Chapter Five

A palace maid carried a lantern, weaving silently along the palace paths. Their steps were swift and precise, yet they made no sound; the flickering lights seemed less like human attendants and more like the palace lamps having sprouted feet, illuminating each chamber.

Once the lamps were lit and the day's orders from the sovereign were carefully heard, the concubines residing in these cramped quarters could arrange their tasks for the night according to the information and commands they received.

Take Lady Wei, for example. Though somewhat established, she was not favored and was rarely summoned to accompany the sovereign, much less to welcome him after the lights were lit. Thus, she could have an easy, leisurely evening.

But she did not. She was busy.

Servants arrived, carrying basins and buckets, bringing in various objects, some delicate, some heavy, beginning Lady Wei’s nightly routine.

First, she removed her hairpins and rings, then cleansed the makeup from her face. Using soapberries and cleansing beans, she thoroughly washed off the powder. Afterwards, she carefully placed one warm, damp cloth after another upon her face and neck, hoping the heat would revive her skin’s youthful radiance and make the sovereign’s gaze upon her a little more ardent.

Though the imperial foster daughter, Princess Chaozhen, held a different view—not only differing in opinion but also harboring dark, unsettling imaginings about the layers of white cloth pressed to the young lady’s face—the princess wisely kept her thoughts to herself.

Lady Wei knew, yet she did not care. She insisted on the princess watching her skincare routine because during this act, she was also preparing another matter.

She had arranged an assortment of snacks—some sticky and sweet, others savory and crisp, and some bursting with juice at each bite. The palace was never short of food, and the children, still growing, could never resist such treats.

Princess Chaozhen entered and bowed respectfully. “Young Lady.”

The young lady, her face still covered with cloths, smiled out of habit but was stifled by their damp weight. So she spoke softly, “It’s rare for you to return. Sit with me for a while.”

After a pause, she added, “Why don’t you eat?”

“In Baolu Palace, the custom is no food after noon.”

“That’s a strange saying—don’t try to fool me,” the young lady chuckled. “Isn’t that a Buddhist rule?”

“Almost the same,” replied the princess. “Taoist practitioners can be even more terrifying when hungry than monks.”

The cloths, now cooling, were removed by a maid. Lady Wei caught a glance at Princess Chaozhen, feeling both surprise and pity. How had she not noticed before? This child was far thinner than the other imperial daughters!

The princess was not skeletal; her hair was still glossy black, but while the sovereign’s other daughters were nurtured like treasures—plump, radiant, and well-formed—she alone looked less like a princess and more like a palace maid.

Lady Wei sighed. “They say cultivation leads to immortality. I find it hard to believe the heavens are better than the mortal realm, yet Yoyou must endure such hardship.”

“It’s not so bad,” the princess said calmly. “Although I’ve never been to heaven, this place isn’t so great either.”

Suddenly, Lady Wei sat up, her face darkening. “You’ve grown a year older yet seem even less sensible than before.”

Princess Chaozhen said nothing, tilting her head in confusion, watching her closely.

Lady Wei had to clarify. “You said many things you shouldn’t have on this visit. It’s fine to say whatever you want in front of me, but if your father hears, he won’t be pleased.”

Lady Wei glared at her with mild reproach, but the look didn’t last long, as another hot, damp cloth was pressed back onto her face.

She quickly reclined once more into the imperial chair, devoutly welcoming the imagined renewal of her skin and the long-awaited favor of the sovereign.

The room remained quiet for a while, then the princess spoke again:

“Does Father dislike me?”

Lady Wei remained silent, but a close attendant spoke on her behalf:

“The sovereign prefers his imperial daughters to be studious and reserved, to attain the immortal fruit. He doesn’t want a princess acting as his consort.”

Princess Chaozhen stayed silent.

“Besides, the palace is full of watchful eyes,” the attendant said earnestly. “It’s best for the princess to be cautious in all matters.”

A few days back at court did not mean lounging around all day eating and drinking.

At twelve or thirteen years old, the princess had to study. The royal academy of the Northern Song was called Zishan Hall, where princes studied under learned scholars. The princess attended as well, but her teachers were various female officials. It was said that princesses once only learned a few characters and some lessons in propriety, but Emperor Renzong had decreed, “I believe not only men but women must study. Through studying, they learn the rise and fall of dynasties and gain cautionary wisdom.” Thus, princesses began studying the classics and history.

Her arrival was a little early.

Zhao Luming entered the classroom and immediately caught the amused glances of several princesses.

“Yoyou, why did you style your hair so baldly?” one asked. “Not even a single hairpin?”

“Father sent you to cultivate the Way, but didn’t mean for you to starve. Why do you look so undernourished?” another taunted.

A third crept closer, a bit maliciously gleeful. “I heard Father wants you to practice the Way for a lifetime and never return!”

Zhao Luming looked at these sisters, with whom she was not close, feeling conflicted.

They were cruel, no doubt.

Though cruel, the older princesses were busy preparing for marriage. These were a group of children aged eight to twelve or thirteen, undeniably immature.

They were teasing her with childish malice, thinking that making this odd one cry was one of their greatest challenges.

The renowned Princess Chaozhen hardly thought twice before suddenly pushing the approaching girl forcefully!

The girl stumbled and sat down hard, crying loudly.

The girls studying with Zhao suddenly panicked, and the scene became chaotic. The late-arriving female teacher hadn’t yet grasped the situation when someone spoke amid the confusion.

“What’s going on here?”

The room fell silent. Some hurried to bow, others clumsily explained, while some whispered beside a young man.

The young man chuckled lightly. “Yoyou is rarely back at court. Don’t press her. Let her be alone with me.”

Crown Prince Zhao Huan, twenty-three this year, had a son and a daughter. Though the sovereign was still in his prime, he patiently queued to attend Zishan Hall, continuing his studies as an older youth and listening to lectures.

Though he attended the same classes, his lessons differed from those of the young princes. Together with other princes who had left the palace to establish their own mansions, he mainly studied the deeper meanings of the classics.

Zhao Luming had not come alone. Though without a study companion, she was accompanied by a maiden who had followed her during cultivation and palace maids sent by Lady Wei. Each now wore strange expressions, exchanging meaningful glances with her.

“The Crown Prince treats the princess with such courtesy,” someone whispered in her ear, “be careful.”

“The Crown Prince is my brother,” she whispered back, “why shouldn’t he be polite to me?”

The palace maid stared at her as if she were foolish. The Crown Prince was the eldest of these fifty or sixty siblings, yet he showed no special affection for any, especially this princess who had long been sent away from court. Whether or not he recognized her, there was no sibling affection—only ulterior motives.

Yet she acted as if she knew nothing!

Everyone in the palace was crafty; there were no such naïve fools.

Today's lecture was given by the esteemed scholar Yu Wen Shizhong, a fair-faced, slightly bearded man of great literary stature.

His demeanor was calm. Seeing the Crown Prince accompanied by a young Taoist maiden, he showed no surprise and did not ask if the curriculum needed adjustment.

Once the students were assembled, he began the lecture, not on abstruse or obscure classical texts, but on matters to the north.

He spoke of Yanyun, the Liao court’s affairs, palace politics, how the Liao rose and fell, and how the newly emerging Jin and Khitan peoples, though considered barbarians, were not the same. The court could not view this swiftly rising new regime with the old eyes used for Liao.

Zhao Luming listened intently. Some topics she knew or had considered; others were new and unexpected.

Some elder brothers watching her could not help but smile; others remained solemn, while some quietly left.

“Did you see clearly?” one young eunuch asked another.

“The princess is still at Zishan Hall, listening to Yu Wen’s lecture with the princes!”

“Talking about Yanyun matters?”

“I saw the Prince of Yun was not at his seat.”

“The Prince of Yun is a top scholar. Those rotten Confucians don’t deserve to sully his ears! What else?”

Whispers spread, shifting and changing shape as they drifted through the palace, eventually reaching the sovereign’s desk.

He was painting, his brush usually steady and spirited, but hearing this, he abruptly set it down.

“The princess only half-listened and didn’t understand. She’s so young,” Li Yan deliberately said. “It probably wasn’t even Yu Wen’s teaching.”

“Only half-listened,” the sovereign snorted coldly, “He should teach proper classical principles. If Yoyou hadn’t caused a ruckus at Zishan Hall, I wouldn’t have known this. The Crown Prince should have said something.”

That was quite to the point. Li Yan laughed. “The Crown Prince is naturally simple-minded. For these foreign affairs, he is often deceived.”

He lowered his voice, whispering as if blowing a breeze into the sovereign’s ear:

“Only the Prince of Yun, Zhao Kai, resembles His Majesty most—born intelligent, wise from birth. Ah, ah, sovereign, don’t be angry with the Crown Prince; anger harms the body!”

“As for the princess’s carelessness,” a palace maid whispered on the way back, “if someone with ill intent—”

“Those with ill intent can do their worst; it’s none of my concern,” the princess said. “If they can tear me apart, let them. Spare Yu Wen’s life—I want to keep listening. As for the others, let them tear themselves apart as loudly as they want!”

The maid, overwhelmed, fell silent.

Yet the princess seemed to possess a certain foresight: no one paid much attention when she pushed her little sister down, but the battle between the Crown Prince, the Prince of Yun, and their factions ignited suddenly in the autumn of the fifth year of the Xuanhe era, all because of this immortal fruit princess!