To Embers We Return — Chapter 5
***
The astonishing news that the emperor had decreed that Shen Ni and Bian Jin were to marry soon spread through all of Chang’an. This was accompanied by descriptions of Li Chu kneeling in the main hall of Shen Ni’s residence, glowering with silent fury as he listened to the decree being read out — a piece of gossip which the capital’s high society recounted with particular relish.
As for why the emperor should have made a match that most spectators could only describe as ‘interesting’, there were a number of differing views.
Some believed that, while the emperor might have authorised Bian Jin’s release from the Court of Judicature and Revision, she had not given up on finding evidence that Bian Jin had indeed betrayed the empire. As the Court of Judicature and Revision had proved itself useless in that regard, the emperor was now relying on Shen Ni to pry open Bian Jin’s secrets.
Others speculated that it was Shen Ni who had requested Bian Jin’s hand in marriage from the emperor. Everyone knew that the two sect-sisters had been at odds since their days at Shuangji Hall, and Bian Jin had even once punished Shen Ni with a flogging. They were political rivals as well, being the former and current Governor-General of the North respectively. Now that Bian Jin had fallen from her pedestal, so the speculation went, Shen Ni wanted to keep her shijie close, the better to torment and humiliate her, and she wasn’t about to let anyone else get their hands on Bian Jin.
And then there was a third, faint possibility, which could barely make itself heard above the clamour of the other two: could it not be that the two sect-sisters had long been in love with each other, and this wedding was in fact the culmination of their secret hopes and dreams?
In short, the capital was all abuzz with rumours. Few thought that the marriage would be a successful one.
To organise a wedding befitting Marquess Jing’an’s stature at such short notice was no simple matter. Over the next ten days, Shen Ni’s servants found themselves run ragged, scurrying from one errand to the next with pale, worn faces.
The Vice-Minister and the Recorder of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices[1] came to assist with the preparations, bringing along some of their staff. The emperor had instructed them to make sure Marquess Jing’an and Mistress Bian’s wedding ran as smoothly as possible, they said.
Bian Jin had fought for her country for many years, and had once been the commander-in-chief of all the armies in its northern provinces, but the only thing she had to show for it were the many injuries that afflicted her still. After she’d been captured and imprisoned, all her honours and titles had been stripped from her, and the only term of address she could claim now was the plain, ordinary ‘Mistress Bian’.
As they were in the midst of working out how much the wedding would cost, the Recorder of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices said to the Vice-Minister, ‘What a pity this is for Shen Ni! With all her honours and accomplishments, she could easily have married a princess — or, at the very least, a daughter from one of the capital’s greatest noble families. But now… oh dear.’
The Vice-Minister lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you doubting the emperor’s wisdom?’ he asked, giving the Recorder a sideways glance.
The Recorder’s smile froze on his face, and he didn’t dare reply.
The Vice-Minister burst out laughing at the sight of the terror on his subordinate’s face. He reached over and patted the Recorder on the back. ‘If ever you manage to climb as high as she has, you’ll soon learn that something which seems like an imperial reward on the surface might well be a warning bell.’
The Recorder understood then. Shen Ni was at the zenith of her fame, which was in real danger of outshining her sovereign’s. If she were to wed a princess or some other noblewoman, even more influence would be concentrated in her hands, putting her in a position to undermine the emperor’s rule. By marrying her to a woman who was now under heavy suspicion of treason, the emperor was clearly trying to weaken Shen Ni’s political power, cutting off one of her main routes for accumulating even more of it.
Might this move to check Shen Ni’s burgeoning influence be a little too obvious? Perhaps. But since when had emperors ever cared about subtlety when they were seeking to suppress their own ministers?
The Recorder glanced covertly at the Vice-Minister, whose moods were ever-unpredictable. About as much as he does when it comes to subordinates like me, I’ll wager, he thought.
***
All the invitations for the wedding had now been sent out. This prompted another flurry of speculation in the Shuangji Hall disciples’ Messenger Pigeon group chat. Zeng Qingluo saw the messages popping up as she was choosing gifts for Shen Ni and Bian Jin.
It’s good to hear that dashijie has been released from prison, but she and xiaoshimei[2] haven’t been on speaking terms for such a long time. How awkward things will be once they’re married!
This message came from one of the inner disciples. To them, Shen Ni was the most junior of their number, so they called her xiaoshimei. For outer disciples like Zeng Qingluo, meanwhile, Shen Ni outranked them all in seniority if not necessarily in age, so they all referred to her as xiaoshijie.
And it’s by the emperor’s decree as well, another disciple responded. If they’re to continue avoiding each other after the wedding, that would be a show of great disrespect to Her Majesty.
A third disciple broke in. Isn’t dashijie seven years older than xiaoshimei? They’re practically from different generations!
They used to be very close, the disciple who had first spoken explained. But ever since dashijie gave her that flogging, xiaoshimei would always leave the room whenever dashijie made a voice or video call from the front lines. If anyone so much as mentioned dashijie, she’d always change the subject.
Is that all? Another disciple asked. There’s no other reason?
Well, who can be sure? Yet another disciple retorted. It’s not as if there could be any sort of romantic entanglement between them, could there?
That’s impossible! exclaimed the disciple who had first brought up their difference in age. They’re so far apart in age, and they’re both so cold-blooded they might as well be icebergs reincarnated. A romantic entanglement? How did something like that even occur to you?
Her sect-siblings’ remarks were getting increasingly out of hand, Zeng Qingluo felt. It was true that Shuangji Hall now existed as a sect in name only — a process that had begun with Bian Jin’s departure and her later disappearance — and its disciples had scattered themselves across the empire. Still, wasn’t all this open gossiping just a little too blatant?
Zeng Qingluo decided it was time her sect-siblings got a reminder about the importance of restraint. Just as she was typing in her message, however, a new one popped up.
Our dashijie has always been a real martinet. All of us have been punished by her at some point. I still remember when the heir to Xishan presented her with an inkheart orchid, which blooms only once every ten years. She actually went and used it for making ink! Marrying dashijie must be about exciting as marrying a block of wood. What an unlucky woman xiaoshimei is, and how dreary her life will be after they’re wed.
This particular message was from her liushixiong,[3] who ranked sixth among the inner disciples in seniority. Stubborn and obstreperous, he was the sect-sibling most frequently in receipt of Bian Jin’s chastisements. Even now, resentment still echoed in every line of his message.
Before Zeng Qingluo could compose a suitable rebuke, however, another member of the group chat had replied directly to him.
Liushixiong, please don’t trouble yourself so much over the state of my future married life. Your time would be much better spent worrying about what might happen if someone were to tell the authorities that you’ve been involved in forging official documents for the last few years.
This particular person’s profile picture was a dimly-lit image of a snow-capped mountain by night, and their username was a single punctuation mark — a full stop. They rarely spoke in the group chat. But who else could have sent such a message, if not Shen Ni herself?
The group chat fell suddenly silent. Then, amid notification after notification that ‘this message has been deleted’, the chat window which had been heaving with activity just a few moments ago went completely blank. Zeng Qingluo noted that her liushixiong had even left the group chat completely, no doubt in a fit of blind panic.
Moments later, another one of Zeng Qingluo’s group chats, which consisted of a smaller number of outer disciples, began pinging away.
How did xiaoshijie get into the group chat? Who added her? asked one disciple.
I think she was the one who set up that group in the first place, to let all the sect-siblings in the capital to stay in touch, said another. It’s just that she never speaks much, so most people probably didn’t even know that she was the group administrator.
You’re telling us this only now? a third disciple exclaimed.
What should we do? asked a fourth.
Less talk, for one, said the disciple who had explained Shen Ni’s role in the Shuangji Hall group chat. We should all go and buy some handsome wedding gifts for dashijie and xiaoshijie — quickly.
***
Amid the keen anticipation of the gossipmongers and spectators, and the gloomy prognostications of the detractors who thought this marriage could not possibly end well, the day of the wedding finally arrived.
Shen Ni’s vast mansion was not exactly teeming with guests. Most of those who had come were either their sect-siblings from Shuangji Hall or Shen Ni’s former comrades who had served alongside her in Yanluo. Only about half of Shen Ni’s fellow ministers had turned up in person; the rest had merely sent gifts.
Shen Ni twirled the handle of the round fan[4] she was holding up to her face. She understood what her colleagues were thinking. After all, Bian Jin was still under suspicion of treason — yet the emperor had suddenly decided to wed her to Shen Ni. The whitebeards at court, unable to fathom why Her Majesty had chosen to do so, were probably fearful of being seen to take Shen Ni’s side against her. By only sending a gift rather than attending in person, they might well be snubbing Shen Ni, but it was still safer than rousing the ire of the emperor.
The fewer guests there were, the less trouble this wedding would be, thought Shen Ni. Besides, she had only just replaced Bian Jin’s heavily-damaged cybernetic spine with a spare one, and it was best that her shijie not spend too much time on her feet.
Shen Ni and Bian Jin stood side by side as they welcomed their guests into the house. They were dressed in the same bridal robes, their makeup was done in the same style, and they were holding up the same round fans to half-conceal their faces. Each fan was embroidered with a design of paired mandarin ducks.[5] The two brides, however, were looking off in different directions. They might seem like a perfectly matched pair, but their hearts and minds were thousands of miles apart.
That morning, Bian Jin had been getting ready for the wedding in the west wing of the house, while Shen Ni had been doing the same in the east wing. According to tradition, the next time they saw each other’s faces should have been later that night, when they retired to the bridal chamber. As soon as Shen Ni’s makeup was done, however, she went directly to the room her shijie was in. ‘There’ll be a lot of guests here today,’ she said to Bian Jin, who was sitting before the mirror, ‘so the air is bound to grow turbid. Here, shijie. I’ve made you a mask that can filter out unpleasant odours.’
Bian Jin looked at the reflection of herself and Shen Ni in the mirror, clad in matching robes. Suddenly, their impending wedding began to seem much more real.
There was one thing though. While Shen Ni had addressed her as ‘my lady wife’ just before they received the imperial decree proclaiming that they were to be wed, she’d now reverted back to calling her ‘shijie’.
‘Thank you, shimei,’ said Bian Jin.
Auntie Wan, who was hovering in a corner, heard how they addressed each other and noted how impersonally they spoke as they did so. These two sect-sisters hadn’t seen each other for years, she reflected, and now they were practically being forced together by the emperor’s decree. Two near-strangers, thrown into the most intimate of relationships. They were probably going to find themselves rubbing up against each other’s rough edges in the days to come.
Shen Ni stood behind Bian Jin, placed her black-gloved hands on either side of her shijie’s face — though without touching it — and spread her fingers. Between them, less than half an inch away from Bian Jin’s mouth and chin, appeared a semi-transparent, blue-white mask made of some thin membrane. With a nimble twist of her fingers, Shen Ni hooked the loops on either side of the mask over Bian Jin’s ears. It fitted the lower half of Bian Jin’s face perfectly, and Shen Ni had even left a little extra space for easier breathing, so that it could be worn all day. The air that flowed in from the tiny gap would still be purified by the technologies embedded into the mask.
Bian Jin was a little taken aback at how well the mask fitted. It was as if it had been made for the precise contours of her face, though Shen Ni had never taken any measurements. Then she remembered that Shen Ni had hyperthymesia. Did that mean every single detail about her was recorded permanently in Shen Ni’s brain, she wondered.
Her shimei’s voice brought Bian Jin back to the present. ‘You can even adjust the opacity,’ said Shen Ni. She ran her finger up the left edge of the mask, just by Bian Jin’s ear. The mask turned completely solid and dark. She ran her finger down along the same spot, and the mask became fully transparent.
‘You can change the colour as well,’ Shen Ni added. She traced a circle along the right edge of the mask, once again just by Bian Jin’s other ear. The mask shifted through the full spectrum of colours: red, orange, yellow, green, teal, blue and violet.
Even Auntie Wan was moved to exclaim, ‘How clever you are with your hands, my lord!’
‘I’ve already programmed the mask so that you have full access to the settings,’ Shen Ni told Bian Jin. ‘You can change them however you wish.’ And with that, she left the room.
The mask did indeed bring Bian Jin a sense of relief. She set it to full transparency and wore it for the whole duration of the ceremony and the banquet that followed. With it on, even breathing the same air as so many guests gave her no twinge of discomfort.
As she and Shen Ni were about to make their wedding bows[6] to each other, Bian Jin looked into Shen Ni’s eyes above the rim of her fan — eyes that were familiar and strange at the same time — and hesitated for a moment. Shen Ni had put herself at risk to secure Bian Jin’s release from the Court of Judicature and Revision, and now she was binding her own life — her own fate — to Bian Jin’s. This weighty act of trust was something Bian Jin felt herself unworthy of.
She’d lived half her life in service to others, and in the end, the person who’d stepped forward to protect her in her hour of need was the shimei she’d let down so bitterly. A faint ache rippled across Bian Jin’s heart. After the briefest of moments, she bent her head and exchanged bows with Shen Ni.
With that, the ceremony was complete.
The banquet wound its way to an end. By the time the guests departed, the moon was already hanging high among the branches of the trees outside.
‘It’s time for us to retire to the bridal chamber,’ Shen Ni told Bian Jin. Then, without waiting to see if Bian Jin would follow, she left the room, making straight for the bedroom they would now share.
Bian Jin looked back over her shoulder and saw two women watching her. Their uniforms marked them out as officials of the Lijing Bureau — stiff black robes, with an eye-catching, bright red resurrection lily[7] embroidered on the left shoulder. They were both visibly armed, and wore equally grim expressions.
All the other wedding guests had departed, and the house was now much quieter, but these two officials had stayed behind. Auntie Wan saw that they were about to follow Shen Ni out of the room, and hurried to stop them. ‘Your Excellencies, I’m afraid that leads to the new couple’s bridal chamber, a private place—’
The taller of the two officials, who was wearing a titanium hat with a veil all around it, interrupted. ‘They were wed in accordance with the emperor’s decree, and we are under orders to ensure that the marriage is duly consummated.’
The shorter official, who had a cybernetic neck, snapped even more brusquely, ‘The Lijing Bureau serves the emperor directly. How much do you think your life is worth, that you would dare bar our way?’
Auntie Wan, taken completely aback, said nothing more, and the two officials continued straight towards the bridal chamber.
Inside, Shen Ni was still holding her fan demurely up to her face. The Lijing officials needed to be dealt with, she thought. And as for her shijie, well, if Bian Jin decided to follow her into the bridal chamber, she had ways and means of handling that; if Bian Jin decided not to, she had ways and means of handling that as well.
The door opened and Bian Jin stepped into the room. So she’d decided to come after all. The first thing she did was to drop her fan onto the nearest table, with none of the bashful self-consciousness a bride ought to have in front of her new wife. Any hint of romance that might have been in the room had now been swept ruthlessly aside.
Wordlessly, Shen Ni put her own fan down.
‘The officials from the Lijing Bureau are here too,’ said Bian Jin.
Shen Ni began loosening her robes. ‘We were married by the emperor’s decree, so they must be here to make sure consummation takes place,’ she said. ‘Otherwise we would be doing great dishonour to Her Majesty.’
Bian Jin did not hear the last part of what Shen Ni said. Her eyes were drawn to the soft, tender lines of her shimei’s neck, now revealed by her open collar. For no reason at all, her throat suddenly felt a little dry.
Bian Jin tried to steady her breathing. This is nothing, she told herself. Now that we’re married, of course we’re expected to consummate the marriage. I can do it.
Outside, the two Lijing officials, who hadn’t heard a single sound from the room so far, were beginning to grow restive.
Shen Ni came towards Bian Jin in the dim light of the candles. Bian Jin’s breath caught for a moment, but Shen Ni did not stop beside her. Instead, she brushed past Bian Jin and opened the door, her robes hanging open and loose.
The Lijing officials turned to look at Shen Ni, and she adjusted the folds of her robes suggestively. ‘Would you like to come in and observe the proceedings, Your Excellencies?’
The officials were both unmarried women, and they seldom encountered anyone who spoke to them as shamelessly and brazenly as this. They glared at Shen Ni in a distinctly hostile manner and said nothing.
Shen Ni closed the door, glanced at Bian Jin over her shoulder, and began walking towards her again.
Bian Jin had thought Shen Ni would simply step past her once more. Instead, Shen Ni stopped right in front of her. Her fingers began to twine themselves through the silken belt around Bian Jin’s waist.
Shen Ni’s sudden closeness sent a strange tingling sensation through Bian Jin’s heart. Hastily she dropped her gaze. Her eyes fell on her belt, which Shen Ni had loosened a little. Shen Ni was looking at it too.
Bian Jin’s eyelashes fluttered, stirring the air between them ever so faintly.
Then, very softly, Shen Ni said to her, ‘They won’t come in here now, shijie. All you need to do is follow my lead, and make a few noises.’
Swish.
With a rustle of clothing, Shen Ni untied Bian Jin’s belt fully.
***
Author’s Note:
Little Fox: Emperor’s orders! Time for us to consummate the marriage. *wags tail furiously*
Stoic shijie: (stony silence)
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 大常寺 (pinyin: da chang si). Also known as the Court of Sacrificial Worship, this was a central government agency which existed in several imperial Chinese dynasties, and was responsible for conducting major state sacrificial ceremonies according to prescribed rituals. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 小师妹. In this context, it means ‘youngest shimei’. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 六师兄, literally ‘sixth teacher-older brother’. In the wuxia genre, ‘shixiong’ refers to an older (or otherwise more senior) male disciple with whom one shares a martial arts teacher. [return to text]
- In the original text, 团扇 (pinyin: tuanshan), a handheld fan consisting of a handle and a circular or oval frame with fabric stretched over it. During the Tang Dynasty, brides would conceal their faces by holding up a tuanshan until the wedding ceremony had been completed. [return to text]
- Mandarin ducks are a symbol for romantic love in Chinese and several other East and Southeast Asian cultures. [return to text]
- During a traditional Chinese wedding ceremony, the couple perform three sets of formal bows. The first is to the bridegroom’s ancestral altar (representing the deities), the second is to the bridegroom’s parents, and the third is to each other. [return to text]
- In the original text, 彼岸花 (pinyin: bi’an hua). Known more commonly as the red spider lily, these flowers are associated with death and the afterlife in Japanese and Chinese culture. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 