The pair remained silent until they entered a room in one of the Yu Ming Palace’s side courtyard. Finally alone, Feng Zhiwei saluted, saying: “Mother has asked Zhiwei to greet honored wet-nurse. Many thanks for defending my mother’s name.”
“We finally meet.” Wet-nurse Chen replied, grasping Feng Zhiwei’s hand and checking her over, her indifferent facade falling away. After looking her over from head to toe and even examining her drawn eyebrows, the wet-nurse finally nodded and spoke again: “How are you and your mother doing?”
Feng Zhiwei wondered at this wet-nurse friend of her mother — why did the woman seem to care more about her than her friend? Feng Zhiwei answered all of wet-nurse Chen’s many questions about her mother’s health and situation, and told her everything she wanted to know about how she and Feng Hao were getting on. When Feng Zhiwei finished answering all the detailed questions, Wet-nurse Chen patted her hand and said: “When you go back, tell your mom that these years have really troubled her, tell her not to worry about too many things, just accept the will of heaven.”
The wet-nurse finally stared into her eyes, an almost sobbing, deep sense of loss cracking her voice: “You are good.”
Feng Zhiwei could not decipher these final strange sentences, so she smiled and nodded, kindly refusing Wet-nurse Chen’s offer to escort her back to Noble Imperial Consort Chang’s palace. Feng Zhiwei excused herself, explaining that sitting in the side palace had gotten boring so she wanted to visit the Imperial Garden before returning on her own, and since Wet-nurse Chen did not insist, she departed.
Feng Zhiwei sat for a while in the Imperial Garden. The Tian Sheng Imperial Harem Garden was extremely large, and Feng Zhiwei ambled her way deeper into the grounds, strolling past several artificial mountains.
Suddenly, she spotted a strange well.
Nearing the well, she let her fingers glide over the bluestone ring, trailing the age marks streaking the material.
She remained like that for a moment, surreptitiously examining her surroundings for people; she was far out and away from the beaten paths, and when she was sure no one would stumble upon her, she grabbed the well’s edge and began climbing downwards.
After she had climbed down a length about equal to a man’s height, she pressed forward with the tip of her foot and smoothly inserted it into a dent in the stone. As she lightly exerted some force in a forward push, the stone moved aside, revealing a door.
Feng Zhiwei paused, carefully smelling the faint rot eking out of the door, but she discovered nothing amiss.
Every dynasty built tunnels from the Imperial Palace, and it was not unusual for a long period of peace to result in such tunnels falling out of use. As these tunnels were forgotten, they would become just another part of the landscape, and perhaps this well was the entrance to just such a tunnel? Feng Zhiwei was curious, but she was not going to recklessly investigate, after all she had absolutely no idea where the thing would lead. What if it led to Noble Imperial Consort Chang’s residential palace? Or right into the old Emperor’s throne? She still wanted to live!
But as she hung there, examining the door, the sky overhead rapidly darkened and began to pour with rain.
Feng Zhiwei sighed at her poor luck. As she peered out of the well, she realized that the closest pavilion was a hundred or so meters away and it would be impossible to reach the shelter without ruining her new dress. She could only turn back and hide away in the comparatively clean tunnel to wait out the rain.
She slowly entered the long, narrow tunnel. The smell of dirt filled her nose, and Feng Zhiwei thought that even before the tunnel had fallen out of use, it was not nearly grand enough for any important purpose.
To Feng Zhiwei’s surprise, after walking for a while, the tunnel began to gradually brighten — was the other end of the tunnel not sealed? Were the original diggers not afraid that someone would stumble upon the entrance? Feng Zhiwei listened carefully, hearing only rain. At least she was not walking to the rear palaces or main court.
Feng Zhiwei stepped forward once more and light flashed before her eyes as a beautiful woman in peculiar makeup suddenly emerged before her.
The woman’s sleeves floated in the air as she leaned slightly forward, her eyes and brows set in an elegant and peaceful expression, her silk slash dancing in the air as if she were some fairy from a heavenly court.
Feng Zhiwei stopped, stunned, her mind racing. Half of her turned to flee before her mind caught up to her feet and she turned back to the woman to investigate. The smiling eyes and graceful figure were frozen in place, and the figure’s skin translucent in the tunnel’s light. As Feng Zhiwei stepped forward once more, she realized that the woman was a crystal statue embedded in the wall.
The craftsmanship was beyond masterful, and every strand of hair and fabric was real beyond belief. With the sudden brightness of this part of the tunnel, Feng Zhiwei’s senses had been easily confused.
Yet how truly peculiar for a priceless statue such as this to be placed at one end of a random, unused tunnel.
Feng Zhiwei stepped forward again. Behind the beautiful statue was a huge chunk of crystal blocking the way into a palace courtyard. Luxurious and beautifully spaced flowers and trees sat counterpoint to a manmade river and arching bridge. Just barely in view was an overhanging eave with a blackened gold bell hanging from it, completing the scene of beauty in decay and disrepair.
The tunnel was silent, closed off from the pitter patter of the outside rain as the dense downpour streaked thick lines down the crystal. Feng Zhiwei could make out the yellowing, white stone bridge in the distance and the fragmented lotus leaves scattered below it.
As she hid in the tunnel, staring out past the crystal wall into the scene of desolation, Feng Zhiwei felt as if she were standing before a legendary Memory Mirror, looking into a sealed reflection of an ancient past, where even stories had yellowed, with every beauty aged, and the accompanying lute’s music a whimpering whisper, the last music of a passing dream.
As Feng Zhiwei stood and watched, sadness filled her heart.
A shadow stirred as a figure walked into the deathly still courtyard. Without rain coat or umbrella, the man stepped forward like a ghost, climbing the arching bridge.
He stopped at the peak of the bridge’s curve, languishing in the rain, his moon-white robes already soaked, the water flowing down his violet, gold crown and into his hair and down the angles of his face. His brows were dark as night against his slightly pale face, and his brooding eyes were filled with cold darkness and astonishing beauty.
Past the crystal, the rain fell soundlessly around the main, the rustling wind failing to stir his wet sleeves, the cold water dripping from his robes and pattering down in broken flowers against the yellowed bridge.
Feng Zhiwei’s hand reached out as if to pull the man in from the rain, but all she could touch was cold crystal wall.
Before her, the man on the bridge slowly knelt.
Kneeling in the cold rain, he turned to look into the palace room, his lips moving clearly as he spoke quietly.
Feng Zhiwei could only stare intently into the man’s face, forming her lips with his as an icy chill crept over her.
“Mother Concubine”
The rain poured as a man knelt in on a cold bridge. An impromptu dusk had fallen over the land, and the chill wind blew through the desolate, abandoned palace. The boy had come to call out for the one who loved him most, even though he knew she could never answer him.
A wall and a courtyard away, the countless Imperial Palace rooms and yards were decorated with beautiful flowers and plants, filled with brightly dressed partygoers. Yet though the happiness and celebration was only a few steps away, he could not reach it even if her walked to the ends of the earth.
Feng Zhiwei stared at the kneeling man’s face, all the different expressions she’d seen racing through her mind. She’d seen him cold, calm, serious, deadly, a thousand expressions on the face of just one man, but she had never seen him so lonely and sad.
Feng Zhiwei quietly stepped away from the crystal wall.
The pair remained silent until they entered a room in one of the Yu Ming Palace’s side courtyard. Finally alone, Feng Zhiwei saluted, saying: “Mother has asked Zhiwei to greet honored wet-nurse. Many thanks for defending my mother’s name.”
“We finally meet.” Wet-nurse Chen replied, grasping Feng Zhiwei’s hand and checking her over, her indifferent facade falling away. After looking her over from head to toe and even examining her drawn eyebrows, the wet-nurse finally nodded and spoke again: “How are you and your mother doing?”
Feng Zhiwei wondered at this wet-nurse friend of her mother — why did the woman seem to care more about her than her friend? Feng Zhiwei answered all of wet-nurse Chen’s many questions about her mother’s health and situation, and told her everything she wanted to know about how she and Feng Hao were getting on. When Feng Zhiwei finished answering all the detailed questions, Wet-nurse Chen patted her hand and said: “When you go back, tell your mom that these years have really troubled her, tell her not to worry about too many things, just accept the will of heaven.”
The wet-nurse finally stared into her eyes, an almost sobbing, deep sense of loss cracking her voice: “You are good.”
Feng Zhiwei could not decipher these final strange sentences, so she smiled and nodded, kindly refusing Wet-nurse Chen’s offer to escort her back to Noble Imperial Consort Chang’s palace. Feng Zhiwei excused herself, explaining that sitting in the side palace had gotten boring so she wanted to visit the Imperial Garden before returning on her own, and since Wet-nurse Chen did not insist, she departed.
Feng Zhiwei sat for a while in the Imperial Garden. The Tian Sheng Imperial Harem Garden was extremely large, and Feng Zhiwei ambled her way deeper into the grounds, strolling past several artificial mountains.
Suddenly, she spotted a strange well.
Nearing the well, she let her fingers glide over the bluestone ring, trailing the age marks streaking the material.
She remained like that for a moment, surreptitiously examining her surroundings for people; she was far out and away from the beaten paths, and when she was sure no one would stumble upon her, she grabbed the well’s edge and began climbing downwards.
After she had climbed down a length about equal to a man’s height, she pressed forward with the tip of her foot and smoothly inserted it into a dent in the stone. As she lightly exerted some force in a forward push, the stone moved aside, revealing a door.
Feng Zhiwei paused, carefully smelling the faint rot eking out of the door, but she discovered nothing amiss.
Every dynasty built tunnels from the Imperial Palace, and it was not unusual for a long period of peace to result in such tunnels falling out of use. As these tunnels were forgotten, they would become just another part of the landscape, and perhaps this well was the entrance to just such a tunnel? Feng Zhiwei was curious, but she was not going to recklessly investigate, after all she had absolutely no idea where the thing would lead. What if it led to Noble Imperial Consort Chang’s residential palace? Or right into the old Emperor’s throne? She still wanted to live!
But as she hung there, examining the door, the sky overhead rapidly darkened and began to pour with rain.
Feng Zhiwei sighed at her poor luck. As she peered out of the well, she realized that the closest pavilion was a hundred or so meters away and it would be impossible to reach the shelter without ruining her new dress. She could only turn back and hide away in the comparatively clean tunnel to wait out the rain.
She slowly entered the long, narrow tunnel. The smell of dirt filled her nose, and Feng Zhiwei thought that even before the tunnel had fallen out of use, it was not nearly grand enough for any important purpose.
To Feng Zhiwei’s surprise, after walking for a while, the tunnel began to gradually brighten — was the other end of the tunnel not sealed? Were the original diggers not afraid that someone would stumble upon the entrance? Feng Zhiwei listened carefully, hearing only rain. At least she was not walking to the rear palaces or main court.
Feng Zhiwei stepped forward once more and light flashed before her eyes as a beautiful woman in peculiar makeup suddenly emerged before her.
The woman’s sleeves floated in the air as she leaned slightly forward, her eyes and brows set in an elegant and peaceful expression, her silk slash dancing in the air as if she were some fairy from a heavenly court.
Feng Zhiwei stopped, stunned, her mind racing. Half of her turned to flee before her mind caught up to her feet and she turned back to the woman to investigate. The smiling eyes and graceful figure were frozen in place, and the figure’s skin translucent in the tunnel’s light. As Feng Zhiwei stepped forward once more, she realized that the woman was a crystal statue embedded in the wall.
The craftsmanship was beyond masterful, and every strand of hair and fabric was real beyond belief. With the sudden brightness of this part of the tunnel, Feng Zhiwei’s senses had been easily confused.
Yet how truly peculiar for a priceless statue such as this to be placed at one end of a random, unused tunnel.
Feng Zhiwei stepped forward again. Behind the beautiful statue was a huge chunk of crystal blocking the way into a palace courtyard. Luxurious and beautifully spaced flowers and trees sat counterpoint to a manmade river and arching bridge. Just barely in view was an overhanging eave with a blackened gold bell hanging from it, completing the scene of beauty in decay and disrepair.
The tunnel was silent, closed off from the pitter patter of the outside rain as the dense downpour streaked thick lines down the crystal. Feng Zhiwei could make out the yellowing, white stone bridge in the distance and the fragmented lotus leaves scattered below it.
As she hid in the tunnel, staring out past the crystal wall into the scene of desolation, Feng Zhiwei felt as if she were standing before a legendary Memory Mirror, looking into a sealed reflection of an ancient past, where even stories had yellowed, with every beauty aged, and the accompanying lute’s music a whimpering whisper, the last music of a passing dream.
As Feng Zhiwei stood and watched, sadness filled her heart.
A shadow stirred as a figure walked into the deathly still courtyard. Without rain coat or umbrella, the man stepped forward like a ghost, climbing the arching bridge.
He stopped at the peak of the bridge’s curve, languishing in the rain, his moon-white robes already soaked, the water flowing down his violet, gold crown and into his hair and down the angles of his face. His brows were dark as night against his slightly pale face, and his brooding eyes were filled with cold darkness and astonishing beauty.
Past the crystal, the rain fell soundlessly around the main, the rustling wind failing to stir his wet sleeves, the cold water dripping from his robes and pattering down in broken flowers against the yellowed bridge.
Feng Zhiwei’s hand reached out as if to pull the man in from the rain, but all she could touch was cold crystal wall.
Before her, the man on the bridge slowly knelt.
Kneeling in the cold rain, he turned to look into the palace room, his lips moving clearly as he spoke quietly.
Feng Zhiwei could only stare intently into the man’s face, forming her lips with his as an icy chill crept over her.
“Mother Concubine”
The rain poured as a man knelt in on a cold bridge. An impromptu dusk had fallen over the land, and the chill wind blew through the desolate, abandoned palace. The boy had come to call out for the one who loved him most, even though he knew she could never answer him.
A wall and a courtyard away, the countless Imperial Palace rooms and yards were decorated with beautiful flowers and plants, filled with brightly dressed partygoers. Yet though the happiness and celebration was only a few steps away, he could not reach it even if her walked to the ends of the earth.
Feng Zhiwei stared at the kneeling man’s face, all the different expressions she’d seen racing through her mind. She’d seen him cold, calm, serious, deadly, a thousand expressions on the face of just one man, but she had never seen him so lonely and sad.
Feng Zhiwei quietly stepped away from the crystal wall.
