The copied memorial lay spread out on the couch. Zhao Tingzhi's handwriting was like the man himself: upright, meticulous, every stroke standing exactly where it should. Zhao Xu's fingers paused over the four characters "spreading heretical words to confuse the masses," his knuckles turning slightly white.
"Tomorrow, you don't have to go."
"Go where?"
"The court." He closed the copy; the pages made a dull thud. "Zhao Tingzhi's memorial was suppressed by the Empress Dowager and never sent out. Tomorrow he won't dare bring it up again. If you go, you'll only remind them."
"Then they won't mention it?"
He didn't speak. The candle flame flickered; his shadow on the wall wavered, like a bow drawn too tight.
"A-Heng."
"Mm?"
"Do you know why Zhao Tingzhi attacked today?"
"A probe. To see if you'd protect me, to see if the Empress Dowager would intervene, to see if you'd dare move against him."
He glanced at me. "Then do you know why I didn't move against him?"
"The time isn't right."
"When will it be?"
"When you've investigated clearly. When his roots are exposed. When you can make one cut without harming anyone else."
The flame trembled. His shadow on the wall wavered again. He lowered his head, looking at his hands. Those hands were already quite large now, with distinct bones and thin calluses on the fingertips. But those hands now rested on his knees, motionless.
"What are you afraid of?"
"Afraid I can't protect you. Afraid I can't investigate clearly. Afraid if I move too soon, you'll be hurt. Afraid if I move too late, you'll be disheartened."
"Zhao Xu."
"Mm?"
"When I was in America, our professor had us work on group projects. There was one person who did nothing. When it was time to submit, he wrote his own name at the very front."
He looked up.
"What happened next?"
"Next, I went to the professor. I handed over everyone's division of labor, email records, chat logs—all of it. The professor crossed his name off."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "You've always been like this. Not afraid of trouble."
"I am afraid. But fear is useless. If you're afraid, he'll write his name in front of yours. If you're afraid, he'll say you're spreading heretical words. If you're afraid, he'll shut down your tea house. If you're afraid, he'll leave you alone in the court, blocking those things you can't block yourself."
He stood up from the couch and walked to the window. There was no moon outside; thick clouds covered the entire sky. He stood there for a moment, then turned, walked back. He picked up that copied memorial and held it over the candle flame.
The flame licked the paper's edge. The characters curled, blackened, turned to ash one by one. When it burned to "spreading heretical words to confuse the masses," his fingers didn't pause. He let go; the last piece of ash fell into the incense burner and shattered.
"A-Heng."
"Mm?"
"Do you know, when I was nine years old, standing in the court, was I afraid?"
"Afraid."
"How did you hold on?"
"The Empress Dowager was behind the curtain."
"And now? The curtain is gone. You sit up there alone, are you afraid?"
He was silent for a moment. "Afraid."
"How do you hold on?"
"You. You're in the palace. You wait for me to come back for dinner."
"Then it's the same for me. You're in the court. You wait for me to go up."
He looked at me, for a long time. Then he smiled. That smile was very short, like light on a blade's edge, but not cold.
"Tomorrow, you stand up there. Don't be afraid. I'll be sitting up there. The Empress Dowager behind the curtain. Zhang Dun in the ranks. You stand there, and no one will be able to push you down."
He pulled a slip of paper from his sleeve and handed it to me. I took it. It wasn't written by the Empress Dowager; it was written by him. The paper was new, the handwriting steady.
"Tomorrow, this concubine attends court. I am here. The Empress Dowager is here. Zhang Dun is here. If wind comes, I'll block it. If rain comes, I'll shield you. You just stand."
He tucked the paper into my hand; his fingers lingered in my palm for a moment. Very warm.
That night, I sat under the lamp and took out that huiyi robe. Deep blue brocade, embroidered with one hundred and forty-eight pairs of pheasants, each outlined in gold thread. The phoenix crown was too heavy; I didn't wear it. I just touched those pheasants, one by one. The day of the grand wedding, the day of the ancestral temple visit, tomorrow.
Among the old notes under the pillow, the Empress Dowager's words: "Attend court in the huiyi robe, let them see the Empress's dignity." Her characters were upright, the last stroke trailing downward, like her hand was trembling, or like she was pressing something into the paper.
I stroked the pheasants, determined to create a precedent unknown in the Song Dynasty.
Zhao Xu was already asleep. He lay on his side, his hand still holding mine, not letting go. His breathing was very light, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he was still thinking about something in his dreams. I reached out and smoothed his furrowed brows. He moved slightly, nuzzling into my palm.
"A-Heng."
"I'm here."
He didn't speak again. His breathing became long and steady once more. There was no moon outside; thick clouds covered the entire sky. But there was a line of light on the horizon, very faint, very far away. The kind of light that comes just before dawn.
I draped the huiyi robe over my shoulders. The gold threads of the pheasants shimmered in the dark, like one hundred and forty-eight pairs of eyes.
Tomorrow, this concubine attends court.
[End of Chapter 51]