Chapter 8 The Dance of Enchantment (II)

Violet smoke curled gracefully from the bronze incense burner shaped like a mythic beast, filling the chamber with a warm and gentle fragrance.

As night deepened and it was time for rest, layers of gauzy curtains were drawn down in the bedchamber. The silk veils, embroidered with phoenixes clutching vines, came to life under the soft glow of palace lamps. Doors and windows were tightly shut. In the warm alcove, on the couch, at the foot of the bed, and upon the chairs, four female attendants with soft black headscarves lay or half-reclined or sat, all with eyes closed, their breathing steady and even. Clearly, exhaustion had overtaken them, for otherwise they would never have failed to notice that His Majesty himself now stood at their mistress’s bedside.

Youshi, renowned for her meticulousness, had selected these maidens from noble families to accompany her into the palace as part of her dowry. Their vigilance and loyalty were unquestionable; such lapses in attention would never last long. The first to sense something amiss was Qiuyun, who had fallen asleep with her head on the table. In truth, she had only just closed her eyes out of sheer weariness, and the moment she dozed off, sleep claimed her completely.

Qiuyun was the chief wardrobe attendant to the Empress and the principal stewardess within the Empress’s palace. Cautious and thoughtful by nature, at the merest glimpse of that imperial yellow hem, she instantly dropped to her knees and cried out in a clear voice, “May Your Majesty enjoy ten thousand years of peace.”

Her exclamation startled the other three awake. Though their eyes were bleary and their minds still clouded with sleep, they too knelt and echoed, “May Your Majesty enjoy ten thousand years of peace,” not one of them losing composure. Such details spoke volumes: if the servants were so well-trained, how much more so their mistress. It was plain that the House of You had not yet lost its luster.

Ji Ye felt both admiration and wariness at this. Yet when he brushed aside the soft curtain and saw the face of You Daidai, his heart eased. Imperial power endures for generations only in dreams—how much less so the might of a noble house. No power is invincible; every great family has its flaws, as the House of You had in You Daidai.

So what if she was arrogant and domineering, ruthless, quick to whip servants or torment palace consorts? Not only would he indulge her, he would let the world know he favored her above all. The wider his affection for her spread, the farther her notoriety would travel.

In time, when his grand designs were secure, as long as the House of You harbored no rebellion, he would simply excise this corrupt limb, You Daidai, and the great house would continue to prosper—only, it would never again grasp military authority.

On such silent nights, his thoughts drifted far. He absently handed the bone fan he’d been toying with to Li Fuquan, his trusty attendant, and said, “You may all withdraw. Tonight, I will care for Daidai myself.”

As always, in Ganquan Palace, he was tender and affectionate; his striking, ethereal face seemed a mask. He was still young, and at times the cracks would show when provoked by You Daidai’s willfulness. But it mattered little—he might glare at her in disdain one moment, only to return later, covering her hand and murmuring sweet words. This foolish woman would again be utterly devoted to him. So it was that whenever Lady Xingguo came, whenever she asked, You Daidai’s answers were invariably the same: “Brother Ye treats me extremely well. He gives me many treasures—gentle, considerate, passionate, indulgent.”

“Your Majesty, think carefully. You have morning court tomorrow,” Li Fuquan urged.

The four attendants also quickly knelt to show their deference, though none dared refuse. In all their upbringing, their will was to be their mistress’s will. Except for restraining her from lawless or criminal acts, whatever she desired, their duty was to see it accomplished.

Now their mistress slept deeply, but surely, in her heart, she wished for the Emperor to remain with her. Since he himself had proposed it, they could not have been more pleased.

“It matters not. I am young; one or two sleepless nights are nothing. Enough—you may all go,” he said.

Three years on the throne had given the Emperor a dragon’s majesty; even his softest words brooked no defiance.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Li Fuquan bowed, flicked his horsetail whisk, and led the retreat. The four attendants followed close behind.

As someone must still be near at hand for tea, water, or helping with robes, the servants did not go far. They remained behind the four layers of curtains, beyond the aquamarine silk screen, where a beaded curtain marked the warm alcove reserved for their own rest. Inside stood couches and a canopy bed, where favored servants could snatch a brief respite.

“Chief Steward, please take the seat of honor,” Chunmo said with a bright smile, tugging Li Fuquan toward the canopy bed.

Her nature was forthright and lively, unburdened by the strictures of decorum or feminine restraint. As long as it was not against custom, she acted as she pleased. Though Qiuyun was most trusted as chief steward, it was Chunmo whom You Daidai loved best and kept always at her side. As Empress, she could not personally punish others to vent her anger; it was always Chunmo, sleeves rolled up, who meted out retribution, earning her no shortage of palace enemies.

Xiaji was the youngest, most easily bullied, yet diligent and docile. Knowing Li Fuquan would stay, she hurried to pour him a steaming cup of tea, her intent to please as clear as day.

Dongcang, serious and strict, well-read and steeped in etiquette, usually stern and proper, now softened her expression for her mistress’s sake and bent to retrieve a box of assorted pastries for Qiuyun.

Qiuyun nodded and offered them with a smile.

After a round of quiet, polite refusals and greetings, Li Fuquan, eyes narrowed in delight, accepted the Empress’s four faithful attendants’ careful service.

They were all shrewd people: tonight, they enjoyed his favor; tomorrow, they would know how to reciprocate.

Nibbling on the soft pastries made from the You family’s secret recipe, Li Fuquan could not help but feel regret—four clever and well-mannered attendants, and yet their mistress was so unpromising, a “hopeless case” if ever there was one.

The night was long, the moonlight pure. In Yao Hua Palace, the Consort stood quietly at the window, her hair and brows veiled by a mist of spring.

It was late, and a fine, feathery rain began to fall.

“Your Ladyship, His Majesty has gone to Ganquan Palace.”

“Yes, at such a time, when our mistress’s fate hangs in the balance, how could A-Ye spend the night in another’s chambers? Of course, he must stay with our supremely favored mistress. So—extinguish the lights, let us rest.”

Though disappointment flickered in her eyes, her bearing was serene—the outcome tonight was merely not what she had hoped for.

As she prepared for bed, her feelings were mixed with joy and worry. If the Empress were to die… the thought itself was exhilarating. But the strength of the You clan brought concern—if anything befell the Empress, would her own father, the Prime Minister, be affected? The court might well undergo a round of purges.

Still, she could not believe the House of You could ever truly threaten the dynasty. They were an old family, yes, but there were also the gentry, led by her father. Since she entered the palace, the number of officials who attached themselves to her had only grown. After so many years of careful cultivation, not even the You clan could easily shake her foundation.

The Consort smiled in self-satisfaction, her delight visible only to her bed curtains and hanging sachets.

You Daidai’s bed was massive, ample enough for four or five sturdy men, but Ji Ye had no intention of sleeping there.

With hands clasped behind his back, he gazed down at You Daidai, his face cold and aloof.

At that moment, a sheen of sweat appeared on the woman’s body. Though it was still chilly in these waning days of spring, she felt stifling heat, as if she were sprawled on the sea’s surface, belly up under the blazing sun. For a snake demon that loved shade, this was nearly fatal.

She feared heat, feared the sun, dreaded becoming dried snake skin. She could only obey instinct, twisting and writhing in search of relief.

To Ji Ye’s eyes, it seemed his Empress, with sinuous, unsettling grace, slid out from beneath her white silk skirt, her body smooth and bare.

Truly bare—not a trace of undergarment, not even a breast band or smallclothes. Kneeling on hands and knees, she presented that enticing, throat-tightening curve of her hips in perfect view.

Two pert peaks, separated by a slender cleft—what lay below was no mystery to an Emperor. Yet her eyes remained closed, every movement seemingly unconscious.

Even for a man unmoved by lust, such a sight would stir the heart. Only the degree would differ.

But Ji Ye was not easily swayed. On the contrary, he was a man of formidable self-control, exuding a stern, ascetic air even while reading memorials at his desk.

His mind was a tangle of complexity, long past any notion of simple pleasure.

His throat was parched, yet the symbol of arousal remained soft, buried in the imperial waistband. What occupied his mind was You Daidai’s motive.

She, after guidance from some master, had learned the arts of seduction, hoping to bewitch him and win his affection. Such was the limit of You Daidai’s ambitions. And that mentor—who else could it be but Lady Xingguo?

These bedroom arts, descended from Daoist traditions—he well knew that a family famed for its library would have such books in its collection.

Old noble houses harbored many secret texts unknown to outsiders, but they were too miserly to share them, even with the Emperor. It was galling.

He did not know what thought crossed his mind, but his face grew cold again.

He watched the woman writhe upon the bed in her lascivious dance, and the murderous intent in his eyes deepened.

Faced with trembling breasts, a pert bottom, a delicate waist, he felt not desire, but suspicion. He recalled the poisoning incident: given the You family’s arrangements in the palace, how could any faction so easily succeed unless it was the You family themselves who had poisoned You Daidai?

Crane’s Red, a deadly poison, and yet You Daidai had survived by a hair’s breadth—there was certainly more beneath the surface.

At this, Ji Ye felt a surge of anger blaze within him, swift and unstoppable.

“You Daidai, how dare you!” he thundered.

He seized her narrow shoulders, lifting her without the least tenderness.

His constitution was cool, his hands always dry and chilled, and now the snake demon felt as though two slabs of ice had landed on her. Without hesitation, she coiled her tail around him, layer upon layer, and flicked out her tongue.

Ah, it seems the heavens have not abandoned the snakes after all.