of it. Come!" As they mounted the few steps that led to the Hall of Ancestors, he added, "Perhaps in the annals of Yang, your name will be written in vermilion ink."
Yuhan's heart beat faster. She felt exalted. As though she were walking on a mountain top in the rainbow flames of sunrise. Nevertheless, nothing of her thoughts was reflected in her appearance. Humbly she bowed her head. She smiled cryptically. There was an Empress once who had ruled China with the strength and power of a man. Perhaps. . .
And so they entered the Hall of Ancestors.
4.
When they emerged, the sun had departed. It had gone over the far hills to die. Yuhan was enveloped in a cloak of maiden modesty, a costume which she believed fitting for the occasion, but she was well aware that it was lightly woven so that she could slip out of it gracefully. Yes, she had honored her ancestors, because some day she wanted her descendants to venerate her. She wanted them to say, "How lovely was Yang Yuhan, who walked with the grace of willow flowers. For her beauty, men would build cities, or lay them low. She was the most artful woman of China."
5.
Not long after sunrise the next morning, for the Chinese Court day begins early, the retinue of the young Prince Shou came for Yuhan. Outwardly the house of Yang was quiet and austere; within all was turbulence. Hearts were fluttering, tears were falling, though also there were smiles. Yang Yuan-kuei was proud of Yuhan, proud that he had played so important a part in her upbringing.
He bowed to his wife. "It is harvest," he said somewhat pompously. "Today we gather in the fruits of our labors."
Surreptitiously he slipped a few almonds into his mouth. He would miss Yuhan. Nevertheless his place at Court would be enhanced. His Majesty would not soon forget that in his hour of worry over the philanderings of Prince Shou, Yang Yuan-kuei stood at his elbow with calm suggestions. Through his efforts the cool breeze of peace had returned to His Majesty's sleeves.
He choked on an almond but his wife thumped him on the back and restored breath and dignity.
Meanwhile, with her three excited sisters, Yuhan was taking one final look at her room, the room that for so many years had guarded her sleep. It would know her no more. There were tears on her eyelids as she turned away, tears like jewels that illuminated the dark wonder of her eyes.
Before the arrival of the retinue of the Prince, formal parting speeches had been made.
No member of her family accompanied her to the chair. It might have given the impression that the Yangs were saddened by her going, as indeed they were. It was hard to lose a daughter whom they had cared for so devotedly even though she was to dwell in the Blue Lacquer Palace of the young Prince, on Frozen Pearl Lake.
Demurely, dressed in simple red garments, for red is the color of happiness, she walked down the marble path to the entrance gate where the retinue waited. Her only companion was her old Amah who had been her nurse when she was a child, and her maid as she grew older. It had been arranged that the Amah was to continue as her maid. Yuhan had insisted on that, quietly, smilingly, but with a firmness that was hard to combat, though no one cared to oppose it.
The old Amah was in no way elated over the good fortune of her little mistress. To her, it seemed as though it was Prince Shou who would be ennobled by having Yuhan in his keeping. She hoped he would treat her well. Nevertheless she had no misgivings for she knew that the man would indeed have to be brave who dared to incur the wrath of Yuhan. She was ambitious, courageous and she had no fear of anything. But her anger was something to be reckoned with. The Amah considered herself fortunate that she had never been exposed to its fury. Yes, she had no doubt, Prince Shou would treat her well.
Yuhan was elated as she gazed upon the retinue, four runners to carry the chair, four body guards and a gaudily arrayed individual, a eunuch, who swaggered about, waiting impatiently to be off. For he was the runner who cleared the way for the retinue, crying, "Make way! Make way!" and creating such a din with a huge gong that the air resounded with clamorous echoes. He was immensely proud of his tintinnabulons office. When he was forced to remain quiet he had the absurd feeling that he was bereft of all personality.
Yuhan noticed with pride that the ropes of the chair were of Imperial Yellow. Before such a chair even camels would move aside. Demurely she stepped into the chair, striving to appear cool. No one must guess how excited she was.
The bellman struck his gong, and shattered the peace of the morning into a thousand fragments. The Amah waved good-bye. Not even precedent could prevent her from doing that. Porters would follow with Yuhan's possessions. The old Amah had insisted on remaining behind to accompany them in order that she could be sure nothing would happen to her mistress's cherished belongings, even though she was taking but little with her. It was the province of the young Prince to provide for all her needs.
To Yuhan it was as inspiring as the beginning of a new Moon Year. That day she was entering the portals of a lavish new world. The reflection came to her somewhat bitterly that it would also be complete obscurity. The world would hear of her no more. This thought she cast from her as unworthy. What if Prince Shou should be named by Ming Huang, the Brilliant Emperor, as his successor? The thought caught her breath. Perhaps the Prince would adore her so completely that he would have little time for other women. She smiled. She had no doubt of her power over men. She remembered the antics of the old jade merchant who had implored her uncle to give her unto him in marriage. He had offered gifts of fabulous value. And there was the Mandarin of Loyang who had invaded so many lovely women that he was surfeited, yet he had desired to make her his Number Two wife. No, she had no worries about her ability to hold the Prince to her. She wondered what he was like. She had never met him but the old Amah had contrived to behold him and she had reported that he was very comely, though seemingly weak, and of a vacillating nature.
The day was fair, the sky was clear. She peeped discreetly through the curtains of her chair. The runner clanging the gong hopped along like a giant toad arrayed in rich silks, shouting incessantly, "Make way! Make way!"
An itinerant peddler with his portable kitchen set up in the road, with bowls of steaming rice and boiled turnips displayed temptingly, forgot his customers as he watched the elegant procession, his mouth hanging open foolishly.
She wondered what he would say, if she gave orders for her chair carriers to halt, and then stepped down daintily to sample his wares. How quickly she had become a personage! She who had known no lovers, now could draw the attention of a thousand men by merely throwing back the curtains of her chair. She smiled. If only she had carried her lute with her so that she might play and sing softly. Truly it was a day for songs of rejoicing. She was in complete accord with everything.
Some there are who say that, so sad was she at parting from her family, tears fell like rain as she stepped into the sedan chair, and because it was mid-winter and even the North wind was saddened by her going, the coldness was extreme. And her tears froze to ice. But this is incredible, for when she went it was spring, the almond trees were blooming, the plum blossoms had departed, all the flowers in the garden were conscious of the warm, life-giving caress of the sun, and in the heart of Yuhan it was spring.
6.
As the retinue passed through the red gates of the Imperial grounds, the ancient gatekeeper struck three times on a mighty bronze gong. Was it a symbol? Did it mean that beyond the red gates she would find the Scarlet Hill of Immortality?
Through winding paths the procession moved in order to confuse evil spirits who are only able to travel in a straight line.
The mind of Yuhan was a chaos of confused wonder. She was so happy that her heart hurt, and she put her hands to her breast to ease its excited fluttering. At last she was in the confines of the Imperial Palace, the possession of a young Prince. Perhaps she would be a treasured possession. Combined with her joy was a feeling of fear. She hoped he would be gentle with her, for she knew so little about men. How to charm them, yes. That she had mastered. But she had never shared her couch with a man. The prospect was faintly alarming. At the same time she was anxious for the first ordeal to be over. She was curious to know what his attitude might be afterward. With an effort she pushed away thoughts that were unseemly, but she could not entirely banish her curiosity.
She opened the curtains a trifle that she might peer out. She caught her breath at the elaborate spectacle, beauty and color, marble and tile paths, artificial lakes upon which were haughty white swans. Here and there a slim tower rose high but for the most part the buildings were only of one story. They crossed a marble bridge and skirted a bamboo thicket so high that it obscured the view. Soon the way opened upon a wide avenue and there before her were the personal apartments of his Majesty, Ming Huang, the Son of Heaven, Emperor of All Below the Sky. She knew it by the red-lacquered carved pillars that formed the entrance. If only his Majesty would emerge so that she might behold his stately figure. . . . But the red doors remained closed.
On and on they went past lakes and trees, peach orchards and marble bridges. Everywhere there was water, for a Chinese garden is not complete unless flowers and trees are blended with water and moon bridges. From every angle the Imperial grounds presented a rhythmic picture that would have stirred an artist's heart. The buildings were constructed of wood and bricks with curved tilted roofs.
The Imperial grounds seemed endless, but finally they reached the Blue Lacquer Palace of Prince Shou on Frozen Pearl Lake. A dozen handmaidens came out to greet Yuhan. Their attitudes were almost worshipful as they helped her from the elaborate chair. They were very young. The oldest could not have been over fourteen. Yuhan, herself, was only two years older.
At that moment a procession of monks in gray robes walked slowly, solemnly past. They were chanting vespers.
"They are on their way to the Temple of Heaven," explained one of the handmaidens, "where they will murmur their hymns to the rumble of fish-head drums."
"Everything is so interesting," said Yuhan.
"They are Taoists," interjected another girl, the youngest of the group. She could not have been over nine years old. "And I, too, can sing one of their songs. Would you like me to sing it to you?"
"Very much," said Yuhan, thankful for the informality of the little one.
"Good," said the child. "You will be a kind mistress. I want always to wait upon you."
"If the Prince so wishes, I shall be very happy."
Then the little handmaiden sang, softly, so that none but their ears alone might hear:
"The violet palace shines.
There resides,
Invisible and mysterious,
The Supreme One
Who looks down upon Earth.
O Noble and High Supreme Heaven,
Here are set out the stones
That we offer to you.
Look down upon us.
May the smoke of the sacrifice ascend to you."
Etiquette demanded that the other handmaidens keep quiet until the small singer had finished her song, but now they burst out, "But that is the wrong song! That is not a Taoist hymn. It is beautiful but it is a Hymn of the Sui, a Confucian hymn."
Large tears formed in the eyes of the little one, and her lower lip quivered. Impulsively Yuhan stooped and gathered her into her arms and hugged her tightly.
"You have made me very happy," she said, and her voice trembled. "I hope you will be permitted to sing for me often. I shall never forget the wonder of your greeting. It is one of the precious memories that I shall treasure always."
7.
The Blue Lacquer Palace was a series of verandah pavilions connected by open corridors built around spacious courts. In the main garden was Frozen Pearl Lake, which a hundred artists had flung on silk. In the moonlight the water of the lake cast off a silvery sheen, white and motionless as ice. The Palace itself might have been likened unto a square in an enormous chess board which, in turn, was known as "The Imperial Abode of His Majesty, The Son of Heaven." There were eight other gates besides the one through which the retinue of the Prince had entered. Within the enclosing wall were thirty-six palaces, resplendent with red cinnabar carvings, gold and silver, with here and there a bronze statue of a cat, for cats, besides guarding silk-worms, keep away evil spirits. In these palaces dwelt palace ladies, important Government Officials, the Prime Minister, the Grand Eunuch, and officers whom His Majesty wished signally to honor. Besides the elaborate castles, there were many smaller houses for court functionaries and for the use of envoys from far distances to the noblest Court in all the world. From Japan, from India, from Persia, from Arabia, from Byzantium and from Greece they came to kowtow in awe before the Emperor of China. They brought rich gifts, but His Majesty was not deceived. He who is able to grind his own axe, does not give away gold.
Yuhan was thankful when at last they reached the small building that had been assigned to her by Prince Shou.
"His quarters are only a step away," whispered the oldest handmaiden. "And now we will leave you so that you may become accustomed to your new home."
Yuhan bade them good-bye, smiling, but the still small voice of her heart, unnoticed, was pleading with them not to depart. However, she forced herself to smile. Then she turned and with a curiosity that she attempted to stifle with ill success, she entered her sleeping room. It was decorated to appear like unto a garden, with pink-tinted walls of a tone to suggest the sky at morning upon which were painted trees and flowers. The floor was carpeted by grass green rugs as soft as moss. The ceiling was pink and yellow intermingled, blending into wistaria purple, then blue. A moon-bridge painted so realistically that Yuhan would not have been surprised if Prince Shou had approached her over its marble walk, arched gracefully toward the doorway. Real flowers blossomed in large pottery jars near the bed, roses, carnations, chrysanthemums and azaleas. The golden bed was surrounded by a canopy of gauze, forming a small square shelter, with a gauze ceiling exquisitely embroidered with flowers, trees, butterflies and an occasional white bird flying.
As Yuhan gazed upon the room enraptured, the old Amah arrived with her clothes and treasured possessions. Yuhan was overjoyed to see her, and threw her arms about her, for the Amah was all that bound her old life to this strange new, breath-taking world.
The old Amah seemed well-pleased at this mark of affection. She smiled in her heart. As long as this child she adored so utterly needed her, life was rhythmic. She was glad that the apartment was so exquisite, but she was sure it was Yuhan's presence that gave it color and warmth.
8.
The day passed quickly. A eunuch came and escorted them to a small room across the court where a sumptuous meal of endless courses was set before them. As a mark of extraordinary respect, the old Amah was permitted to sit at the table with Yuhan. But there was no one else. From a hidden position near by a musician played gentle melodies upon a lute.
Yuhan's curiosity regarding Prince Shou heightened. She did not know that he was an extremist in his pursuit of pleasure. He longed for the privilege of sampling every new sensation. Though he was young in years, he was old in experience. There were few emotions with which he had not experimented. He knew that Yuhan was of a loveliness to cause the stars to tremble, for, unobserved, he had beheld her when she was visiting the far flung bazaars of Changan. No veil hid the beauty of her face, nor the lantern brilliance of her dark eyes. His jaded nerves were whipped into life as he meditated over the rounded contour of her breasts which the little silk jacket kept prisoner with difficulty. And then reluctantly, he turned away lest she notice his bold scrutiny. He felt elated because so soon she would be his, to sweeten his sleep with lies, for he was not deceived by her soft manner of speech. A woman with such eyes would use every charm she possessed to bend her lord to her will. He had been warned of her occasional outbursts of anger. He smiled. His temples throbbed with desire. He licked his burning dry lips. He would devise methods to train her. But the thought carried no conviction. Such a girl would be like a reed that bends to every breeze but breaks not in the tempest. Without reason, he roared with laughter. Then he repaired to a wine shop and proceeded to drink until he was in a state bordering on mellow but even then he could still see her figure dancing in his wine-cup, even as she was dancing in his heart.
In this manner had he beheld her for the first time.
9.
The colors in the garden faded, the indigo brilliance of the sky gave place to mauve, blending into gray blue. The sun slipped over the earth's sharp rim, the moon rose, the stars came out. Shadows slipped in and out among the firs, but still Frozen Pearl Lake shone like a jewel of ice.
The Amah seemed not at all surprised at Prince Shou's continued absence, for eunuchs had conveyed his wishes to her. And she followed out her instructions zealously, for she had no wish to be sent away, parted from Yuhan. She was well aware that this would be her fate if she deviated in the slightest from her role. She was not dismayed by the knowledge that Prince Shou was a sensualist. Perhaps it was as well; it meant everlasting security for both of them. Obedience is the lot of women. To be loved extremely is a privilege of which any woman might be proud. Calmly she went about her task of preparing Yuhan's bath.
The marble bathroom that adjoined the sleeping room was austerely simple but of a dignified elegance. The bath itself was level with the floor. Eunuchs filled it with warm water that they carried in large earthen jugs. Then they withdrew, though one lingered for a moment to sprinkle a small quantity of an Arabian perfume into the water. It had a pungent fleshly odor that excited the nerves.
The old Amah tested the water's warmth with her elbow.
Meanwhile Yuhan had disrobed and was waiting. As she stepped into the tub, she handed the Amah a small bamboo book.
"A gift from my mother," she said, as she settled herself luxuriously. The fragrance of the water stirred her sensibilities as though she were bathing in wine. "It is called 'Advice to Young Women' by Lady Ts'ao. Do you think I need it?"
"Your mother must think so. She gave it to you. You had best read it."
"Read it to me while I bathe."
The Amah sighed. It was not decorous. Nevertheless she brought a chair, sat down and began reading. She looked droll.
"Are you the Goddess of Filial Piety?" asked Yuhan softly.
"Hush!" she cautioned. Then quickly she began reading, "'Be humble and respectful.'"
"An easy rule to follow." Yuhan splashed the water until a few drops spattered the silk trousers of the Amah, who paid no heed. Punctiliously she continued reading, "'Put others in front and yourself behind.'"
"I'll never do that!"
"'Do not boast of your successes.'"
"I never do."
"'Nor excuse your failures.'"
"I'm unacquainted with the word."
"'Bear contumely and swallow insult.'"
"I can't. It has too bitter a taste."
"'Be always as though in fear and trembling.'"
"Fear of what?" asked Yuhan gaily. She put one slim leg in the air. Her toes were like pink coral.
The Amah reveled in righteousness. "Such should be the attitude of a virtuous girl."
"But I don't know how to tremble."
"Practice it."
"I'm too busy enjoying all that is beautiful."
The Amah turned once more to the bamboo book,
"'A wife should be the shadow and echo of her husband.'"
"That doesn't apply to me, I'm only a concubine."
"The concubine of a young Prince!"
"Still not his wife."
"That, too, may come."
"Not if I turn into an echo and go trembling all over the Palace."
The Amah tried not to smile. "'Women's energies have a fourfold scope; behavior, speech, appearance, no great beauty.'"
"Why not?"
The Amah went right on reading as though she had not been interrupted. "'And for right duties, no special cunning of hand. In simplicity, in purity, in a sense of shame and of propriety, will right behavior be found. In choice of language, in avoidance of bad words.'"
"There are no bad words; there are only bad people."
"'In seasonable and not too prolonged talk, will right speech be found. In thorough cleanliness of apparel, and in regular use of the bath, will right beauty be found.'"
"I am doubly virtuous," cried Yuhan, laughing, "for I have had two baths this one day."
The Amah tried very hard to appear shocked. Decorously she continued reading, "'In undivided attention to spinning and weaving, without laughing and play-ing'—"
"What nonsense is this?" exclaimed Yuhan. "Even you cannot believe that."
"'And in seeing that food and wine are properly served, will right duties be found. These four offer scope to the energies of woman; they must not be neglected. There need be no difficulty, if only there is determination. A philosopher of old said, "Is goodness really so far off? I wish for goodness, and lo! here it is."'"
"The water is growing cold," said Yuhan. She rose to her feet. Her slender wet body glistened in the lantern light like golden metal.
The Amah wrapped a large linen towel about her.
"Before I put on my robe, have you not a special perfume that I may use?" asked Yuhan.
"There is no fragrance like unto the sweet flesh of a beloved woman."
"Where did you read that?"
"That is age-old knowledge."
"Old yet always new. Not like the stilted precepts of Lady Ts'ao. But then they were written seven hundred years ago."
"Have women changed in seven hundred years?" "Not in structure, perhaps," observed Yuhan, "but they are more awake. Modem women do not wear veils. They are educated. They read the words of the Sages. Their brothers find it an effort to keep up with them. We are fortunate to have the privilege of living in these enlightened days. A few months ago my father took me to a field to watch a man attempting to fly. He had great wings upon his shoulders. When the wind was strong he rose into the air. But he fell to earth when the wind died down. He was bruised but unhurt. However, he achieved much. Some day men may learn to jump over mountains."
10.
Prince Shou walked in the garden beside Frozen Pearl Lake, contemplating the rapture that was to come. He had known so many women he had lost count, but not one of them had been comparable to Yuhan. Yet he was unable to tell exactly what it was that affected him so strangely. What charm did she possess that made her so desirable? He had heard that she was educated in all the arts. That was good. It had also been reported to him that she laughed too much, she danced too much. That was bad. Such pastimes for women were merely idle joys. Yet at the same time he heard these accounts with keen relish. Even in his thoughts there was no censure. Prince Shou liked a woman of spirit. One of his friends had married a tigress. In a fit of jealousy, she had taken a dagger to their bed. As her husband held her to him in an eternal embrace, she had driven the dagger between his ribs. The story made a deep impression upon Prince Shou. There was a kinship between ecstasy and pain. To experience the two when desire was at drum pitch, must have been a rare emotional experience. He rather envied his friend, especially since he had recovered after spending a few months in the hospital. He had lost much blood. Prince Shou smiled as he thought of this. Perhaps the experience was worth it.
His thoughts were entwined with the figure of Yuhan. Her face was exquisitely lovely,—yes, but others of his women had been adequately beautiful. She was neither short nor tall, yet she reached to his heart in some inexplicable manner. Merely thinking of her, parched his throat. No matter what she wore, he knew that for him she would always be wearing rainbowwinged robes.
Clouds were gathering. The wind had risen, flaying the trees with the force of bamboo whips. The moon was racing the storm. In the garden, there was a restless murmuring, accentuated by the mournful wail of an ash tree.
"It is the night that earth and sky were wed," he murmured. "Even nature is in an amorous mood. Great trees are caught in the mad wind's embrace. Perhaps tonight my son will be conceived; perhaps in the garden, the soil will be fruitful."
If he had the courage, he would carry Yuhan out into the garden, that he might possess her as the storm broke in all its fury.
He strode hurriedly toward her apartment. The door was open. Breathlessly he stepped into the room. Within, it was so quiet, it might have been the Pavilion of Enchanted Peace. In accordance with his wishes, Yuhan had retired. Above the bed, blue lanterns burned. Near by a wisp of white smoke rose in serpentine spirals from a bronze incense bowl. The air was heavy with sandalwood and musk, for like most Chinese, Prince Shou preferred musk to any other fragrance with the exception of the natural aroma of slender women with skin like the petals of flowers, women who were versed in every art of make-up and physical allurement.
On a small table beside the bed, stood a red lacquer dish filled with pears and pomegranates. Occasionally, Prince Shou liked to munch fruit when his forces were temporarily spent and he waited for a new burst of strength.
He hesitated for a moment only, then with trembling hands, he drew aside the jeweled curtains of her couch. The sight before him would have caused a poet to burst into song. She wore a thin silk robe that clung caressingly to her body. The top button had come open, releasing her breasts, ripe for kisses. With a low cry, he cast aside his fan, and buried his head between her breasts.
She awakened suddenly at the sharp impact of his teeth. For a moment, she looked around in panic, then the echo of dream slipped from her like the last vestige of the garment he had tom from her.
She smiled slowly and her arms encircled him. His face matched the full moon's splendor.
In the garden, the fury of the storm increased. The windows' silk shook before the driving force of wind and rain.
Yuhan sighed. Let the storm carry away the roof of the Blue Lacquer Pavilion, let the trees fall, it did not matter. Nothing mattered now but this wondrous mad, glad moment, when her heart seemed to stand on tiptoe as she became indeed a woman, fit mate for a Prince, or even an Emperor.
Gradually the storm abated.
11.
In the months that followed, Yuhan found life much to her liking. Only one thing was disquieting. Prince Shou consulted her about nothing but then there was nothing about which he could consult her. He was little concerned with affairs of state.
"After all," he told her, "when an Emperor has so many sons it is but fitting that one at least should enjoy leisure."
"But have you no ambition to be Emperor some day?"
"To be at leisure for a single day," said he, "is to be for that day an immortal."
He yawned.
Her eyes mirrored her disappointment.
"Why be sad?" he asked slowly. "The green hills and the white clouds are contented, nor do they strive to be an entire landscape. He who renounces fame, has no sorrow."
"You mean you renounce your claim to the throne?"
"I have worthier brothers. One of them will govern well. My father has ever found me a cause for worry. He would never inflict me upon the people as their ruler. But I have no time for weeping. Life is too good. I am attuned to the great creed of inaction of Chuang Tzu. 'Do nothing and everything will be done.' The student who toils by lantern light the long night through does not arrive at tomorrow's dawn even one step ahead of him who sleeps beneath a willow tree. If I were Emperor, could I enjoy greater luxury? I could afford to live forever on nightingales' tongues if such were my wish. I have so much gold and jewels that to toil for more would only be added burden. My precious concubine is the fairest woman in all the world. My ambition slumbers peacefully. Having you, I have everything."
Far from being pleased, however, Yuhan was disappointed. It was not enough. Surely there was something more for her than to be the concubine of a generous prince.
Thereafter, for many days and nights, she mulled over the problem in secret. As a lover, Prince Shou lacked nothing; as a man, he lacked everything. And because there is a solution to every problem, no matter how intricate, suddenly it ceased to annoy her.
12.
One night when the Emperor walked in the gardens, accompanied only by the Grand Eunuch who was like unto an Elder Brother, he beheld a slim young girl bathing nude in the Lotus Lake. Her body gleamed like metal in the moonlight; a miracle had fused it. The water dripped from her arms like crystal jewels.
The Emperor clutched his companion's arm. "A girl who dwells in willow flower dreams!"
"Or in the mountains of the sky."
"Call to her."
The Grand Eunuch obeyed. In a booming high-pitched voice, he cried, "Remain where you are, O Bathing Girl, His Illustrious Majesty, Ming Huang, approaches!"
At once the Emperor strode across the Moon Bridge that spanned Lotus Lake. But at his approach, she seized her cloak and fled. Nor could the Emperor find any trace of her. Chagrined, he turned to the Grand Eunuch.
"At daybreak, summon the three thousand Palace ladies. Discover which one it was who bathed this night in the Lotus Lake."
But when the Palace ladies had been questioned, each denied that she had bathed in the pool of lotuses.
Ming Huang did not appear surprised even though his disappointment was keen.
"Perhaps," he mused, "she was in truth a flower who, weary of remaining forever on a branch, assumed her rightful form, the form of a slim young girl who danced and bathed and laughed as she splashed in the water among the lotuses. Some day I will find her; some day she will walk once more in the garden. When she comes again, I shall be waiting."
13.
Life for Yuhan had taken on new wonder. The Blue Lacquer Palace shone with a yellow golden hue. Through her own efforts, she had succeeded in capturing the eyes of the Emperor. Henceforth the vision of her would be mirrored in their depths. They would hunger for her endlessly, nor cease until once more they might feast upon her naked loveliness. "And after that. . ." she whispered, but she dared not put into words all that was in her heart.