The fifteenth day of the third month, first year of Kaiyuan. Chang'an. Linde Hall.
Before the banquet, I did something not found in the rites.
I had the Bureau of Palace Attendants prepare a bowl of hangover soup for every military general attending tonight. Not because I worried about them getting drunk. But because hangover soup must be drunk hot, and to drink it hot, one must lower one's head. Lowering one's head means stepping away from the seat for a moment. That one step is enough for me to stand beside them for a while, to see clearly what hangs from their belts, what is hidden in their boot tops, and if their sleeve cuffs are slightly thicker than usual. This is something Vancouver couldn't teach me. This is what Chang'an taught me.
For An Lushan's bowl, I had them add one extra ingredient. Not poison. It was Coptis. Bitter. To make him remember his position in Linde Hall tonight.
The Opening
The palace lanterns lit up one by one. Hundreds of them, making the entire Linde Hall as bright as day. The sound of the chimes came from the side of the hall, deep and heavy, like temple bells from a distant mountain. The flutes and pipes followed, melodious, like the sound of the Luo River flowing as it thawed in spring. Dancers spun in the center of the hall, their skirts flying up like blooming flowers. Wang Jun, the Minister of State Ceremonial, stood at the hall's entrance, announcing names one by one.
"Turkic Envoy Ashina—presents ten fine horses—"
"Tibetan Envoy Lun Qinling—presents a golden Buddha statue—"
"Silla Envoy Kim Dae-hyun—presents one hundred catties of ginseng—"
"Japanese Envoy Abe no Nakamaro—presents a scroll of Waka poetry—"
"Persian Envoy Arslan—presents ten carts of spices—"
With each name announced, a small commotion rippled through the hall. Ministers whispered among themselves, discussing the value of these gifts, the intentions of these envoys, and the relationship between these distant lands and the Great Tang. Envoys from various nations, dressed in their respective attire, sat in their designated spots. The Turkic fur hats, Tibetan brocade robes, Silla wide sleeves, Japanese tall caps, Persian big beards—Linde Hall had never been this lively.
The Turkic envoy came, and knelt. The Tibetan envoy came, and knelt. Silla, Japan, Persia, one after another, knelt, kowtowed, and shouted "Ten thousand years." I sat behind the curtain, watching these people from distant lands press their foreheads against the golden bricks of Linde Hall, watching them rise, find their places, sit down, and pick up their wine cups. Everyone knelt.
Then An Lushan entered.
That Kneel
He wore a dark purple Hu costume. His curved sword was handed over to the guards at the hall's entrance, the movement very natural, as if doing something he had done many times before. He walked in, reached the center of the hall, and stopped.
"Subject—An Lushan, greets Your Majesty."
His voice was loud. So loud that for a moment, it drowned out the chimes, the flutes, and the ministers' conversations. Then, his knee bent slightly. Just once. Very briefly. I saw it, because I was watching. His knee bent, as if he were truly about to kneel, then stopped. His body leaned forward slightly, then slowly straightened. In the end, he merely bowed.
He stood there.
The hall fell silent.
I stopped looking at An Lushan. I looked at Yao Chong. Yao Chong held his wine cup, the rim still two inches from his lips. His hand stopped there, frozen for three breaths, unmoving. Then he set the cup down, very gently, making no sound. He did not drink.
I looked at Song Jing. Song Jing's face changed. Not with anger, but with another expression—like the look on a person's face when they suddenly see something that shouldn't exist in the night. His fists clenched, very tightly, his knuckles turning white. He was the Imperial Censor-in-Chief; it was his duty to impeach officials. An Lushan not kneeling, he could impeach him on the spot. But he didn't. Because he was waiting for the Emperor to speak.
I looked at Guo Ziyi. Guo Ziyi's fingers stopped; he was no longer tapping his knee. He looked at An Lushan's back, his eyes very calm, too calm, like a pool of water just before it freezes.
Then I looked at the Dragon Throne. The twelve strands of beads hung before his forehead; I couldn't see his eyes clearly. But I saw the corner of his mouth move once. That angle—not lenient, not magnanimous. It was the kind of movement a person's mouth makes when they see something they've been waiting for in the dark.
The hall was silent for three breaths. Perhaps longer. I couldn't remember.
"Border customs do not adhere to grand rituals. Rise."
His voice was very calm. As if speaking of something very ordinary.
An Lushan bowed again, walked to his seat, and sat down. No panic, no relief, no sign of letting out a sigh. As if he had always known this would be the result. The music started again. The dancers spun again. Linde Hall became lively again.
The Hangover Soup
When the hangover soup was served, I had a bowl brought for myself as well. I stepped out from behind the curtain and walked to the end of the line of military generals, as if routinely checking on medication.
I stopped in front of Guo Ziyi. He lowered his head to drink the soup, then looked up at me, his gaze calm. His armor was the oldest piece there tonight, the edges worn white, but polished clean, as if carefully polished just before leaving home.
"Empress," his voice was low, "this soup is a bit bitter."
"Bitterness wakes the mind." I paused. "General, you haven't drunk any wine tonight."
"I dare not drink." He held the bowl of soup, not continuing to drink. "Tonight is not the time for drinking."
I didn't speak, turning to leave. He suddenly spoke, his voice even lower, as if talking to himself.
"Empress," he said, "that person did not kneel today."
"Mm."
"His Majesty said border customs do not adhere to grand rituals."
"Mm."
Guo Ziyi held the hangover soup, looking at the center of the hall. An Lushan was loudly talking to the envoy next to him, his laughter loud, hearty, and harmless.
"Border customs," he slowly repeated these four words, "do not adhere to grand rituals."
He put down the hangover soup, unfinished. He stood up, bowed to me, and walked out. His back was very straight, his steps steady, the worn parts of his armor reflecting light under the palace lanterns. I stood in place, watching that back, unmoving. I went over the events of the night in my mind. An Lushan didn't kneel, but he bent his knee once. That single bend was for the Emperor to see. It was saying—I could have knelt. It was testing—Your Majesty, do you want me to kneel, or not? Then His Majesty said, border customs do not adhere to grand rituals. And then An Lushan truly didn't adhere.
Guo Ziyi walked out. He walked quickly, as if he had figured something out.
Behind the Curtain
The banquet ended. He walked behind the curtain, took off his crown, let his hair down, sat in the chair, and closed his eyes. I placed the bowl of hangover soup with the extra Coptis on the table in front of him.
He opened his eyes, looked at it, then looked at me again. "What is this?"
"Hangover soup. You drank quite a bit tonight."
"I didn't drink too much."
"Drink."
He picked it up and drank a sip, frowning. "Bitter."
"Bitterness wakes the mind."
He put the bowl down and looked at me. Moonlight from the window fell on his face.
"Qingyan," he said, "you stepped out from behind the curtain tonight."
I didn't deny it. "Mm."
"What did you say to Guo Ziyi?"
"Nothing." I paused. "But he said one thing."
"What thing?"
"He repeated the four words you said. 'Border customs, do not adhere to grand rituals.'" I looked at him. "Then he left. He left quickly, as if he had figured something out."
He was silent. His fingers lightly tapped the table, once, twice.
"Qingyan, are you saying—Guo Ziyi figured it out?"
"He didn't figure it out. He—" I thought for a moment, "He saw it. He was counting all night. Counting how many people were in the hall, counting where those people's swords were. Then An Lushan didn't kneel, you said 'border customs.' And he figured one thing out."
"What thing?"
"He knows you are waiting."
He stopped tapping the table. He looked at me, his eyes changing.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Did you add Coptis to the hangover soup you had him drink too?"
I looked at him. "How did you know?"
"Because when he walked out, his expression was right." He slowly smiled, not an emperor's smile, but his own smile, the kind he smiled when he was in the Linzi Prince's mansion and I held his head down to check his teeth, smiling because he was afraid of the pain. "You were telling him—bitterness wakes the mind."
"Mm." I sat beside him. "I needed him to be clear-headed tonight. To clearly see that kneel, to clearly hear those four words you said, to clearly think through what you are doing."
"What if he thinks it through, thinks too much, and it backfires?"
"It won't." I looked at him. "Guo Ziyi is the one with the oldest armor tonight, who sat the quietest, and left the earliest. He won't say more. He will only wait, waiting for you to speak."
He leaned back in the chair, looking out the window. The night wind from Chang'an blew in from Zhuque Avenue, carrying the sweet scent of locust flowers and the smell of wine after the banquet.
"Qingyan," he suddenly spoke, "you did something tonight that I didn't expect."
"Which one?"
"Adding Coptis." He turned to look at me, his eyes very bright. "In my chess game, there was no Guo Ziyi. You put him in."
"He was always there." I said. "You just didn't notice."
He smiled. He hadn't smiled this lightly in a long time.
"Qingyan," he said, "you are smarter than me."
"I'm just used to looking at teeth." I picked up the bowl of Coptis hangover soup and placed it in front of him. "After looking for a long time, you know which tooth is healthy, which tooth is useful, which tooth must be kept—even if it doesn't hurt now, when it starts to hurt, you will need it."
He looked at the soup, then at me.
"Guo Ziyi, is that tooth?"
"Mm."
He picked up the soup and finished it. Bitter. He frowned, but didn't put it down. He finished it, then set it down, the cup making a light sound on the table.
"Qingyan," he said, "I have noted it."
Outside the hall, the palace lanterns went out one by one. The empty chairs in Linde Hall slowly darkened in the night. The places where people had knelt, the place where one didn't kneel, all darkened. Tomorrow, palace attendants will come to wipe the golden bricks, wiping away everything left from tonight. But I have noted it. He has also noted it.
(End of Chapter 28)