Purely by Accident – Chapter 48
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I was locked up in the vast prison attached to the Ministry of Justice.
Once when I was younger, back when I’d still been living amidst the tumult of my father’s loyalist army, one of the smiths had told me very seriously that, if I were ever to be captured alive by the enemy, the best thing for me to do would be to take my own life on the spot.[1] Life as a prisoner, he’d added, was a fate worse than death.
And so I had frequent nightmares about being a prisoner for quite some time after that. These invariably took place in a dark, dank, underground room, with torches burning on the walls and a full set of whips, branding irons and other torturer’s tools laid out on a rack. From the darkest corners of the room, where the light from the torches could not reach, came faint echoes of screams…
Now that I really was a prisoner, however, I found that it was a far cry from the terrifying images my imagination had painted. I had a warm bed of straw to sleep on, meals brought to me three times a day, and even a tiny window set in a wall of my cell. When the weather was fine, a single ray of sunlight would shine directly through it, and I could watch the dust motes cavorting happily within that bright column. If I hadn’t felt as though something were still stuck in my throat — something I could neither choke down nor spit out — I would have burst into song about how good my life was.
The interrogation I’d been anticipating never came. In fact, other than the turnkey who brought me my meals punctually, I never saw a single employee of the Ministry of Justice during the first few days of my imprisonment. This august department of the Yan Empire, I had to say, was far from a model of efficiency.
On the third day, the prisoner in the next cell finally struck up a conversation with me.
I was crouching in a corner, watching a spider which had caught a luckless insect in its web, when I heard a ‘shh, shh’ from the next cell. Thinking that my neighbour must have decided to urinate on the floor to protest the unsatisfactory quality of the services provided by the prison staff, I covered my eyes reflexively.
The hissing sound, however, only became louder, and then I heard a voice call out, ‘Hey! You there, sir!’
I lowered my hand and looked through the bars that separated my cell from the next. The speaker’s face was that of a man accustomed to a life of luxury, but who had recently fallen prey to malnourishment — a jarring combination indeed.
I pointed at my nose to indicate, do you mean me?
He nodded and beckoned for me to approach.
I gave the spider a last longing look, then moved closer to him and sat down next to the row of bars between our cells.
He rubbed a hand across his face. Some light had come into his eyes. ‘Are you new here?’ he asked, staring eagerly at me.
I was at first unsure why he should be so enthusiastic about a complete stranger being thrown into prison. After a moment’s thought, I decided that he was probably glad for the company. This seemed perfectly understandable, so I nodded.
His eyes shone even more brightly. ‘Is there any fresh news in the capital?’ he asked, clutching at the bars. ‘I’ve been locked up here for such a long time — it’s been so very, very lonely.’
Carefully, I concealed the twitching of my lip from him. ‘What would you like to know about?’
He smiled, then lowered his voice mysteriously. ‘Have you heard anything about the royal family?’
The royal family. Chu Feichen’s family.
My heart convulsed painfully in my chest.
My neighbour let out a sigh, straightened his robes, and explained solemnly, ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a novelist.’
That change of subject had come about just a little too abruptly. I stared at him blankly for a moment, then cupped my hands respectfully before my chest. ‘Apologies, sir. I had no idea you were a member of that august profession.’
He lifted his head proudly. ‘I’m currently working on a novel called The Secret History of the Royal Family, but I’ve hit something of a bottleneck. So if you do have any news, please tell me — I promise to put your name down in the list of acknowledgements!’
Oh, truly an aspirational young man whose head was bloody but unbowed — or, rather, whose ambition had not been clipped alongside his wings.
I wiped away the sweat that had sprung up on my forehead. ‘Might I ask why you’ve been locked up here?’
My neighbour looked suddenly dejected. ‘The literary inquisition[2] — greatest evil in the world!’
I looked at him, my eyes full of the spirit of scientific enquiry. His head drooped further. ‘All I did was write a novel called The Erotic History of the Imperial Harem,’ he said. ‘Oh, the horrors of the literary inquisition — every scholar’s worst nightmare!’
I had absolutely no idea what to say to that.
Hastily I ducked my head, schooled my expression into smoothness — and nearly jumped out of my skin when I looked up again to see his face looming over me from behind the bars. ‘Tell me, is there any news?’ he said.
A hundred different emotions surged through me. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, ‘The biggest thing royal event that’s taken place recently is the wedding of Eldest Princess Chu Feichen.’
It was such an odd thing. No matter how much I told myself to stop thinking about her, each time something happened, she was always the first thing that came to mind, and I kept feeling the urge to talk about her every time the opportunity presented itself. It was as if this would somehow let me prove to myself that it had all been real. My inability to make a clean break with the past was something I lamented deeply.
The glow in my neighbour’s eyes was now practically bright enough to light up his cell. ‘Chu Feichen? The Eldest Princess, the lover of every man’s dreams? That Chu Feichen?’
Well. This literary young man’s language was far too direct and uninhibited for your prim bandit chief to swallow.
He went on anxiously, ‘Who did she marry?’
This was the crux of the matter. I straightened my robes, cleared my throat, and replied, ‘An excellent young man.’
‘Oh.’ My neighbour nodded thoughtfully, then something seemed to occur to him. ‘Exactly how excellent was he? Was he a better match than Zhao Yishu?’
I felt the sudden urge to punch his face through the bars. Instead of giving in to it, I merely flung him an exasperated look. ‘Of course he was better than that Zhao whippersnapper! He was much more handsome, much more learned, much more skilled in the martial arts, and most importantly, he knew much more about how to make a woman happy!’
My neighbour nodded again, no doubt impressed by my self-righteous tones. ‘Then this young man does sound like a good match for the Eldest Princess.’
I gave him another sideways look. ‘So what if he was? She divorced him anyway.’
My heart convulsed wildly again at those words. I placed a hand against my chest and let out a long, steadying breath.
My neighbour looked thunderstruck. ‘She divorced him? Why?’
Why? That was a good question indeed. Few reasons were ever given to one for the things that happen in life — it was destiny, that was all. When Heaven was drawing up the path of one’s life, did one really expect to be told why it was laid out a certain way?
I laid myself flat on my back. The ceiling of my cell was completely black; it added to the feeling of being in a nightmare. ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Probably because the prince consort was too clinging, too devoted, and the Eldest Princess found him bothersome.’
My neighbour let out a thoughtful ‘mm’, and fell silent for a while. Then he asked, ‘And what did you do to be locked up in here?’
I turned to look at him. Between the angle and the bars, I couldn’t quite make out his expression. ‘Me? Plotting treason.’
I couldn’t see the look on his face, but I did hear a sharp intake of breath. Suddenly, I wanted very much to laugh. Just at that very moment, however, I heard the head gaoler call out from not far away, ‘Announcing the arrival of Her Highness the Princess!’
The expression froze on my face, and I scrambled hastily to my feet.
My literary neighbour seemed completely taken by surprise as well. ‘A princess,’ I heard him muttering, ‘I’m finally going to see a real live princess…’
A woman stepped into view, her long skirts swishing against the floor; they accentuated her graceful, alluring figure. It wasn’t Chu Feichen, however. It was Chu Feiyu, the corners of her lips and eyes curved in a smile that was as brilliant as a flower in bloom.
She stopped in front of the door to my cell, and her expression became sober. ‘Jiefu,’ she said.
I took a moment to steal a glance at my neighbour. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
This was manifestly not the kind of expression one should have on one’s face upon seeing a beautiful woman. And so the beautiful woman in question murmured some instructions to the head gaoler, and my luckless neighbour was promptly whisked away. Suddenly, there was no one left in the vicinity but Chu Feiyu and myself. I opened my mouth, but had no idea what to say.
Chu Feiyu cocked her head, seemingly trying to work out how best to say whatever it was she had come here to say. Several moments later, her probing gaze found its way to my face, and she asked, ‘You’re the deposed heir to the throne of Qi?’
I nodded, curling my lip.
She took a step closer. ‘And you’ve been conspiring with the rebels to overthrow my father?’
I nodded again, noncommittally.
A tiny smile escaped her lips. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said with absolute certainty. ‘You might very well be a deposed royal heir, but overthrowing my father? I know how hopelessly in love you are with my sister — you would never do anything to harm her.’
I closed my eyes and reflected on how ironic it all was. So it was true what they said, that when one was personally involved in a crisis, one could see the truth of it less clearly than a neutral observer.[3]
Chu Feiyu went on, ‘Rest easy for now. You’ll have to bear with these conditions for the next few days, but you’re still a prince consort, and the Ministry of Justice won’t dare do anything to you until they’ve completed their investigations. As for huangjie, she’s simply refused to see anyone for the last while, so I don’t know how things are with her. But don’t worry — I’ll speak to her about you the instant I get the chance.’
Someone called out softly to her. She gave me a parting look, and as she turned to go, she added, ‘Be patient — I’ll think of a way to have huangjie visit you.’
I stared numbly after her departing back. What a strange visit that was, I thought. I hadn’t said a single word from beginning to end — though I wasn’t sure whether it was because I really had nothing to say, or because I had too much to say and no idea where to begin.
In truth, I had been feeling quite at ease in this prison. The worst that could happen to me was death, and being sent to the underworld to reunite with my dear old ex-emperor dad seemed like no bad thing. I’d finally be able to apologise to him for my lack of filial piety — after all, I’d stopped thinking about him entirely after taking a wife. Now that I’d been amply punished for that transgression, there probably wasn’t too much he could rebuke me for. It was just that, after so many years, would he still recognise me?
After what the Third Princess had said, however, a tiny hope sprouted up in my chest — just a very small one, but it was enough to make me look longingly towards the door of my cell again and again every day.
But Chu Feichen never came. What did come, on the sixth day after Chu Feiyu’s visit, was a cup of poisoned wine. A gift from the Eldest Princess herself, I was told.
The eunuch who brought it in looked at me with pity in his eyes. I stared at the little jade goblet, which shone with a soft, warm radiance. My heart was as still as a pool of water from which all life had fled.
I smiled as I tossed back the wine. As I tilted my head back, something slipped from the corner of my eye and ran down my face, like a long, cool, liquid scar.
After that, I sank into darkness. I wasn’t sure whether I was in a dream or in the underworld. As I lay there, barely conscious and completely incapable of moving, I thought I felt a gentle caress against my forehead; the sensation was faintly cool. A low sigh echoed in my ears, and I fancied I could smell a rich, heady, plum-blossom fragrance.
It was evening when I finally woke up. I seemed to be in a dilapidated building of some sort. Xiao Hei crouched close by, building a fire.
I lifted my head up. My voice, when I spoke, was unbelievably hoarse. ‘You rescued me?’
Surprise and delight flashed across Xiao Hei’s face. He nodded. ‘You’ve only just woken up. Don’t try to speak yet.’
I sat up and looked around. We seemed to be in an abandoned temple. The altar stood not far off, and on it was a statue of the Buddha, covered in cobwebs.
I closed my eyes, and silently said the most devout prayer I’d ever made in my life. Gods, you’ve tortured me enough. If you really are all-powerful, then let me forget all about Chu Feichen from now on. Let her be wiped clean from my mind, completely and utterly, for the rest of my life.
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Footnotes:
- In Chinese, 咬舌自尽, literally to kill oneself by biting down on (the end of) one’s tongue. This is a method of suicide often featured in wuxia and historical novels. It does not actually work in real life. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 文字狱, literally ‘imprisonment due to writings’. This refers to the official persecution of intellectuals for their works in imperial China. [return to text]
- In the original text, 旁观者清, 当局者迷 (more conventionally rendered the other way round as 当局者迷, 旁观者清). The saying originates from the Old Book of Tang (旧唐书, also known as the Book of Tang), a historical work about the Tang Dynasty whose editorship is credited to Liu Xu (劉昫), a historian and politician who lived during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period. It means that an outsider will be able to see things more clearly and objectively than those involved in a given situation. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 