Chương 101: Chapter 99

The cold silk grazes the skin of my neck while Lianhua, with the surgical precision she has when it comes to dressing me for a public event, adjusts the first of the many layers that make up the imperial princess attire I'm supposed to wear for my eleventh birthday.

"Seriously, Lianhua", I tell her as she adjusts one of the layers with a small flick of her wrist.

"With every passing year I'm more convinced that these outfits are a conspiracy by the Ministry of Rites to prevent imperial princesses from having ideas of their own." Lianhua, faithful to her custom, doesn't even blink at my comment and simply limits herself to smoothing a rebellious fold.

"It is the appropriate attire for receiving your guests, Zhāohuán Wen", she replies with that neutral voice she uses when she has heard my complaints so many times that she has stopped bothering to offer counterarguments. I sigh and let myself be handled while she continues with her task and, after a few minutes in which only the soft rustle of fabric being adjusted can be heard, I notice that her rhythm changes slightly, that small pause that always precedes a question she has been holding back for some time.

And, indeed, when she speaks, the tone is slightly more careful than usual.

"Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me as she reaches out a hand to take one of the sashes for the belt.

"Are you completely certain you wish to perform as the closing act the piece you've been practicing these past few weeks?" I smile upon hearing the question, because I've been seeing it surface on Lianhua's face for days, especially during our rehearsals with the musicians, where her expression, normally impassive, has been progressively transforming into a mixture of doubt, perplexity and, I suspect, anticipated secondhand embarrassment.

"I'm not just sure, Lianhua", I reply as I try to turn my neck a little to look at her.

"I'm determined." Lianhua doesn't answer immediately, but rather continues tying the sash with that pulchritude that characterizes her, and only when she finishes does she speak again.

"Zhāohuán Wen, I say this with all due respect", she tells me, and the careful choice of words indicates to me that she is measuring every syllable.

"But that piece doesn't resemble anything that has ever been heard at court. And the guests…" She leaves the sentence hanging in the air, which, coming from her, is practically equivalent to an elaborate dissertation on what a bad idea she considers this whole matter to be.

"I've practiced for weeks", I tell her as I try to look offended, although I can't help a small note of amusement slipping into my voice.

"I've paid the musicians a fairly generous sum to do the accompaniment for me. And, on top of that, I've already announced to half the court that there's going to be a concert. Do you really think I'm going to back out now?" Lianhua continues in silence, but her hands are already manipulating the next layer, which indicates that she has tacitly accepted the argument even though she doesn't agree with it.

"And who knows, Lianhua", I add with a smile I don't bother to disguise.

"Maybe the guests will like it so much that it becomes fashionable, and within a few months similar music will be heard all over the Imperial Capital. Imagine it: someone could go to a market and hear a wandering musician playing something similar while they shop for vegetables." The image is so absurd that I almost laugh as I paint it, but Lianhua's face as she finishes adjusting the next layer is the most eloquent answer she could have given me. She says nothing, not a word, not a comment, not even a sigh.

She simply keeps working with a neutral expression that, knowing her as I do, makes it perfectly clear she considers my prediction approximately as likely as the sun rising tomorrow in the west. I decide it's a good moment to change the subject before Lianhua's face freezes into that grimace of polite incredulity.

"Changing the conversation", I tell her as she continues with the accessories I'm forced to wear with the outfit.

"How are the renovations I requested coming along, the ones to make a cultivation room just like my father's, with the Qi-gathering formation and the bath built in?" Lianhua takes an instant to answer, just enough to finish adjusting the hairpins, and when she does her tone has returned to its usual neutrality, although with a very slight nuance I have already learned to recognize as her particular version of contained disapproval.

"It's almost finished, Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me.

"The artisans calculate that in a couple of weeks it will be ready for use. And the formation will be installed as soon as the room is completely finished."

"Perfect", I reply.

"Then in two or three weeks at the most, I'll be able to start using it." There's a moment of silence as she begins with the brooches, and I notice she's holding back from saying something, so I decide to make her life easier.

"Come on, out with it", I tell her as I prepare myself mentally for what's coming. Lianhua sighs, which is already a sign that she did have something to say and that she is finally saying it.

"It still seems to me an excessive expense, Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me with that direct frankness she reserves for when she thinks I'm doing something not very sensible.

"Spending all that money simply to create a deception during the two years that are supposedly left of your Body Tempering is, frankly, a great deal of money for so short a charade." I look at her as directly as my rigid attire allows me to and smile at her with that smile which, according to her, appears on my face when I'm about to say something she's not going to agree with.

"Lianhua, no precaution is too little", I tell her as she continues with the brooches without lifting her gaze.

"If one has the money to do it, it's better to spend it and make sure than to regret it later." Lianhua doesn't answer directly, but from the way her fingers linger barely an instant longer over one of the brooches I know that, deep down, she agrees with me on that part of the argument.

"And besides, I have another idea that might just work", I add with a tone that is probably more mischievous than it should be.

"And this time I'm really going to do it right and I'll sell it to increase my capital." Lianhua, who is about to take the last element of the outfit, a kind of embroidered shawl, stops for an instant upon hearing me. It isn't a long pause, nor a particularly noticeable one, but after so many years knowing her I can recognize when I've piqued her curiosity.

"And what have you come up with now, Zhāohuán Wen?" she asks me as she finishes picking up the shawl, although her tone carries a note of intrigue she doesn't entirely bother to disguise. I smile with the touch of mischief the question deserves, because the idea has been wandering around my head for several days and makes me wonder how this world will take it.

"It's something that has the potential for every household in the Empire to want to have one", I tell her as she begins placing the shawl over my shoulders.

"Although I'm still finishing the design, so I'm not going to tell you exactly what it is." I make a small pause to add the dramatic effect the situation deserves, and then I continue.

"But when I finish you'll know it firsthand", I tell her.

"Because you're going to be the one who has to test it first to verify it works as I expect." Lianhua, in the middle of adjusting the shawl over my right shoulder, doesn't visibly flinch, but from the way her fingers stay barely half a second longer than necessary on the fabric I know she has registered perfectly what I just said and that she has an opinion on the matter.

An opinion she doesn't intend to share, because the only thing that escapes her lips after an instant is a resigned sigh, that short and professional sigh she seems to reserve exclusively for my most eccentric ideas and that, in her catalogue of expressions, is approximately equivalent to anyone else throwing their hands up to their head. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Without adding a single word, she continues with the adjustment of the shawl, makes a couple of final touches to the folds of the outfit and, after one last visual inspection, steps back to look at me with a critical air.

"You're ready, Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me finally. I decide not to continue with the conversation about the garment, because I know how to recognize when I've exhausted Lianhua's silent patience, and besides, there's a more urgent matter.

"Then take me to the park", I tell her.

"The guests will start arriving before long, and I don't want the first one who arrives to have to wait for the hostess to appear." Lianhua nods and, without losing an instant, sits me in the chair and begins pushing me. The wheels glide over the floor of the Pavilion with a soft murmur that barely disturbs the silence of the rooms we cross.

We cross the courtyard, where the elongated shadow of the afternoon is beginning to stretch over the flagstones, and we leave the Pavilion to make our way down the path that leads to the park just outside, the same one where I've celebrated practically all my birthdays since my mother stopped holding them indoors. The smell of flowers, mixed with the more concrete aroma of the food that's being set out, reaches me even before I see the area of the park and makes me realize that I'm quite hungry.

While Lianhua pushes the chair with her firm pace, a question that has been hovering around my head ever since the invitations were sent several weeks ago surfaces again and, since it's me, I decide to formulate it aloud even though I suspect the answer.

"Lianhua", I say turning my head a little.

"Do you think this time my dear Imperial Brothers will accept the invitation to my birthday?"

I ask the question with all the feigned innocence I am capable of mustering, fully aware of how absurd the question is and knowing that my imperial brothers, the same ones who took the trouble to come find me in that park among the bureaucratic buildings on their own initiative to gauge whether I could be useful to them in connecting with Master Mu, would evidently prefer to do anything else rather than attend the birthday party of their paraplegic sister. Lianhua doesn't even deign to answer me with words.

The only thing I hear is a small amused snort behind me, a barely audible sound that in her is the equivalent of a laugh in another person and that escapes her involuntarily. I let out a small giggle upon hearing her and settle myself better in the chair.

"That's what I thought too", I confirm to her. We arrive at the park and, as soon as we cross the last hedge that delimits the area of the party, I can't help but compare this year's decoration with the previous year's and realize, with a certain relief, how different it is.

Last year the entire space was decorated with fake sculptures of Egyptian gods, columns, painted sand dunes and the enormous model of the Celestial Fragment of the Sands presiding over the center of the park, a thematic eccentricity that only someone like me could have come up with and which, in retrospect, still surprises me that my mother approved enough to grant me the loan I needed. This year, in contrast, the decoration is much more standard.

Paper lanterns hanging between the trees, red and gold ribbons knotted on the branches, tables with embroidered silk tablecloths, and vases with seasonal flowers distributed with the exact symmetry that the residents of the Imperial Palace love so much. Something that, frankly, I appreciate, because it means much less work when it's time to clear it all up. Although, of course, there are elements that cannot be missing.

The tables with the boards for playing Tiàoyuè and Fǎnzhuǎn are arranged in their place, exactly as they have been at every birthday since I invented them, since they have become a kind of tradition that the guests expect to find and that many, especially the children, are already familiar with. And, of course, the tables where the handmaidens, supervised by Xia, are finishing setting out the pizzas and the hamburgers.

After the success they had at my tenth birthday, where several guests went so far as to formally request the recipe in writing, I decided that it was unthinkable to celebrate one of my birthdays without them, so they have also become a permanent part of the repertoire.

When Xia sees us arrive, she finishes giving some final orders to the handmaidens with that calm authority she has developed in recent months, which is, without doubt, one of the strangest and most endearing scenes one can witness at this moment, since a nine-year-old girl giving instructions with the naturalness of a foreman to a group of women who probably triple her in age and who listen to her with attention combines the professionalism of the court with an evident affection that none of them bothers to disguise.

When she finishes, she approaches us with measured steps and, upon reaching where my chair is, stops at the appropriate distance and bestows on me a formal bow, perfect down to the last detail, since we're outside the Pavilion and here decorum must be maintained.

"Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me with the respectful tone she uses when we're in public.

"For my part everything is now ready." I smile at her discreetly, because despite the formality of the moment it always amuses me the transformation that operates on her when she goes from the Xia who ambushes me in the mornings bringing me pastries to the Xia who acts as a formal handmaiden with the rigor of someone who takes the role very seriously.

"Well done, Ling Xia", Lianhua interjects before I can respond.

"But now your task during the party is the same as at the last birthday, stay beside Zhāohuán Wen and attend to her without drawing attention to yourself."

"I understand, Lianhua", Xia replies with a small bow. And, having said this, Lianhua pushes me to the place of honor, where a small low table prepared to my measure awaits me with a pitcher of water and a porcelain cup. She places me in the correct position, slightly adjusts the chair and, once I'm ready, Xia positions herself exactly behind me, just at the angle from which she can attend to me without standing out.

I don't have to wait long before the first guests appear, who, as could not be otherwise, are my mother accompanied by Lingxi. My mother is wearing a Hanfu of dark blue silk embroidered with a flock of herons that seems to float over the fabric every time she moves, and Lingxi, as always, is impeccable in her Fei Yi uniform two paces behind her.

My mother approaches with elegance and upon reaching me bestows on me a warm smile that, in her, is the closest thing to maternal effusiveness she allows herself to show in public.

"Congratulations on your eleventh birthday, Wen", she tells me in a tone of voice that is at once formal and affectionate.

"Thank you, Mother", I reply with a small bow. But before we can continue, other guests begin to appear along the path that leads to the park, and Lianhua, with efficiency, receives them on my behalf and conducts them to where I am, so my mother gives me one final look and steps aside to allow me to fulfill my duties as hostess, not before giving me a complicit nod with her head. What follows is the usual choreography of any birthday party.

Congratulations, gifts deposited on the corresponding table, measured phrases, cordial smiles, questions about my health, comments on the weather, and observations on the decoration. I recognize many of the guests from previous birthdays, especially from those celebrated before my exile, when they were my mother's guests and not mine.

Some greet me with the cautious cordiality of those who don't yet know quite how to position themselves and others, in contrast, do so with a genuine warmth that pleases me to receive. And, little by little, the area of the party begins to fill up.

The guests bring their children with them, and as I observe them I notice, not without a certain start, that many of those who in my first birthdays scampered about with the freedom of early childhood now walk with the studied rigidity of those who are learning to appear like dignified adults. They keep themselves upright, make well-measured bows and laugh under their breath instead of out loud, all in an effort to adapt to the courtly protocol that their age and rank require of them.

Although, fortunately, there are still some young children, I imagine younger siblings of the previous ones, who ignore everyone with that universal indifference that only children know how to have and who immediately throw themselves at the tables with the boards and the various activities arranged, a couple of which I added as simple games designed precisely for them. When I finish greeting the last guests who have arrived, I turn slightly toward Xia and speak to her in a low voice.

"Xia, bring me something to eat and a bit of tea", I tell her.

"Right away, Zhāohuán Wen", she replies with a small bow, and moves off with light steps toward the tables where the food is. While I wait for her, I do what I always do at these parties, observe the courtly dance that unfolds around me. It's something I quite enjoy, because if you pay close enough attention, you can reconstruct much of the politics of the court by observing who approaches whom, who avoids whom, and who stays at the precise boundary between one group and another.

But today, as I observe, I notice something that catches my attention and makes me lightly furrow my brow. The most numerous group has not formed, as is usually the case, around the table with the best food or near some important official. From what I can see, the most numerous group has formed around my mother. And not only that, but they are debating something with a certain enthusiasm, with animated gestures and serious faces that indicate the conversation being held is something more than the usual gossip.

My mother, at the center of the group, listens attentively and from time to time intervenes with brief phrases that seem to be taken very seriously by the rest. From where I am I can't hear what they're talking about, but I have to admit that the intrigue overtakes me. I make a mental note to ask my mother about it another day, when we're alone and she can answer me without having to weigh every word, and I let my eyes continue wandering over those present.

Finally, while my wandering gaze settles on the children, especially on the older ones, who are gathered near one of the Tiàoyuè tables explaining the rules to one of the younger children who has just discovered them. I keep looking at them for an instant, then for another instant, and finally I realize something. I lower my gaze slowly and direct it toward myself, after which I raise it again toward the children only to end up lowering it once more.

And after doing so, I confirm that my impression upon seeing them seems to be correct. I really do seem to be shorter than the children present who are roughly my age. Not by much, but enough that the difference is perceptible with a bit of observation even while seated. That small realization brings with it a small existential doubt I wasn't expecting to have today. It can't be that, on top of everything else, I'm short. I refuse to accept it.