chapter 4

I studied with Matron Zhang for five years. When I was fourteen, she said she had nothing left to teach me.

I stared at her. “But there are so many movements, so many dances I haven’t learned…”

“You can learn them yourself. You no longer need me.”

For the first time, Matron Zhang stroked my head. I had never seen her so gentle. When teaching, she was stern and exacting and scarcely ever smiled.

“Your Highness is exceptionally gifted. You must continue practicing. Don’t… become like your mother…”

She blurred the final words. I did not hear them clearly, but I knew she never broke her word. She would teach me no more.

After returning, I asked Sister Su to teach me chestnut cakes. I had studied under Matron Zhang for five years without once offering her even tea. I was ashamed.

Sister Su knew I danced. Though worried, she never stopped me; she only warned me never to be discovered.

My sister and I were no longer as close as at first, yet she still remembered me. She occasionally sent gifts, enough to keep eunuchs and maids from excessive cruelty, and life became much easier.

As Sister Su showed me how to steam chestnuts and grind them into flour, she chattered, “It may be best that Your Highness stops dancing. After New Year you’ll receive your hairpin and come of age. Then I’ll spend my savings to ask one of the empress’s servants to put in a good word and find Your Highness a fine husband. Your days will all be happy after that.”

Her smiling eyes curved, but I noticed only the wrinkles at their corners.

Sister Su had grown old in the grinding palace years. At twenty-four, she was no longer young.

“I’ll take you out of the palace with me. Then you’ll never work again. You’ll only enjoy yourself.”

Though I said it lightly, an inexplicable fear stirred inside me.

Was marriage truly good? And who would want an unfavored princess like me?

Carrying the finished chestnut cakes to the bureau, I found it in an uproar. A young servant told me that Princess Ninghui’s coming-of-age ceremony had been held that day, and a grand banquet would celebrate her that evening.

Of course. My sister had invited me to attend, but fearing trouble, I had sent a gift instead.

“What can we do? Sister Hongxiao sprained her ankle. Who will lead tonight’s grand dance?”

“Only she knows the final section. None of us can do it.”

The leading dancer had been injured and there was no substitute. When I found Matron Zhang, her rare frown betrayed worry.

My sister was the empress’s most precious treasure. If her celebration went wrong, the empress’s fury would descend upon the entire bureau.

Only Hongxiao and Matron Zhang, who had taught her, knew “Phoenix Ascending to the Nine Heavens.”

I set down the cakes and prepared to leave. At the door, I heard the director plead, “If no one else can do it, you must. If we change the dance without permission and the empress takes offense, everyone in the bureau will be punished. Can you bear that?”

Matron Zhang could not. In five years I had learned that beneath her cold exterior lay a warm heart. The bureau was her home, its women her family.

But I also knew how fiercely she despised the powerful. Dancing for them violated her deepest convictions and felt like humiliation.

I returned to the room and said quietly but firmly, “I will do it.”

As Matron Zhang’s most gifted student, I knew the dance too.

Later, veiled and dressed in flowing costume outside the great hall, I still felt I was dreaming.

Matron Zhang had opposed my proposal. The director accepted it through gritted teeth. She loved Matron Zhang as a daughter and knew something of my secret training, so she understood that I could replace Hongxiao. After watching me rehearse with the troupe, she praised me lavishly.

Before we left, Matron Zhang stared at me for a long time with the same expression she had worn at our first meeting. At last she sighed, fastened a thick veil over my face herself, and warned me to let no one see me.

“A-Qing…”

As we parted, I thought I heard her whisper Mother’s childhood name. When I looked again, her usual composure had returned.

“Go.”

Never had I seen such splendor. High officials, imperial kin, and nobles crowded the hall to celebrate the legitimate princess. Even from the side chamber, I glimpsed a world of wealth and glory I had never touched.

Soon it was time for the bureau’s offering. Eyes lowered, I followed the dancers to the center of the hall.

It was my first time dancing before so many people, surrounded by the most powerful men and women of Great Qi. As the music began, I drew a breath, traced a light, graceful step with my toe, and began “Phoenix Ascending to the Nine Heavens.”

The phoenixes fly together, their bright wings sounding.

The phoenix calls upon the lofty ridge.

No song could have better honored a princess.

Halfway through, I spread my arms and spun on my toes into the dance’s fiery climax. Yet as the music soared, I thought of Mother. Years ago she had stood where I now stood and danced this same dance, full of hope, into a life of chains.

“Ah!”

At a cry, cool air touched my cheek. A nervous dancer had slipped and knocked away my veil. The formation broke; several girls stumbled.

Disaster.

My heart chilled. I lowered my face, trying both to restore the veil and steady the troupe. But I had never led them before, and we shared no practiced understanding. The musicians noticed our confusion and faltered. Murmurs rose around us.

From the corner of my eye, I glanced toward the dais. My sister still wore a faint smile, but the empress’s gaze had turned into a poisoned blade.

If the performance ended in disgrace, the bureau would face her thunderous wrath. The director, Matron Zhang, every dancer—none would escape.

As I desperately searched for a remedy, a clear, high xiao flute pierced the fading strings and rose into the hall.

While everyone turned toward the unexpected sound, I swiftly adjusted my veil, steadied myself, and signaled the dancers. Then I sprang from their ranks and began a solo to the flute.

I did not know the musician, yet felt a strange and perfect accord with him. Every note melted into my steps; music and dance completed each other as one.

Behind me, the troupe recovered its formation. At a turn in the melody, I flowed naturally back among them and resumed the interrupted dance.

When the music ended, sweat pearled my brow—from exertion or fear, I could not tell. We stood calmly awaiting reward or punishment.

“Mother…” My sister spoke, no doubt intending to intercede.

Another voice covered hers. “I offer ‘The Phoenix Seeks His Mate’ in honor of the princess. May she enjoy this happy day year after year.”

A richly dressed young man stood alone in the magnificent hall, as serene and smiling as the green-jade flute in his hand.

My sister’s face lit with a smile unlike her former courtesy, warm enough to melt ancient ice.

“A-Yan, you’re here. Thank you.”

“If Your Highness is pleased. I came late, but fortunately I arrived in time.”

Their intimate exchange drew every eye. Even the empress smiled faintly. At her glance, a eunuch quietly led us away to an empty side hall.

Only when lively music resumed and everything returned to normal did the dancers finally breathe.

After the strain, the young girls whispered excitedly about gorgeous clothes, rare delicacies, and exalted figures glimpsed from afar.

“Princess Ninghui is so beautiful—truly an immortal, noble as the moon above a mountain!”

“Did you see the Crown Prince? The brother and sister look so alike…”

“What about the young lord with the xiao?”

“Of course! He saved us. Do you know who he is?”

One blushing girl had accompanied Hongxiao to perform at the chancellor’s mother’s birthday. Under her companions’ urging, she finally said, “He is the chancellor’s eldest son—the jade-faced gentleman famed throughout the capital, Ning Ruyan.”