The Imperfect Empress
When I married Jingyuan and became his Princess Consort; I thought I would have ample time to understand the intricate workings of the inner palace, but after only three months, we were crowned Emperor and Empress.
My naivete got the best of me. Perhaps I was overly sincere and hopeful. The meaning and true weight of being an Empress were lost on me. I turned to my mother for guidance. She grew up in the imperial harem and suggested that I should keep my enemies nearby and not to trust a soul, including my royal husband.
Then I went to royal aunt, Empress dowager who gave me two pieces of advice as well: The first was to drink more wine after giving birth.
She confessed. She used to drink to calm her nerves. I never imagined my regal aunt would be one to hide wine bottles in her palace and take secret nips throughout the day. Even now, I can’t help but snicker when I see her wondering if she’s tipsy during my daily greetings.
Empress dowager’s second words of wisdom was—Never fall in love with the emperor —
“A-li, it is simple logic. If you form romantic ties, you’ll get possessive when he goes around like a bee, pollinating other flowers. Jealousy will consume you when you smell other women on him and you’ll go mad thinking about all the different women his man parts have been inside. After a while, you won’t even see a man. You’ll see a walking erection dressed in a golden dragon robe seeped in other women’s perfumes and fluids.”
Empress Dowager made me giggle in wonder because she was referring to her son, but I stopped laughing when she told me never to expect true love from him, since it was something he wouldn’t be able to give me.
I accepted her guidance. I enjoy a miniature glass of wine before bed. She was right about this. It does soothe my spirits after a long day of hearing petty grievances. I’ve followed my mother and her advice to avoid romantic entanglements with Jingyuan and keep to myself, and that’s exactly what I’ve done.
I recognize love is not an empress’s fate. I can endure sharing him with others because I don’t desire him in that way. There isn’t a wife under the sun that wants to share her husband with other women. By staying emotionally detached, I select noble daughters for political benefits and simpler girls purely for his visual and sexual gratification.
I ensure fairness in his nightly rotation. I consider their cycles, so that everyone has the best chance to conceive. It’s unsettling how women in the harem get worked up over the quality of their eyebrow pencils or the color of coal for their heaters, so one can imagine how they behave over being graced by his royal member.
While my love for him isn’t what a wife should feel for her husband, my respect for him drives me to do all this and more.
People see me as the villain and him as the hero. He is chosen by the heavens. They go psychotic when he sends gifts, poems, and enjoys intimate moments with one and not the other, while I take care of the less glamorous aspects of our symbiotic relationship. During my three-year reign as the mistress of the inner palace, I have had to carry out the execution of one concubine and punish two other women from the harem.
Concubine Tan was an impressive horse tamer who possessed a fierce attitude and peach blossom lips. She and her people delivered tribute horses from the tall grasslands. There was an undeniable attraction between them from the very beginning. The emperor initiated her with defloration like he does with all the women in the harem during their first encounter.
She provided for him twice in her entire year in service. This was not because of me. I suggested her often, but the emperor found her draining and needy. He expressed she gave the worst head and after copulation wanted to talk about her feelings longer than what he deemed required. I guess Jingyuan enjoys getting oral pleasure and going to bed without pillow talk.
His casual approach to their encounters contrasted with the deeper resonance it held for her. She developed an obsessive yearning for Jingyuan. Her fate took a disastrous turn when she decided to use an aphrodisiac that ended up making the emperor sick instead of arousing his desires for her. She was poisoned by the very person she loved, and though I was merely the one to deliver it, she died with my name on her lips.
A second raking lady was found guilty of eavesdropping on the Emperor. She tried to sell the information and was sent to the hall of investigations. To prevent her from hearing anything again, her eardrums were punctured. This made her deaf. She will spend the rest of her life in the cold palace.
A lower-ranking concubine faked a pregnancy to deceive the emperor. As a result, she was banished to a faraway temple and became a nun. This ensured that no man, including the Emperor, could possess her.
These palace events caused discord when they occurred. People are quick to forget. That include the emperor, but I remember them all. The emperor sentenced his previous concubine to death, yet I was labeled a monster for carrying out his edict. Secretly, I burned joss money for her. I pitied her. Her mistake proved fatal to her lifeline, but she didn’t have malicious intentions. Her heart was too big. She merely loved him too much.
As for the second ranking lady, money was her motivation, but it wasn’t to spoil herself. She was the sole provider for her family. I will continue sending her monthly allowance to her family until my reign ends. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do for the other concubine; she should consider herself fortunate to still be alive. Any lies or harm done to an imperial offspring will be met with the emperor’s absolute wrath.
Empress Bai’s reign isn’t as glamour as most assume. Even though being empress may not seem rewarding, helping others brings me genuine joy.
Wang Guo’s old home, in one of the poorest part of the city, was once a haunting reminder of the nightmares and trauma I experienced as a child. For a long while, I thought I would carry that lingering dread inside me forever, but enough time has passed. That painful chapter of my life is nothing but memories, and memories are powerless.
A new learning center, a beacon of hope and opportunity, now occupies the space. This school, unlike any other, embraces a progressive philosophy of equal opportunity, welcoming students of all genders, ages, and social statuses. The entry exam serves to assess potential, rather than creating barriers. Once accepted, every student is treated with utmost equality, ensuring a fair and nurturing learning environment that charges nothing. I pray to see these talents one day attending the royal assemblies and contributing to the Great Huaxia Dynasty.
This is the twelfth school built during my reign. I am in the courtyard as the gates open for the first time. The day when we welcome everyone from all walks of life. It is exciting to see captivated and curious people rushing in to experience something that was once unavailable to them – a free education. Those seeking just the food and gifts are welcome too. This open house’s timing couldn’t be more perfect. We are distributing thicker coats, clothes and shoes, needed items. Winter is quickly coming as it is clinging to autumn’s heels.
“Empress, the crowd is growing too rapidly. Far too big and out of control!” the finance minister warns, sounding worried. He wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead with the handkerchief he keeps in the sleeve of his official green robe with the jade belt, clothing worn by those in higher positions.
He has always been apprehensive around sizeable crowds, particularly those hailing from the poorer areas of the city. He fears that the people will resort to desperate measures, attempting to rob the affluent few who pass through their midst.
“Empress, it would be wise to have the guards maintain control over the crowds before the situation escalates into pandemonium and disorder. I recommend sending a message to the palace, requesting additional guards as backup. There is nothing more dangerous than a riot. A riot is like a body without a brain! What if the masses have intentions of looting?” He frets while wiping his forehead once more with the crumpled handkerchief, even though there is no sweat remaining.
Nervously mumbling to himself, he complains about the dangers posed by a riot. His beady gaze full of distrust scans the growing crowd, then turned to me and I scoff. “My Lord, it’s difficult to steal when everything is free and I hope to attract hordes most earnestly.”
I know he feels wiser than me, an inexperienced empress a third his age. “Empress, the imperial guards were sent by the Emperor to protect you. Empress should let them fulfill their duties.. From the outside, these people may appear harmless, but these people are unpredictable.”
The imperial guards he speaks of are two dozen who have accompanied me only at the emperor’s insistence. Only because it is Jingyuan’s order; If it were my choice, I wouldn’t have any here, but I will say this much. Their ability to lift and move heavy objects makes them ideal for setting up the many temporary stands and tables at the open houses.
“Minister, you worry over nothing. Why don’t you settle yourself over there and help pass out the winter clothes or the other items. That’s the most rewarding job after my brother Director Bai’s role, but he doesn’t enjoy sharing the limelight. Just consider, the children will look up to you as if you are a descent of the God of Wealth when you give them new toys.” I suggest.
He nervously strokes his beard, glancing at the lines that seem to have no end. He is not pleased judging by his unenthusiastic expression, but he bows and shuffles towards the tables overflowing with kites, balls, go boards, books and other toys, for he can’t refuse the Empress. He isn’t pleased when I remind him, “My Lord, these people you refer to are our people. We all exist and live by the Emperor’s grace.”
This time, he doesn’t fight or frown at me. He bows deep and low.
I sigh as my breath escapes my lips, forming a cloud of steam. Little Min, ever observant, brings me my muffler when she notices me rubbing my wrists. The abrupt change in weather has caused my arthritis to act up.
“Empress, there are more people here than the other open houses,” she says, a hint of astonishment in her voice. “We have given away so much, and the reserves have yet to be unloaded from the carriages. I cannot fathom how you manage this time and time again. Your subjects are singing your praises today.”
I lower the hood of my cloak, taking in the sight before me. It fills me with a sense of fulfillment, knowing that I have played a part in creating this moment. It is customary for individuals to bow in my presence, but the ground is too cold to kneel upon. “Please rise, Qǐlái!” I inform them.
“The ground is both hard and chilly. It is during the changing of seasons that one is most susceptible to illness. It would not benefit either your Empress or your neighbors if you were to become sick from kneeling to me in this weather, resulting in overcrowded hospitals. If you genuinely wish to honor me, assist your Empress by indulging in your own enjoyment and taking what you require. Transporting everything back to the palace can be quite exhausting.”
Now I receive countless smiles in response to my chuckles, but it wasn’t always this way. In the beginning, most people had never encountered royalty before, so it was only natural for everyone to feel apprehensive. It took time for me to earn their affections, but I didn’t do it alone. My old friend Ming, who now owns a chain of successful restaurants, has been my partner on this journey.
Everyone is familiar with Ming and his famous Longevity Noodles.
Word has spread that his shops consistently provide a hot, complimentary meal. Despite never experiencing the same level of poverty as others, Ming has never forgotten his roots. He still remembers when I was a skinny, hungry girl, and he carries that memory with a heavy heart. Expecting no reimbursement, he has never turned away someone who couldn’t pay for their meals. Despite my repeated offers, he insists on doing this out of the belief that “what goes around comes around: Good karma.”
As usual, Ming is in charge. He runs the temporary food hall for the school’s opening. He takes care of all the cuisine. Celebration Noodles are a must. More noodle bowls than one can count are placed next to other things that can be taken along, like pancakes and buns. Longer lasting foods like millet breads and jerkies are prepared beforehand but our charity work is making him gain weight.
He used to be thin, but now he has a potbelly. It’s almost bigger than his second wife’s pregnant stomach, who is expecting twins. I tease him and say, “Lord of noodles, Ming, you’ll burn more calories and get rid of that potbelly if you talk less and cook faster. It’s lunchtime and the smell of your food will attract many people.”
He blushes and replies sheepishly, “Empress is unsympathetic to tease Ming for being slow. My task is laborious, especially with a food critic scrutinizing my every move. He’s demanding and bossy.” Ming gestures towards Haoyu, who is kneeling on a chair, intently watching Ming. I can imagine First prince is instructing Ming to cut this bigger, dice this smaller, and more. Whatever it is, he wants more, always more. Haoyu wants everyone to leave full.
“Prince Haoyu, please come help with the dragon’s beard candy. Your uncle needs supervision.” I call out.
My brother’s head perks up at the sound of his name. He wags his head at me in disagreement, his expression one of sheer determination, as he works his technique at the table covered entirely of corn starch. A dusting of powder dances in the air, reminiscent of first snow. My brother, Director Bai Yi Bo, from Imperial Compliances, is a bit of a showoff despite his earnest personality. Surprisingly, he loves recognition and being the center of attention at events.
In fact, people even call him the Director of Dragon Beards, for he is the Longxusu master.
Flanked by his eager assistants, their hands poised to help, yet he prefers to standalone proudly in the middle, basking in all the attention. The surrounding energy he creates is tangible as people of different ages gather around him. The air is filled with the delighted laughter of children, their giggles echoing like music. They are mesmerized.
With flicks of his wrist, he transforms hard blobs of golden honey into long strands of ethereal, pulled taffy candy. The candy stretches and twists repeatedly until transformed into strands of white. He displays proudly to his attentive audience. Though a bachelor, he revels in interacting with the children. They look at him with wide-eyed wonder and anticipation.
They know what comes next.
My brother puts the sweet treat on their faces, covering their chins, creating magic.
The children, now transformed into dragons with white beards, burst into uncontrollable laughter while clutching onto the table. Among them is Haoyu. Their tiny fingers tightly grip the powdery white surface as their heads bob excitedly, hopping around the candy master. Today, my brother’s performance has filled them with excessive excitement. Total mayhem ensues as his exhibition table crashes down, showering the air with corn starch.
This happens because of the weight of the children hanging on it and my brother accidentally bumping into it while flexing his biceps. I urgently call out, “Prince Haoyu!” and rush to the fallen table. My attendants and guards quickly follow, waving their hands to disperse the powdery air. I cough as I accidentally inhale some corn starch that catches in my throat.
I find Haoyu. My brother is kneeling down and holding him. Both of them are completely coated in cornstarch, pointing at each other and giggling hysterically. My brother briefly stops laughing to say to Haoyu, “Look, royal nephew. Now you have your mother’s hair!” He then notices that others also have their heads covered in the same snow white powder and exclaims, “A-li, you truly are the mother of the nation. Look, everyone has your hair color!”
“Dege is absurd! I caught you! I saw you knock the table over!” I scold my brother, then kneel, opening my arms to the scared children who are looking confused standing in small clusters and say, “I watched it happen and it was Director Bai’s fault. He knocked over the table being a showoff. Come, children. Come to empress mother, while Director Bai uses his impressive bicep muscles to clean up this mess. Then he will resume what he was doing—turning you children into white bearded dragons. This celebration isn’t over!”
They are beautiful. These children are far more valuable than jade, gold, precious stones, horses and spices; they are the real treasures of our dynasty. It’s like the clouds parting, revealing a bright, sunny day. I see their fear vanish and turn into elation right before me. They rush towards me with excitement, making me lose my balance and fall on my backside. Now I’m covered in cornstarch. I don’t need to look back to see everyone anxiously shifting about. I signal the attendants to step back and not interfere.
I settle on my rump. My dress unintentionally hikes up, revealing my ankles. The gasps that follow are met with a fleeting smile, for I know that in this moment, the pristine image of royalty is momentarily shattered. Under my dress, my parted legs are positioned with a more than a hint of vulnerability, reflecting the very position in which I birthed my son. My demeanor may not be as polished or majestic as others, but I embrace my imperfections, for this is who I am, the imperfect empress, and I hope to always be.
“Aya!”
“Empress!”
“The empress should not be sitting on a cold ground!”
“The empress is practically nude!”
“Someone cover her royal highness!”
I pay no attention to the murmurs coming from the ministers crouched behind me, as I am surrounded by more children. Some of them cling to my shoulders, leaving behind sticky sugary residue from their little pecks on my face. They giggle like monkeys when I tickle them, and their laughter brings me immense joy. However, amidst the laughter, there is always one child who is timid and cries. This child is sobbing as if I have taken away his beloved puppy. If I have noticed him, then surely Haoyu has as well.
“Don’t cry,” Haoyu says to the boy, who towers over him. “Everything is fine. The cornstarch comes right off.” Haoyu brushes the powder off the boy’s shoulders. “My uncle knocked over the table, but it’s not uncle’s fault either, for he can’t help his nature for bucking things. Empress mother says it’s because he’s sometimes a jackass.”
Haoyu takes the boy’s hand and gently pulls him aside. He tells the boy that the guards will fix everything and he can have the first candy beard. The boy nods and wipes his tears with the back of his hand. Haoyu takes out his handkerchief and offers it to the boy to blow his nose. He tells the boy to blow hard to feel better without boogers.
The boy blows into the handkerchief, filling it with thick mucus. “Wow, you are formable. You have a powerful nose!” Haoyu exclaims, complimenting the boy for getting it all out in one blow.
He carefully folds the handkerchief and returns it to the boy, saying, “It’s yours now. You can keep it.” Haoyu explains that although the handkerchief was originally his, it’s only fair for the boy to have it since it’s now covered in 75% of his boogers – majority rules.
Haoyu introduces himself, asking, “What’s your name?” A woman rushes between the boys in a panicked state. I assume she’s the boy’s mother as she grabs him and positions herself protectively in front of him. Though she doesn’t speak, she repeatedly grunts. A tag hangs low from her neck, resting on her round protruded stomach. It states the pregnant woman is mute and deaf. She can read lips.
The poor woman is terrified. Little Min helps me up. To avoid scaring her, I don’t use my arms. I speak slowly, one word at a time, saying, “Nobody here will hurt you.”
She grunts, nodding slowly, as if her head were a heavy snail. She comprehends my words, yet a perplexed expression crosses her face when she notices her son’s body is under a layer of white powder. Her gaze swiftly shifts towards the overturned table. “Your son is unharmed. The powder is simple cornstarch,” I assure her. Demonstratively, I take some from Haoyu’s head and place it delicately on the tip of my tongue. “You see? Everything is perfectly fine.”
She doesn’t smile, but she accepts my explanation. I notice her tense body language softening, but as soon as the guards approach to clean up the mess, she suddenly becomes frantic. Her hysteric behavior and intense grunting attracts more guards, and at the sight of the imperial guards, she curls into a defensive ball on the ground, clutching her son tightly. She grunts repeatedly, rapidly rubbing her palms together anxiously. Her shifty gaze flickers nervously between my face and the guards, yet settles on mine as if she is pleading for something from me.
“Don’t worry. You have nothing to be afraid of,” I assure her, extending my hand to offer comfort. However, my gesture is interrupted as a swift figure steps in between us with agile quickness, causing my arm to fling back painfully. It’s a man, most likely her husband, based on his appearance. Like the woman and child, he is dressed modestly in ordinary clothing worn by commoners. Strands of his dark hair escape from beneath the cotton scarf that covers his head and face.
“She cannot speak or hear,” he explains, his back turned towards me. “I’m not sure what happened, but I will provide any necessary compensation.”
The woman who was crouching on the ground sees him and quickly rushes to him, tears streaming down her face. “I’m here, A-ming,” he assures her, but his voice sends shivers down my spine as the boy cries, “Father, Bigan is innocent.”
“I believe you,” he says with a gentle voice, reaching out with his scarred hands to wipe the powder off his son’s face. Slender fingers brush the cornstarch off the boy’s eyes. I recognize those hands, but this is impossible. It should be impossible, but there’s no doubt anymore. Slowly, he stands and lowers his scarf, revealing the puckered scarred skin from his neck to his cheek. He turns to me. For a moment, I question my sanity. If I were alone, I would think I was seeing a ghost because there is a dead man standing in front of me, but I’m not the only one who sees him…
“How can it be?!”
“This is impossible!”
“That’s fourth Prince Jinghua!”
“Prince Jinghua!?”
It’s Jinghua. I can’t believe my eyes. I stagger backward, relying on Little Min to keep me steady, because a strong breeze could push me over. “It’s been a while, A-li. Or should I call you Empress Bai? This is awkward. I should have thought about this beforehand,” he remarks with a relaxed grin.
I’m facing a living ghost.
This man is the one who brought me into existence. He instilled in me feelings of hope, desire, love, and pleasure. However, he also caused my destruction. I am now burdened with sorrow, longing, despair, hate, and resentment. He was almost forgotten, but now he has resurfaced, as I had dreamt yet this is a nightmare.
I was mistaken. Memories aren’t powerless. The sheer force of memories is incredible. This memory has rendered me motionless, unable to speak. A haunting recollection resurfaces, causing me to struggle for breath. I place my hand on my chest, attempting to calm the pounding, and softly murmur, “Is it truly you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He nods, looking embarrassed. His lips curl. I would have once died to kiss his mouth again and sold my soul to see him just one more time. How can he stand there looking as if he didn’t die before my eyes?
His face and minuscule smile infuriates me. So, I pull my hand back and slap him. I want to erase that smile off his face, and I do.