Chapter 35: Teasing
Last night, the rain pattered gently on the banana leaves. Amidst the soft, continuous drizzle, he dreamed. In his dream, he beheld a sea of dazzling scarlet blossoms—what the Buddha called the Manjusaka flower, blooming without leaves, with leaves that never meet the flowers. Worldly people, always spinning tales of love and longing, say that the flower and leaf were once lovers, cursed to forever miss each other, never to meet again in this life or the next.
He stood on the far shore, picking a flower and smiling serenely, his heart untroubled by sorrow, and said, “It is merely a single flower with twin souls, journeying side by side through parallel worlds.”
The Great Way is three thousandfold, as are the worlds: the Lesser, the Middle, and the Greater, all illuminated by the same sun and moon. The world of the flower cannot see the world of the leaf, nor that of the grain of sand; the universe is boundless and ever-changing. Twin souls, a thousand souls, ten thousand souls, appear across myriad worlds, each a cycle of cause and effect.
He awoke, sudden melancholy flooding his heart, yet he remained unburdened by attachments, his smile as pure as a blue lotus, a longing to return arising within him.
At that hour, dawn’s first light crept outside the window, the branches heralded the daybreak, and summer flowers blazed in brilliance as bees and butterflies gathered nectar.
Birdsong chirped incessantly, a sign of exuberant life, yet it disturbed the sleeping Daidai.
Beneath the thin brocade quilt, something bulged on his chest. A soft, annoyed little groan came from within. A cool sensation washed over his chest, and all other thoughts scattered like startled birds. A head popped out, the quilt slipped away, and suddenly the soft, warm, fragrant body beneath was revealed, not a stitch of clothing to be seen. Annoyed by the birds’ clamor, she stretched out her hand like a cat’s paw and scratched him, taking him for her mattress—her fingers landing right on his sensitive red berry.
The pleasure was as fleeting as a breeze, gone in a blink, but it had existed. He was only mortal; once felt, it could never be forgotten.
“Wicked girl.” Naked again. He distinctly remembered dressing her in a nightgown with his own hands before bed, and sternly forbidding her from treating him as her mattress.
And yet, every morning ended up just like this.
Her delicate body was never content to lie beside him, always draping itself across him instead.
He fancied his own frame was tall and sturdy, hardly frail—so why, in her eyes, was he softer and more comfortable than a mattress?
Little mischief. It seemed time to teach her a lesson.
But as soon as the thought of punishment crossed his mind, a blush crept up his cheeks, and he grew embarrassed before he’d even begun.
Morning brought the world back to life; it was hardly a time for such wanton indulgence.
Yet this little rascal never heeded his warnings, and so he was left with no choice.
If Daidai were awake, she would surely mock him: the flames of desire already blazing, why invent so many excuses to deceive himself—what sort of enlightenment from the Great Way had he really received?
He rolled to his side, and Daidai, like a drop of water rolling off a lotus leaf, tumbled back onto the mattress with a sleepy mumble, half her face pressed into the smooth silk, lips parted, her pert bottom raised and pointed in his direction.
He pressed close and bent to her ear, laughing softly, his fingers teasing and trailing beneath her, mischievous as a boy playing a prank.
Daidai’s brows knitted slightly, a small frown of discomfort, her body inching away in tiny movements.
But when Nuwa created humankind, she made a mistake: at certain times, the heart cannot govern the body. Too sleepy to open her eyes, yet her body responded honestly, growing slick and ready.
He’d woken early today, with plenty of leisure to dally with his empress—punishment for her defiance, for always tempting him to sin by sleeping naked at night.
“Daidai, Daidai.” Awake himself, he insisted Daidai wake as well, calling her name again and again, his voice gentle and low, as if casting a spell.
Daidai was nearly driven mad, eyes shut tight as she tried to crawl away, wishing she could escape to the ends of the earth to avoid his mischief.
Yet the flower’s heart opened, and the straight, sturdy jade stem leapt inside with a triumphant charge.
With a whimper, Daidai lashed out at the mattress in vexation, her bottom raised as she feigned tears, mumbling numbers as she rocked back and forth, desperate to escape the villain pressing her down and stealing her breath.
His mood was excellent; he pinned her beneath him, grinding not for pride but for punishment.
Her thick brows drew together like green peaks, and after a bout of grumbling and pouting, Daidai at last lifted her little hips in acceptance, letting the scoundrel have his way while her stubborn eyes remained closed, intent on sleep.
The man behind her wore a wicked smile, wielding his slim, strong waist as a weapon, tossing Daidai about so she could find no rest.
She cried out and fussed, scratched and pounded the bed, finally biting her finger in silent endurance. She was the laziest of creatures, coveting sleep above all else—even a flood could not drive her from her morning slumber.
From the inner palace, laughter rang out early in the morning. Li Fuquan, sleeping at the foot of the imperial bed, startled awake and slapped himself into full alertness. He hastily washed and dressed, ready to serve his master.
After a long, trembling climax, the man cupped Daidai’s chin and kissed her deeply. Though she could barely breathe, she refused to open her eyes. He held her tightly for a moment before leaving; Daidai felt a chill in his absence, but his scent lingered on the bed. With a soft murmur, she truly fell back asleep.
She could sense him; she knew he was near, always within reach.
She was beginning to fall in love with this world.
Even if it was within a flower, within a leaf, or even within a bowl of water.
A satisfied smile blossomed on her lips. He stood at the bedside, impeccably dressed, gently smoothing the lines of her brow. The so-called enlightenment and detachment he’d felt upon waking now seemed like nothing more than a joke.
Summer had arrived, oppressive and stifling. Morning court sessions had been suspended for the season; the ministers managed affairs from their own offices, submitting memorials to the Council of State, and only truly urgent matters warranted a direct audience with the Emperor in the Hall of Harmonious Waters.
He lived by the lake, all four windows flung wide, and now and then the breeze carried in the fresh scent of lotus blossoms from the pond.
Ji Ye was an emperor of decisive action and far-reaching vision, a master of strategy and governance. This was evident not only in the decrees he issued since taking the throne, but also in the force of his character. The memorials sent from all corners of the land were the very instruments by which he maintained his grasp on the realm.
He always gleaned insight from these reports, rarely hesitating in judgment—but today, with this particular memorial from the Ministry of War, he had been holding it in his hand for the time it takes half an incense stick to burn.
Li Fuquan, reading his master’s mood, felt certain the Emperor was weary. He quickly ordered the imperial kitchen to prepare a ginseng tea, which he brought himself, offering a quiet suggestion: “Your Majesty, please rest awhile. Your health must come first.”
Ji Ye came back to himself, set down the memorial, and stared at the tea for a moment before rising to pace. After a while, he said, “Summon the Grand Tutor to the Hall of Harmonious Waters.”
Li Fuquan was stunned, momentarily at a loss, but quickly bowed and hurried to obey.
Grand Tutor Zhao Sier was a renowned scholar of humble origins, naturally studious and versed in the arts of statecraft from a young age. As a youth, he traveled the world, gaining knowledge and strategic insight, adept at managing affairs, and known for his chivalrous spirit and mastery of the School of Vertical and Horizontal Alliances. Later, he established a private academy in Baishi Village. Many of his students went on to serve as officials, and his fame grew steadily. The late emperor esteemed him highly, visiting him thrice in Baishi Village to request he serve as crown prince’s tutor. Recognizing his depth, the emperor even considered appointing him to a position of real power, but Zhao Sier declined, claiming he possessed only a scholar’s temperament, not the magnanimity required of a prime minister, even joking that only gods, not men, could truly master the art of politics.
This man was unconventional and carefree, fond of wandering, and even at fifty had no intention of marrying. Just as everyone assumed the old gentleman would remain a lifelong bachelor, he surprised all by marrying an eighteen-year-old maiden of fine birth, striking appearance, and exceptional talent. A white pear blossom pressed upon a crabapple, the old tree still vigorous—within a year, they had a son; the second year, another; the third, a third son. Such an outcome was rare and singular, unmatched in all the land.
Yet, ever since the Emperor took the throne, he had gradually distanced himself from the Grand Tutor. Li Fuquan had thought perhaps Zhao Sier’s bold words had finally offended the Emperor; had he misjudged the situation? Did the Grand Tutor still enjoy the Emperor’s deep favor?
If that was truly the case, Li Fuquan immediately knew how he ought to treat that sharp-tongued old man henceforth.
The residence of the Virtuous Consort, named Sweet Reeds and Fragrant Orchids, also stood by the banks of the Hibiscus Pond, though a little farther from the Hall of Harmonious Waters. The setting was tranquil, surrounded by hills and forests, with yellow orchid flowers planted in abundance, filling the air with their rich fragrance.
The Virtuous Consort was innately cautious and meticulous. Since the Emperor had tasked her with copying scriptures, every word was penned by her own hand; the more minute the detail, the less she would allow anyone to fault her.
Yellow orchids thrive in deep forests, suited only to dense shade and moist soil. During construction, the Ministry of Works had transplanted many centuries-old trees from remote mountain valleys to create this environment.
At this moment, the Virtuous Consort was strolling among the orchids with her half-sister, the Lady of Elegant Grace.
“Elder sister, your place is truly beautiful,” Lady of Elegant Grace said, her eyes brimming with admiration and calculated innocence, believing she had perfectly concealed her faint jealousy.
The Virtuous Consort’s lips curved in a subtle, constrained smile, but her tone was suffused with melancholy. “What use is such beauty, when the flowers bloom alone and no one comes to admire them?”
Her words carried a double meaning—any woman vying for favor would understand.
“Elder sister, you are able to share the Emperor’s affection with the Noble Consort and the Empress herself. Surely… you must be joking.” Inwardly, she sneered: How ungrateful—if I could rise to your rank, what would it matter if I lacked the Emperor’s favor? You’re getting old, yet still greedy for more. Do you not see your own overreaching ambition? Hmph!
The Virtuous Consort plucked her favorite rose-shaped jade hairpin and set it in her sister’s hair, saying warmly, “Only I know what my days are truly like, just as only the drinker knows if the water is hot or cold. You are at the prime of your youth, beautiful beyond compare—how could the Emperor not be fond of you? It is only that your rank is low, so you seldom see him. Besides, the Emperor is not a man to be swayed by beauty alone, which is why you’ve had fewer opportunities to shine.”
A spark lit in the younger woman’s eyes. Was her sister suggesting she would help her rise?
Her heart leapt with joy.
“Elder sister, what do you mean?”
“We are sisters, after all—what other meaning could there be? I simply wish for our Liu family to have a lasting place at court. Our origins are humble; we must find ways to help our fathers and brothers. Before you entered the palace, surely they spoke to you about this. I received our father’s instructions long ago. Don’t worry; we share the same blood—I would never harm you. Go back and wait. In a few days, I will give you an opportunity to approach the Emperor.”
“Elder sister, I am inexperienced and will follow your guidance in all things.” Barely containing her delight, the Lady of Elegant Grace knelt in thanks, vowing, “I will always look to you for guidance.”
The Virtuous Consort smiled faintly. “I believe you.”
Seeing the noble radiance and sincerity in her sister’s face, the Lady of Elegant Grace departed in high spirits.