it – and Empress Lu’s son ascended to the Heavenly Throne. At once the Empress poisoned Lady Qi’s children and any other girl Goazu had favoured. She ordered the dismemberment of Lady Qi’s hands and feet, gouged out her eyes, scorched her ears with red-hot tongs and crushed her tongue so that her old rival could only grunt. Then Lady Qi, once so exquisite, was thrown into the pigsty beneath the Imperial privy. The entire court was encouraged to demonstrate their loyalty by defecating on the half-mad woman crawling among the pigs. Empress Lu even invited ambassadors to view ‘the human pig’, as she named Lady Qi.
This story taught me bad dreams, and each time I visited the privy I peered nervously through the hole for Lady Qi.
Nevertheless the privy was home to a kind of cricket whose piercing chirps were like mournful gongs on a foggy evening, echoing from afar. One could only listen in wonder.
Leaving the courtyard, we climbed back to the Middle House. Here Mother and my sisters were already at work, embroidering gowns and coats so we might appear finer than our neighbours. A long, clean room where they laboured in silence, save for murmured instructions or rebukes. When I arrived Mother would brighten. She always favoured me over my two sisters, who were older and on the cusp of marriage. That was natural. There’s a saying in Wei: one son worth a dozen daughters. Unless, of course, your son turns out to be a feckless, disobedient wastrel.
Mother summoned me to the stool where she worked, brocade spread across her knees, and stroked the small tuft at the top of my shaven head. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Have the servants laid out a proper breakfast?’ ‘How much did you eat?’ I was too impatient to answer, my business too important. At last she released me with a sigh.
Little Wudi and I scampered to the store chambers at the side of Middle House. Here might be found a white, bloodless kind of cricket living in the dark spaces beneath the eaves, known as Pale-Fragrant-Forehead, on account of its clammy body. A morose creature, it seemed too gentle to make a good fighter, but as they say, beware silent ones. I saw it leap upon green field crickets and crush them after a short struggle. Pale-Fragrant-Forehead detested any intruder in its territory, where it laid numerous sticky white eggs, like tiny beads. These it tended with fierce devotion. So to get the best from it, one had to collect a few eggs for it to guard.
The lumber rooms were mostly empty, although with each year more clutter filled the bare spaces. Our family owned little when Father first came here after his elevation. Mother put it about that our numerous ancestral possessions were lost on a boat which caught fire. Father always looked embarrassed when she recounted this tale to visitors, and rapidly changed the subject.
The truth was far more wonderful.
Father and his brother, Uncle Ming, were both self-made men. Of their parentage I know little. It was a subject everyone avoided. Sadly, none of our ancestors’
bones lie in the family tomb that Father constructed at great expense. We are much weakened by this misfortune.
He became Lord of Wei as a reward for his service in the wars. Most notably, he leapt to the defence of General Yueh Fei when the latter had been unhorsed during the Battle of T’su Hu Pass, and found himself alone, surrounded by barbarians. At this desperate moment a humble lieutenant of the Glorious Destiny Regiment appeared by his side. He instantly slew two Kin warriors with his halberd and decapitated a third. Then he drew his sword. Bellowing like a frenzied bull, he swept away another four barbarians. By this time other soldiers of the Glorious Destiny Regiment had formed a protective ring around General Yueh Fei and my father had sustained enough wounds to kill a dragon, let alone a man. The proof was written across his body in deep scars until the day he died.
Those minutes of valour broke my father
This story taught me bad dreams, and each time I visited the privy I peered nervously through the hole for Lady Qi.
Nevertheless the privy was home to a kind of cricket whose piercing chirps were like mournful gongs on a foggy evening, echoing from afar. One could only listen in wonder.
Leaving the courtyard, we climbed back to the Middle House. Here Mother and my sisters were already at work, embroidering gowns and coats so we might appear finer than our neighbours. A long, clean room where they laboured in silence, save for murmured instructions or rebukes. When I arrived Mother would brighten. She always favoured me over my two sisters, who were older and on the cusp of marriage. That was natural. There’s a saying in Wei: one son worth a dozen daughters. Unless, of course, your son turns out to be a feckless, disobedient wastrel.
Mother summoned me to the stool where she worked, brocade spread across her knees, and stroked the small tuft at the top of my shaven head. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Have the servants laid out a proper breakfast?’ ‘How much did you eat?’ I was too impatient to answer, my business too important. At last she released me with a sigh.
Little Wudi and I scampered to the store chambers at the side of Middle House. Here might be found a white, bloodless kind of cricket living in the dark spaces beneath the eaves, known as Pale-Fragrant-Forehead, on account of its clammy body. A morose creature, it seemed too gentle to make a good fighter, but as they say, beware silent ones. I saw it leap upon green field crickets and crush them after a short struggle. Pale-Fragrant-Forehead detested any intruder in its territory, where it laid numerous sticky white eggs, like tiny beads. These it tended with fierce devotion. So to get the best from it, one had to collect a few eggs for it to guard.
The lumber rooms were mostly empty, although with each year more clutter filled the bare spaces. Our family owned little when Father first came here after his elevation. Mother put it about that our numerous ancestral possessions were lost on a boat which caught fire. Father always looked embarrassed when she recounted this tale to visitors, and rapidly changed the subject.
The truth was far more wonderful.
Father and his brother, Uncle Ming, were both self-made men. Of their parentage I know little. It was a subject everyone avoided. Sadly, none of our ancestors’
bones lie in the family tomb that Father constructed at great expense. We are much weakened by this misfortune.
He became Lord of Wei as a reward for his service in the wars. Most notably, he leapt to the defence of General Yueh Fei when the latter had been unhorsed during the Battle of T’su Hu Pass, and found himself alone, surrounded by barbarians. At this desperate moment a humble lieutenant of the Glorious Destiny Regiment appeared by his side. He instantly slew two Kin warriors with his halberd and decapitated a third. Then he drew his sword. Bellowing like a frenzied bull, he swept away another four barbarians. By this time other soldiers of the Glorious Destiny Regiment had formed a protective ring around General Yueh Fei and my father had sustained enough wounds to kill a dragon, let alone a man. The proof was written across his body in deep scars until the day he died.
Those minutes of valour broke my father
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