4 A Consort's Last Bow

Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang should have been standing when His Majesty, the Emperor, stepped into her chambers. In fact, she should have spent her day in the antechamber, waiting for him to grace her with his glorious presence. For that was the duty of a court lady. To wait for His Majesty, the Emperor. Wait for him though he would not come. Wait for him though he was engrossed in the kisses of another woman. Wait for him until her hair turned white, her eyes turned blind, her hands trembled. Wait for him like one waits for death. It was a court lady's duty to spend her life waiting.

However, an Imperial Noble Consort could expect the Emperor to actually come. Though he might not have wanted it himself. There was a sort of tacit agreement between the Emperor and the most powerful woman in the Inner Palace. Since the Imperial Noble Consort was but a secondary wife, she should not be held in contempt. She should be viewed as favored even if the Emperor wanted to wring her neck and throw her corpse into a pond. This tacit agreement was in fact the reason consorts died more often than Empress Consorts. The Emperor had but one way to have them replaced. Death. It was indeed sweeter than being deposed.

An Empress Consort could always be discarded. In fact, being a discarded Empress Consort had its own charm, it added a bit of spice to life. An Empress Consort, when discarded, could drape herself in the cloak of an offended, virtuous main wife. Who suffers in grandiose silence. Her tears more beautiful than the most beautiful pearls. Her soft suffering more splendid than her coronet. However, an Empress Consort never was the most power woman in the Inner Palace.

An Emperor might have chosen himself an Empress Consort. When he did, he was careful in his selection. At least, careful the first time. The first time, he would choose a woman who held no beauty, no power, no ambition. Nothing, in short to recommend her. Then, at some point in his imperial career, the Emperor would remove said paragon of virtue in a most shocking manner and replace her with a singer, a dancer or even a servant! Miaolan had told Xiarou. It was not without a precedent. Unless of course, the Empress Consort was foisted upon him for political reasons. Which more often than not was the case. Then of course, the Empress Consort could not, would not, be suffered to be the most powerful woman in the harem.

No. The most powerful woman in the harem was the one in front of whom the Emperor swayed. A woman that would at all times make the Emperor question the true extent of her power. She may have been foisted onto him. She may have been chosen by him. Whatever the case, to be the most powerful woman in the Inner Palace, she needed to have some sort of influence over the Emperor that transcended petty interest. If a political pawn, she could not only be a political pawn. If a plaything, she could not only be a plaything. And she was one who would tear the whole Palace down if ever held in contempt. For the whole palace was under her sole control.

The most powerful woman in the Inner Palace was inside the chambers the Emperor had penetrated in a gust of air, his long sleeves flapping behind him.

It amused Miaolan. Ah-Li was treading in in such a dramatic fashion, as if he had only just heard the news of her parents' timely demise. But Rong Fengli was exactly that. An actor. Not one street actor could be a match to him. She would have wished to tell him that. To tell him how much she admired his talent. She had judiciously kept her tongue between her teeth for the last seven years. Yes, Ah-Li tolerated her obscenity because it had a certain flavour to it. It was fresh in this harem where everything smelled of perfume, tasted of gold and rustled like silk. However, there was a limit to how much fresh, new and … common an Emperor could tolerate. Having himself likened to a street actor was beyond the line of what was pleasing.

All of the Emperor's women would have stood up as soon as the voices of the eunuchs announcing His Majesty had been heard. They would have welcomed him bowing. Confused with joy at the idea he graced their dwelling. In fact, Rong Fengli liked to have himself announced before he visited the ladies. There was nothing more disagreeable than walking in on a scene one did not particularly wish to witness. Women could be deceitful in their beauty. They used creams and powders to conceal the blemishes on their faces. Painted their lips to make them appear like flowers in bloom. Drew their eyebrows to give them a fine, willowy shape.

But underneath all of that artifice, there was so much ugliness.

Of course, there must have been an exception to the rule. The most powerful woman in the Inner Palace. The one who leisurely waited in bed as the Emperor walked in. She simply placed one foot on the floor by a small face. Xiaorou had fallen to her knees and placed her forehead on the ground as the Emperor had been announced. The girl had truly learned her craft. One would have mistaken her for the basest of slaves.

Miaolan stood up in a languid motion, her eyes raising to the Emperor's. How regal! He was a sight to behold. Ah-Li was trying to make her think that he had rushed to her at the first free moment. Had she been any other court lady, she might have believed him. However, Miaolan knew her Ah-Li well. Her father had been right. He would not wait an instant to set old scores with her. She was sure he had spent the better part of the day thinking of the most efficient way to remove one very cumbersome Liang Miaolan.

In a very slow motion, the woman who had risen placed her hands in front of her bust and slightly bowed. Just enough for the collar of her very thin shift to reveal what should have only been meant for the Emperor's eyes.

"This humble servant begs His Majesty, the Emperor, to forgive her for this disgraceful reception."

Those huskily whispered words coupled to the outline of a woman's silhouette through the thin material of her shift made Rong Fengli's eyes narrow. The tone of her voice had not let a particle of respect filter through. The way she was dressed spoke of contempt. Even in such a situation as this, Liang Miaolan found ways to be vulgar and infuriating.

Turning around, cold eyes scanned her chambers before falling on what seemed to be a most decorative barbarian stool. Indeed, that woman had come from the northwestern regions. She had brought with her the habits of the Hūna, such as that low folding stool. It was part of who she was, that sort of barbarian lack of decorum. One would have expected the Palace to fix her bad habits for her. It had, in fact, only exacerbated them.

At a sweep of his long, thin hand, one of his manservants rushed forward to grab onto the stool and bring it by Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang's side. She had not straightened from her half-bow, her eyes closed, a serene expression resting on her face. The manservants also kept their heads lowered, knowing full well that some people were not to be looked at directly. The Emperor's favored consort was such one person. Especially when she was barely attired.

"You may withdraw."

A deep, masculine voice resounded through the room. It was neither forceful nor arrogant. It had no need to be. Arrogance was for those who needed to prove their worth. Emperor Xinlong was the Chosen One. Ruling by Heavenly Decree. A deity having descended from the skies to ensure the will of the Gods be done. Screaming, demanding, trampling the world underneath his feet was below him. It had always been. Even as a child he had had that deceivingly soft and gentle aura that clung to him like a particularly foul smell. Particularly foul according at least to one Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang. The softest men, those with benevolent smiles eternally plastered across their faces, were the ones one had to be most cautious around.

Emperor Xinlong sat on the stool in a rustle of silk. At once, his manservants bowed and backed out of the room. The little silhouette at Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang's feet scrambled to stand up and take her own leave, her spine bent, never turning her back on the Emperor, who followed the departure of the maid from the corner of his eyes. Who would have thought that behind that gentle smile of his, there was much venom? No one would have believed that at the moment he had seen that scarred harlot, he had wanted to kick her in the stomach. Kick her, kick her until she bled out on the ground. He had always hated that one. Had he been asked why, he would not have known how to answer. There was something about that maid that made the worst in him come out.

And there was something about that maid's mistress that made him want to break her neck. And that wish, that desire had been burning in his heart for the last seven years.

"Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang should quickly lay down. We worry that today's news might have gravely indisposed her."

'Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang'. Rong Fengli had only ever addressed her by the multiple titles she had held in the palace. Never had his tongue slipped. Miaolan wondered whether he had ever realized the mistake he had made. Or whether he had wanted her to see the coldness that lurked in those gentle eyes of his. He had showered her with what others had called favor. He had haunted her chambers with a need very similar to the type her father had felt towards his pot of wine. And yet, he had always succeeded in keeping that distance between them.

She had known him to be loving to some of his women. She had even caught him once softly whispering the Empress Consort's name into her ear. Yet, when it came to the one who would look up from between his legs, a mocking smile on her lips, she would always be 'Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang'. And it was a good thing. The idea of ever being called 'Lan'er' by the likes of Rong Fengli nauseated her.

She let herself fall on her bed, her back leaning against the headboard. Rong Fengli's eyes narrowed, the only crack in his perfect mask. What had he expected to find when coming to her? To see her cry? To see her wretched? Frightened at the loss of her only backing?! He did not know himself.

She had always evaded his most precise calculations. Every time he had betted on one outcome concerning her, he had lost his bet. It was not surprising. Liang Miaolan could at best have been called uncouth. But in reality, she was an ill-raised mongrel. Without talent, without grace, without intelligence. She was of the lowest vulgarity. No better than an animal. Yet, she had been greatly instrumental to him. Or at least, so he had thought for the last seven years.

And here he was, a falsely worried expression on his face, once again shrewdly examining Liang Miaolan. She did not avoid his eyes. She never did. She let him take a good, hard look. And she took one in turn.

The Emperor was the first gentleman of his Empire. He was the Son of Heavens. The great Dragon, strong and powerful, who ruled over their realm. And as such, he must also have been mesmerizingly handsome. And indeed, any court lady would have sincerely sworn that there could be no man more graceful, elegant and outstanding than Emperor Xinglong. He was unparalleled.

All of that infatuation women had for the Emperor stemmed from one concept. Power. Emperor Xinglong, Rong Fengli, was powerful. And power attracted the weak. Women were weak from birth. This weakness was imposed on them by a system that victimized them, while they upheld it. And their closest chance to power was to be attached to a man who held it. Thus the sanguinary battles that ensued in the Inner Palace. They fought for the Emperor's favor. They fought with him, attacking him with their beauty, their charms, their aptitudes. And they fought between themselves. Plotting against one another, setting traps and using the harsh laws and rules of the world they lived in to dispose of one another.

But was Rong Fengli worth the blood, the suffering, the pain and ultimately, the lives, of all these women? Had at least one of them been asked, she would have laughed herself to death.

Rong Fengli was certainly not unparalleled and all-conquering. At least, where looks were concerned. One would not even have called him handsome. Oh, he was by no means ill-looking. But his mouth was too thin and large. It had no color to it. His face was long and narrow. His skin pale, but not of that snowy paleness so prized among the nobles. Rather, it had an unhealthy, yellow hue that transpired through, testament to the many sleepless nights he endured. He was a very tall man, a true northerner. However, his height gave the impression he was lanky and had no force.

He was a scholar. At heart, he was as treacherous as only a frail man could be.

But the woman seated on the bed, her legs stretched out, the thin fabric of her shift not even covering her knees, had not learned to appreciate a scholar. In fact, she had never seen one in her life.

She just sat there, staring at the Emperor. He did not know how to sit on a stool. He looked ridiculous, with his back straight as a rod and his legs bent at the knee. Especially with him being such a tall man. Her father would have laughed, had he seen this son-in-law of his. Unfortunately, there was not much laughing her father would ever do again.

When Protector General Liang took place on a stool, it generally was to announce punishment. Whether at the encampment or at home, he would let his body fall onto the stool, stretch out one leg, bend the other, place his elbow on the bent knee and lean forward. And stare. The staring part was important. Protector General Liang, an impulsive hot-head of a man, could stare one out of one's countenance. A whip in his hands, listening with intent to the explanations of whoever had earned oneself a thrashing, he would look in front of himself from between his long, black eyelashes. Exuding menace and dominance. That is how a Hua sat on an Hūna stool.

Rong Fengli's eagle eyes noticed the slight twitch at the corner of Liang Miaolan's lips. He mistook it for a tremor of emotion. He had spent too much time closed up in this cage of a palace, only ever interacting with the same people, only ever seeing the same faces. The Emperor was a man dependent on the information that was transmitted him. He could not step out of the palace to verify whatever was told him. And thus, that twitch at the corner of Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang's lips was easily linked to the reports detailing her father's utter attachment to her. Of course, that smallest of movements at the corner of her mouth must have been the expression of her sadness at his loss.

And that was the opening the Emperor had waited for. The court ladies learned to wait for the Emperor. The Emperor learned to wait for opportunities.

Like a fox prancing on his prey, Rong Fengli leaned in, his fine, white hand covering the small fist by the side of the bed. He wanted to express his desire to comfort her. However, his eyes were too eager to take in the smallest change in Miaolan's physiognomy. That eagerness made them cold as ice.

"Imperial Noble Consort Huihuang has suffered."

Miaolan observed how the fine, black eyebrows of the Emperor furrowed in a semblance of worry. How fake concern tugged the left corner of his lips downward. It made her tired. These seven years of playing at this game of cat and mouse with Ah-Li had made her supremely tired. Somewhere deep inside of her, she wondered whether this death she had been so desperately avoiding would not have been sweeter than all the blood and mud she had lapped up in this glorious palace of Rong Fengli's.

But her father had told Miaolan that the only thing worth respecting in this world was this imperative, this painful need to live. This instinct that made Xiongnu slaves out of Hua soldiers, camp harlots out of widows. Filthy, treacherous, immoral palace whores out of daughters.

And that is why she hated Rong Fengli at that very instant. Had he only known he had finally succeeded in shaking her to the core, he would have been jubilant. It is not the threat to her existence that she hated but this frivolity with which he had come to announce her downfall. She could not forgive this disrespect to life. But what to expect from a man who had killed his own kin for power?!

But Miaolan was not the type to die without venting her grievances. And when it came to frivolity, who more frivolous than a harem woman?!

She slowly slid her little fist from under Rong Fengli's cold hand. It was not a movement of disgust or petulance. Rather, it had the feel of a snake slithering across one's skin. Her whole body in fact slithered across the covers of her simple bed, making them whisper and rustle. Miaolan extended a foot to place her toes against the floor, her other leg curled beneath her.

The arc of that little foot on the ground, right between his own legs, that shift that had slid almost to her waist, the way her thighs were opened. All of that made Rong Fengli's throat palpitate. This was his weakness. This trail along her white thighs and into the darkness of her clothes.

Liang Miaolan lived in constant penumbra. She detested light, especially light in her dwelling. Her maidservants, after prolonged periods of serving her developed photophobia, making it pure torture to step out into glaring sunlight. Her chambers were filled with lamps. All sorts of lamps that played shadow games against her pale skin at that very moment. Distorting her features into those of a demon.

The turbid light of the trembling candle flames filtered through the very thin fabric of her shift, outlining her curves and edges. Curves and edges as taunting as the way she leaned in, looking directly into the Emperor's face. She would not bend her head, even when it was bent. She would not kneel, even when she was kneeling.

If the Emperor were the first gentleman of his Empire, the embodiment of perfect beauty, wisdom and talent, then his beloved Imperial Noble Consort must have been a paragon herself. She must have been accomplished at the lute, have a striking taste in calligraphy, the ability to recite poetry at will, whether that of the great masters or her own, her embroidery must have been lifelike. As for appearance, she would of course have had willowy eyebrows, small, narrow eyes, a mouth, minute, in the shape of a crimson orchid, an oval face, paler than snow, and hair as dark as the night. Her body would have been thin and fragile, inviting a man's protection.

And of course … of course … Liang Miaolan did not meet one of the requirements of female beauty. Or rather, no. Her skin was indeed pale. However, the veins underneath it were so colorful that they transformed her body into a vivid painting. By a temple, green and blue veins formed what resembled a map of rivers. She was indeed very small, even for a Hua woman. But in no way was she thin. Between her heavy breasts, the lowest of men would look for a path leading to bliss. Her waist might have been narrow, but her hips announced a good breeder. Her round face held none of that virtuous timidity that men expected in a wife. Rather, it held the promise of a commoner's vulgar good-humor, confirmed by the smiles that would sometimes grace her large, fleshy mouth, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. The canines as trenchant as a dog's.

Such a woman … such a woman could only have been likened to a prostitute. Not to a courtesan whose scholarly talents would make her a sort of feminine minister ruling over the literati of the capital. No, the type of prostitute the lowest of commoners visited to assuage their thirst for the basest practices. Such a woman had no place in society, let alone in the Imperial Harem. And yet, she had been brought there. She had been a sort of scourge the Emperor had forced onto himself. The price to pay to stabilize his power over the Empire.

And this incongruence, as her eyes stared into his, took Rong Fengli's hand. Straightened his fingers, one by one. He did not dare break the eye-contact. It was a game. It was all about who would last the longest at playing this comedy. He would not let his intentions seep through. She might have been won battle after battle in the palace. He would win the war, however.

What he did not expect was to feel the soft grating of silk and gold threads against his skin, sliding over the knuckles of four of his fingers and coming to rest against his metacarpus. He lowered his eyes and saw a small bracelet, too small to be able to pass over his hand, but also too big for a baby's wrist. It was the type of bracelet parents had made for their children, believing the coin-shaped numismatic charms would protect them so they could grow into the bracelet.

A muscle jumped in Rong Fengli's jaw. Yet, he could not tear his eyes from the bracelet. A strange memory came to mind. He remembered a nineteen-year old woman seated on the floor in a disorder of silks, her hand inside a silent crib, looking in front of her, her big eyes set alight with the flames of hatred. Not one tear hanging from her eyelashes.

"Suffering, hm? What did this humble one suffer from, Your Majesty? Oh, let us drop the pretense. I am in no mood to play games."

Liang Miaolan dropped the illeism at once. She was the only one who dared use the 'I' and 'you' in front of the Emperor, though she never did it in public. Even the Empress Consort, in the midst of throes of passion, would refer to herself as "your humble servant consort" when she wished for him to pick up pace.

"The only thing I suffer from is irony, do you not agree?"

Those words held a trenchant note to them.

"A worthless mother whose child died before its time."

Her breath fanned over Rong Fengli's lips.

"An undeserving daughter who could not even be present for her parents last moments."

He felt her nails that had not left his skin press into his palm.

"I am my parents' blood, flesh and bone. They died. My son was my blood, flesh and bone. He died. Logic might have wanted my parents to die before me, but not my son. I assume, however, that I would be the next to go. So that the Liang bloodline finally be severed. Do you not agree?"

Rong Fengli remembered a nineteen-year old woman seated on the floor in a disorder of silks, her hand inside a silent crib, looking in front of her, her big eyes set alight with the flames of hatred. Those eyes were staring right at him.

"Well, Ah-Li?"