The Ghost in the Palace

That morning, why did her silken shoes take her to Shufeng's abandoned residence? Emika stood numbly before the wooden gates as time reversed eight years ago...

Back then she was sixteen years of age and a callow youth who had sadly let herself enraptured by the mysterious lute player living in the undesirable Palace of Celestial Tranquillity.

She was especially intrigued with the reasons as why someone would chose to live there. Either he was valiant or he wasn't quite right in the head! Her youthful mind nurtured with fantastical stories of astonishing miracles and heroic adventures could not help being excitedly stimulated by her chance encounter with this young man: Is he a ghost hunter?

For you see, curious about him, she had enquired about the dreary palace in the abandoned southwest corner of the Imperial City, and she had learned of the tale of the beheaded ghost...

*** ***

Thirty seven years ago, the Palace of Celestial Tranquility used to be the residence of the concubine of exiled Emperor Changzou. After her execution by beheading, rumours spread that her father had buried her head somewhere in the gardens and cursed the Imperial Family.

On the nights of the anniversary of the concubine's death; handmaids, household guards, gardeners and other palace staffs trembled and dared each other to walk across the garden and call out her name. 

And those eager to prove how unafraid they were (most often the household guards) ventured in the garden, and upon hearing a suspicious whooshing and immediately afterwards seeing a brilliant diaphanous headless body, lost their last shred of courage and fled.

And so it went from year to year, and from mouth to mouth: the palace is haunted! Many claimed they had seen the beheaded woman dragging a shovel around, digging and looking for her head.

Things went so far that, when the Bureau of Imperial Grounds reported over and over the mysterious disappearances of rakes and shovels, and firmly denied the existence of moles in the Emperor's gardens, everyone was convinced that the ghost of the concubine was to blame for the gardens being dug up; and a many imagined they could hear her distant wailing in the night wind and even in the daytime.

When, to crown it all, young Empress Yū Miko's first child died minutes after birth, and her father, Commander Fūma Norihori died suddenly the next day in his sleep; everyone took it as certain that the spook-ridden and ill-omen palace was to blame for all these calamities.

Finally the gates of the palace were bolted fast and barricaded, and it was allowed to fall into ruin and desolation for over three decades. It became the dwelling place for thorns and weeds, rats and bats and otherworldly creatures which shun daylight—until one day the Emperor reopened its gates for the new residents.

*** ***

The sun peeked at Emika from behind the clouds as she pushed open the tall wooden gates. And now confusion overcame her as she stepped into the withered garden. She felt like a soldier returning to the battlefield. Her entire shadow fallen on the cobblestones had sunk into a gloomy mood. She shivered, but not from the penetrating breeze less glacial than the memories had turned.

Every leave on every tree and each petal takes on its own particular colour in the bloom of autumn, but there was nothing inviting about the garden at the residence where Shufeng was bound.

Every dull weed grew at its own angry will and the insects annoyed her with a concert of cries.

She touched the knotty bark of the willow-leaf pear tree, tracing old characters of friendship that she, Shufeng, Li Ji and Jian had whittled on that very tree years ago.

These awakened memories, echos of those long ago secrets moments shared with the Second Prince, jarred her mind. She would spin in this garden like a little girl, arms out wide and fingers spread, but now she felt foreign and oppressed.

She glared at the palace. A palace by name only—so dreary, so lonely, so silent.

She moved slowly along the veranda and recalled sitting with Shufeng and Taizong, the birdsongs and the gentleness of the summer sun, spilled liquor and their drunken smiles.

Behind the double sliding doors, she found the east aisle in a state of wild disorder. Wooden trunks  had been broken open and some of the contents smashed, broken and ripped. She threaded her way among torn scrolls of ancient poetry, and fanciful paintings drawn by Shufeng representing lakes and mountains that had been trampled down.

She  stepped over the broken sliding panels leading to the prince's bedchamber. There,  cushions, garments, blankets and more books were scattered about the room. Countless books! She recalled how bewildered she had been the first time she went inside the Second Prince's house for she had never seen so many books. It was like all the books in the world were stored into this house! 

Among the disordered heaps of books on the floor, Emika recognised some of the barbarian books of unfamiliar, unheard-of knowledge which he collected and studied. Shufeng had shown her books of sketching and maps covered in illegible squiggles which, to her intense admiration, he could read a little. Looking back, he opened her eyes to the wider world outside the Imperial City. She was taken to distant continents to experience exotic voyages. 

Her foot accidentally hit one book in particular that suddenly crushed her spirits to dust. As she held the memoirs of Sota Ho Oguri in her trembling hands, Emika recalled that night of the Moon of the Red Clouds.

Sitting together in the garden, Shufeng passionately flicked through the pages taking her to unknown lands and to unknown oceans. "Sota Ho Oguri is the greatest explorer in the world," he had said with awe. "He explored more than forty nations in his numerous naval expeditions. His determination never faltered even in the face of dangers and near death experiences: violent storms, illnesses, hunger and pirates ships.

"In the darkest moments of my life, I read his words. They bring me comfort. His ability to sail fearlessly as far as the unknown, to venture where no other man had dared to go before, strengthens my resolve and gives me courage to endure my trials."

She still could feel the warmth of his hands on her shoulders where he had held her, his voice filled with passion, announcing: "One day, I will have my own ship and head towards the distant seas, free as a bird. Will you come with me?"

Emika sat on the white wooden bed surrounded by a series of overlapping tattered damask curtains. Her hand was trailing over the faded blue damask peppered with many old holes but also new ones. She almost smiled remembering his light-hearted words: "Even the moths are toiling to feed their families." Her heart used to ache for he led a life inferior and so rough to the one expected by his royal birth. His existence was surrounded by all things old, torn, dilapidated and shabby, and by the absence of familial relationships and love.

Her gaze landed on a silvery clothes-chest inlaid with a naturescape design of cherry blossoms lining a river, in itself nothing out of the ordinary and yet it reminded her of their fishing dates at the Chunyan River.

Then her misty eyes fell upon a silken flowery scroll peeking from under the bamboo cabinet opposite the bed. Her nervous fingers took the scroll, unhurriedly rolled it out and she saw the portrait on which a poetic line was written: 'I will love you even longer than the Chunyan River would flow.'

Love… it felt strange to read for the very first time about a feeling that was never spoken.

She felt her heart torn when she read it a second time: Who could have imagined that a heart so warm and loving as his should be turned to cold ashes and evil? And she broke into violent sobbing. He was a lie coated in honey!

The sight of her portrait brought to her memory every moment that had occurred in this room. Images of Shufeng popped up randomly. He was sitting at his desk and painting her picture for the hundredth times. He was giving her a slight frown for she could not keep still nor pose gracefully enough. After a while, his wide smile answered her plea: "Em, the sky is clear, the sun bright and the fishes bored. Shall we go fishing?" Or "Em, shall we put on a disguise and go see the new marionette show tonight?"

Remembering all that had given her pleasure was intolerably painful. Barely conscious she let her red silken shoes guide her to the west aisle.

On the kerria-rose armrest rested his lute.

"Who can bring back the happy moments," she cried out, "they have fled forever! What is left in the past to remember?" She seized the lute and she flung it about on all sides.

Oblivious to her surroundings she stumbled upon the divider screen which was ripped and crumpled on the floor, lost her balance and fell. Picking herself up, in a bout of rage she kicked a piece of the divider about and happened to glimpse an object gliding across the floorboard at the same time.

The first sight of the moss-in-snow jade hairpin gave her a severe shock. At that instant, a strange and very expressive grimace twisted her face all over; which, if she were able to see her reflection in a mirror, would have caused her to shrink away at the unpleasantness, almost ugliness, of her expression.

The hairpin was gifted to her, so it still belonged to her.

She slipped it inside her chest, within the fold of her layering robes, bitterly blaming herself in futile regrets: How foolish was I to have taken his flowery talk for sincerity of heart and to have trusted his lavish affections.

She stared straight upward trying to hold back the unwanted tears coming to her eyes. The joy of carefree days were not to be remembered. And she rushed outside.

She prayed Heaven to make her strong for she had not yet gotten her revenge.