Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Time in the palace was carved apart by the sound of the night watchman’s clapper.

The sky was still dark when the first crack split the dead silence of the communal sleeping quarters. It was like an ice pick stabbing into the muddled depths of sleep.

Nanny Zhang’s hoarse voice rang out from beyond the door.

“Up-!”

There was no hesitation.

It had almost become instinct.

A row of bodies sprang up from the hard plank bed at the same time, rustling as we groped for our gray cotton clothes and pulled them on.

No lamps were allowed. We had only the wan moonlight outside the window and the sound of one another fumbling in the dark.

We had to move quickly, and we had to move quietly.

If anyone was slow, or made too much noise, a scolding would come down on her head-sometimes even the loss of breakfast.

I tied the last sash around my waist, my fingers a little stiff from the cold.

The space beside me was empty. It had once been Lingzhu’s place.

Later, when the communal bed was cleaned out, several ginkgo leaves were found beneath her straw pillow. They had already dried and yellowed, but their shapes remained perfectly intact, arranged in a neat little row.

No one knew when she had picked them up, or where.

That place stayed empty, like a silent warning, reminding every one of us.

The washing water was icy enough to bite into the bone. The moment it splashed onto my face, it drove away every last trace of sleep.

We lined up and filed toward the kitchen.

Breakfast for the lowest palace maids was always the same:

A bowl of thin porridge clear enough to reflect a face, one coarse wheat bun, and a small dish of salty, astringent pickles.

No one spoke. There was only a muffled chorus of slurping.

We had to eat quickly. The next shift was waiting.

The bun was so hard it hurt the teeth. You had to soften it little by little with the porridge before you could swallow it down.

I always ate in silence, then licked the rim of my bowl clean.

I remembered the taste of hunger more clearly than anyone.

After the meal, everyone went to her assigned post.

I was sent to wipe down the corridors and passageways around the Western Six Palaces.

I collected a bucket and a rag. The water was ice-cold; if a little hot water had been mixed in to make it lukewarm, that was already considered a mercy.

In the early spring morning, the bluestone tiles gave off a chill that seeped straight into the bones.

When I knelt, even through my thin padded trousers, I could feel the stone’s hardness and coldness with perfect clarity.

One kneeling often lasted most of the day.

My arms moved back and forth mechanically, my eyes fixed on the cracks between the tiles, making sure not a speck of dust or a water stain remained.

My waist ached. My legs went numb. Still, I did not dare move easily.

The processions of masters often passed by, or powerful senior eunuchs and female officials hurrying on their way.

The moment we heard movement from afar, we had to stop what we were doing at once, withdraw to the side of the path, lower our heads, hold our breath, and wish we could shrink into the cracks of the wall. Only when the footsteps or the sound of a sedan chair had completely faded could we continue.

After a while, I developed a certain skill.

Without raising my head, relying only on my ears, I could roughly tell who was coming.

Heavy, steady footsteps accompanied by the faint clink of a jade belt usually meant a high-ranking eunuch.

Light, quick steps, the tinkling of ornaments, and a waft of fragrance meant the mistress of some palace, or her personal maid.

If it was the solid thud of boots, with the faint scrape of metal armor scales, then it was the patrolling guards, and we had to keep even farther away.

Though I never lifted my eyes, the floor tiles reflected blurred silhouettes, and I could glimpse all kinds of shoe tips and skirt hems.

Cloud-toed shoes embroidered with gold thread. Soft-soled phoenix shoes adorned with pearls. Official boots showing beneath a scarlet python-patterned robe shot through with gold thread…

I remembered them all in silence. The crab-shell green shoes embroidered with twining lotuses belonged to the unfavored Talent of Yonghe Palace.

The vermilion satin shoes embroidered with gold thread belonged to the chief palace maid in the household of Consort Zheng, who enjoyed unmatched favor in the six palaces.

And the most exquisite pair, with an entire golden luan bird formed from tiny seed pearls and bits of coral, belonged to Consort Zheng herself.

Learning to recognize these things was not so I could curry favor. It was so I could avoid disaster.

Only by knowing who had arrived could I avoid them in advance and bury my head even lower.

Thus the days flowed by amid endless wiping and endless avoidance, dull as a stagnant pool.

Until that day, when I met Xiao Luzi.