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The Crown Prince has been married to his wife for five years, who has bourn him three children—two of them sons—before the rumors reach the Emperor’s ears.
It is, in fact, entirely by accident that the secret reaches him, due to the unexpected slip-up of one Yuan Shen, who is giving a report on what appears to be a scraping of the rice stores in the south by the local officials. It’s a case that looks like it will require the country’s best soldier-investigator, so the Emperor gives a very logical command.
“Go bring General Huo here immediately,” he says, and Eunuch Cao bows and moves to convey the command when Yuan Shen grimaces and turns to address the eunuch.
“I saw him carrying his wives into the Eastern Palace earlier, it might not be—”
It’s Eunuch Cao’s look of abject horror directed at Yuan Shen, and the way Yuan Shen freezes in place that tell the Emperor that this is old news. For some reason, he is the only one out of the loop.
“What wives? Why the Eastern Palace?”
“It’s only a joke—”
“It’s nothing, Your Majesty—”
It takes some hemming and hawing before he is able to extract from the pair of them that the “wives” in question are the Crown Prince and Crown Princess Consort. Whom the officials sometimes refer to as Zisheng’s wives. As a joke, apparently.
The sheer disrespect aside, Emperor is about to object that this doesn’t sound feasible at all, that Zisheng would be able to carry around a full-grown man and his wife, before it strikes him that he has seen this happen.
Every member of court who was present four years ago, in fact, has seen this happen.
“Bring the three of them, then,” he says.
Eunuch Cao and Yuan Shen exchange an alarmed look, but don’t seem inclined to argue. Rather than convey the command, Eunuch Cao goes personally.
Yuan Shen sits rigid and expressionless as he waits. The Emperor considers making smalltalk of sorts, asking him, for instance, how long he has known of these rumors. The Emperor decides against it—both for fear of what he might learn, and to punish Yuan Shen with silence. It takes rather longer than the Emperor thinks is reasonable for his son to arrive, Huo Buyi, Cheng Shaoshang and a red-eared Eunuch Cao trailing in behind him.
“Father,” greet the Crown Prince and his bride.
“Your Majesty,” greets Huo Buyi.
Eunuch Cao has disappeared.
Yuan Shen is not looking at anybody.
“Zisheng. I was going to summon you here about this case Yuan Shen is running. But he happened to mention something about you and your wives?” Nobody in the room reacts. “Which Eunuch Cao and he then proceeded to explain is how some people refer to the Crown Prince and Crown Princess Consort.”
Ziduan’s eye twitches. Shaoshang looks back at him with no sense of shame, and Zisheng’s expression is identical beside her.
The Emperor frowns. He’d expected some form of reaction. But clearly this is old news to everyone else in the room.
“Even within the confines of our family, there are jokes that are and are not acceptable. Does it not bother you, that people disparage the Crown Prince this way?”
Shaoshang, of course, is first to speak. “To be fair, we do tell anyone who asks that Zisheng is Ziduan’s wife, not the other way around.”
The Emperor stares at his daughter-in-law, who stares back blankly, like she is perfectly serious. On her right, the Crown Prince has closed his eyes like he’s trying to pretend he’s anywhere else. Zisheng looks as blank as ever.
He laughs, because this can only be a joke.
“You—” He waves his finger at them. “You think it’s funny, do you? Making fun of an old man. Yuan Shen, I would have expected better of you.”
“I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness,” says Yuan Shen.
“No, don’t,” says Shaoshang. “Your Majesty, actually, there’s a—”
Her words are cut off when Zisheng and Ziduan move at once. Ziduan moves to clap a hand over his wife’s mouth, while Zisheng catches them to prevent them toppling over, as if he has predicted this.
It’s a very practiced movement.
Like this happens all the time.
Zisheng, carrying both of his wives to the Eastern Palace, Yuan Shen has said.
The nervous look between Yuan Shen and Eunuch Cao at the notion of going to retrieve them.
The Emperor does not consider himself a prudish man, but the possibility blooming in his mind seems outrageous.
Zisheng is untangling himself from the other two, after assuring that they are stable. Ziduan is not moving.
“Let her speak, Ziduan,” he says. “Whatever she’s about to say can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”
Ziduan meets the Emperor’s eyes, but remains frozen. The Emperor has never been good at reading this cold, calculating son of his. Slowly, he removes his hand from Shaoshang’s mouth.
“Your Majesty, since I have two sons, I want you to allow the younger to take the surname Huo. And his twin sister with him.”
Zisheng is staring at her like she hung the moon. Ziduan is tense, and the Emperor sees an aborted movement Shaoshang makes, like she wants to reach out and take his hand in hers.
The Emperor stares. “But that’s absurd. If he wants to carry on the Huo name, he should take a wife—or at least a concubine.”
“No,” say all three of them at once.
The Emperor stares.
The three of them stare back.
“Yuan Shen,” he says. “Wait in the hallway.”
Yuan Shen is perfectly courteous in the way he bows and walks away. He is also extremely fast.
“Given the rumors that are circulating around the this palace,” the Emperor says once Yuan Shen is gone, “it seems safe to assume that if I allow you to give these two imperial children to Zisheng, then some will assume that you have been unfaithful to your husband.”
“Should I change my conduct only because I am frightened of the judgment of small-minded people who do not know me?”
“You are the Crown Princess Consort!” says the Emperor. “It’s part of your role, to be the sort of women the common folk can look upon with admiration.”
“Your Majesty raised Zisheng, the last surviving child of the Huo family, like your own. Since Zisheng will not marry, is it not only honoring the service he has given this country that I offer two of my children to carry on the Huo name?”
The Emperor rubs his forehead. He would love for the Huo name to not die with Zisheng. However, he’s never imagined trying to carry on the name by…donating? Two of his own grandchildren.
“And who would raise these children, if you were to give them over to the Huo family?” he challenges.
“We would,” says Shaoshang. “Zisheng spends most of his time in the palace anyway.”
“And what would these children call the Crown Prince?”
Shaoshang cocks her head to the side. “They can call Ziduan Imperial Father, and Zisheng Father.”
The Emperor stares at her, then at his son, then at Zisheng.
“You’ve certainly thought this through,” he says, and slumps in his chair.
“Cheng Shaoshang,” says the Emperor after a long moment. “I will not ask the questions that might incriminate you”—Ziduan and Zisheng both stiffen, and Ziduan’s hand shoots out to claps Shaoshang’s—“but I will ask you this. If you raise some of your children as princes, and the others as Huos, will you not worry about creating a blood feud within your own family?”
It’s a mistake of his own that the Emperor still grapples with. He had tried so hard to be fair. Both of his wives had tried. And still they had failed. His kind eldest son still lives with the disgrace of being deposed, even nine years later. And Shen’an—Shen’an had died wishing never to meet him again.
Shaoshang is slow to respond.
“Your Majesty, I loved Xuan Wanghao like she was a second mother to me. When I first entered the palace, San-mei and Wu-mei were both cruel to me. I had a difficult relationship with my own mother, when she so clearly preferred my obedient, educated cousin over me. I know that my actions can only go so far, and my children might never understand the choices that I have made. But even so, I would rather they resented me for this, than for allowing the Huo name to die.”
The Emperor looks at her long and hard.
“Eunuch Cao,” he barks, so abruptly that all three young people in front of him give a small jerk of surprise.
Eunuch Cao reemerges.
“Make sure the door is closed.”
“Already done, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor nods, and glares at Shaoshang.
“Cheng Shaoshang,” he says, drawing himself up to look down at her. Her gaze does not waver. “I’ve been writing a play, to ease my mind in my old age. Perhaps you can help me with some of the details.”
“If I can,” she says, blinking.
“My play is about two star-crossed lovers,” says the Emperor, leaning forward on his desk to steeple his fingers. “The man had survived the slaughter of his entire family, and was living under a false name, yearning only for the day when he could take revenge. Then he met a woman who changed his life. He loved her, devoted himself to her, and they were betrothed. But a time of crisis arrived, and he abandoned his betrothed in the name of revenge. His beloved could not bear this, so she broke their betrothal. Four years later, a prince asked her to marry him, and being a practical woman, she agreed.”
“You’re mistaken, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor does not miss the way that Ziduan’s hand is trembling around Shaoshang’s. It surprises him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Ziduan so…frightened?
“Am I mistaken in my own play, Cheng Shaoshang?” he asks her, just to be contrary.
“I mean, the story you’ve told me. You’re only telling it from the perspective of this man. You’re not taking into account the motivations of the woman, or the prince. Based on what you’ve told me, why would the woman choose this prince? Why would the prince choose her?”
“Very well,” says the Emperor. “Tell me, then. How would you tell it instead?”
“The man your play is about. He’s a very straightforward man, I imagine. He’d have to be, to be able to throw revenge away for love, only to choose revenge over love in a moment of crisis.”
Zisheng has moved closer to Shaoshang, and the Emperor doesn’t know how he missed that. They are not touching, but it’s a near thing.
“That seems a reasonable assumption,” the Emperor agrees.
“So—this prince. I think they were friends, him and this prince, yes? But for some reason, they had to hide it. This man in your play doesn’t seem like he would be particularly good at hiding things.”
“Nonsense,” the Emperor snorts. “He hides his whole identity for most of the play. He is excellent at deception.”
Shaoshang purses her lips. “When it comes to omitting facts and telling lies, perhaps. But when it comes to hiding his true loyalties, especially hiding who he loves? Are you sure he’s good at that?”
The Emperor opens his mouth to argue. Thinks about the way Zisheng had been so obviously affected by Shaoshang, so much so that everybody had known. Concedes.
“Perhaps you’re right. But he does conceal his friendship with the prince, and flawlessly. What do you make of this?”
“This is a man who could only love with his whole heart or not at all. He doesn’t have one beloved. He has two. The prince that he met in his childhood, whom he could not even openly call a friend, was the first. So he hid the depth of his love for the prince even from himself.”
The Emperor stares at Shaoshang. Looks at Zisheng, whose face is still and unreadable. He is looking past the Emperor at the wall behind him, and there is something frightening about his expression.
“And…what did the prince think of this?”
“Of course the prince loved the man, and knew he was loved in return. But when the man suddenly began courting this woman, declaring her his beloved, he thought that he was mistaken in their connection.”
“So…what you’re telling me is that when the prince proposed to the woman, he was doing it out of bitterness?”
“Why should the prince be the one to propose?” Shaoshang asks, cocking her head. “Four years after a broken engagement, surely the one most desperate for a marriage would be the woman. Why would she not go to the one person whose heart was broken by the same man as her own, and ask him to be her husband?”
The Emperor stares.
“And what, then, happens when the man returns?” he dares to ask.
“Well, he realizes how he’d wronged his friend, for one. But eventually, I suspect you could get both the prince and the woman to forgive him, and let him live with them in harmony.”
The Emperor searches for the correct words.
“It seems that such a household would conceal much jealousy,” he says at last.
“There are cases where it might,” Shaoshang agrees. “I know—especially after Xuan Wanghao, it might seem that these three, too, are headed down a path where one of them will feel like the third wheel.”
“Which of them would you worry for, in this play?”
“None,” says Shaoshang. “It doesn’t matter how they began. It only depends on how they reconcile, once they are all three reunited. Perhaps, in this case, it would be the prince”—Ziduan’s hand tightens around Shaoshang’s in warning, but she does not back down—“who, as you yourself said, would be perceived as the man who stole the bride of the friend he loved most. But then again, perhaps it would be the man, who saw that the woman and the prince were no longer merely surviving their heartbreaks together, but a couple bound by love of their own.”
The Emperor sighs and leans back, dropping his elbows from the desk.
“The difficulty in such a play would be the matter of succession,” he says. “A man might have many wives, but when one gives birth, he knows which wife is the child’s mother. When a woman has two husbands, how can she know which is the father of the children she bears?”
“Most likely she couldn’t,” says Shaoshang. “And she would have chosen husbands who accepted that, and did not begrudge each other. But—as you mentioned, the man in the play was the last of his family. Surely, if she one day asked for some of her children to be given the man’s family name, that it might not die with him, then she would choose only children whom she knew were his?”
The Emperor closes his eyes and tries very hard to erase these words from his memory, because he doesn’t want to process what this means.
“Cheng Shaoshang,” he says at last. “You are truly a headache and a half.”
“Your Majesty,” object Ziduan and Zisheng.
He waves their objections away. “Yes, yes, I got it, the three of you are wildly in love and happy about it. I will grant a decree to give the twins the Huo name, though they will be raised with their Wen siblings.”
“Thank you Your Majesty,” Shaoshang bows, and her husbands follow suit a stunned second later.
“But there is one thing that I need you—all three of you—to understand.” They freeze, tense and a little frightened. Good. “All of the children you bear, whether or not they bear the Huo name, are my grandchildren. Anyone who says otherwise will deal with me.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” say all three of them.
When they rise from their bows, the Emperor sees the joy sparkling on all of their faces—even Ziduan’s, though it is far more muted than in his spouses.
He’s wronged Ziduan, the Emperor realizes in a moment of staggering clarity.
Because—for all that the man has managed to get himself entangled in a nightmare of a succession issue, which is all the worse for the fact that apparently everybody in the palace knows about it—he has never, it seems, been the cold calculating man the Emperor has understood him to be. The prince from Shaoshang’s telling, whose heart must have been breaking in the banquet hall that day when Zisheng demanded Shaoshang’s hand in marriage—the Emperor has never seen such fragility in his own son.
This, he supposes, is why he failed Shen’an. He could only see what those he loved wanted him to see, without understanding the darker undercurrents of their lost hopes and heartbreaks and sorrows.
He will have to spend more time with Ziduan, he thinks.
Perhaps with his three grandchildren, too.
The Emperor dismisses the Crown Prince and his two wives, and it’s only as the door closes behind him that he realizes that he has one more pressing question.
“Eunuch Cao,” he calls.
“Your Majesty?”
“It goes without saying that that conversation never happened.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“But before we consign the conversation to the river of forgetfulness—Shaoshang and Ziduan are jealous enough that they won’t even allow Zisheng concubines.”
Eunuch Cao says nothing.
“Speak,” the Emperor says impatiently. “This never happened, remember.”
“I believe,” says Eunuch Cao slowly, “that it’s not their jealousy so much as General Huo’s inability to tolerate even the appearance of a wife he doesn’t love.”
The Emperor opens his mouth. Remembers someone once reporting on a time that Zisheng had shot arrows at Princess Yuchang. Closes his mouth again.
“Ziduan has ten concubines, though,” the Emperor says.
“I believe it might be closer to thirteen now,” says Eunuch Cao.
“Thirteen. Am I to believe no one is jealous of them?”
“I believe that the concubines are not strictly…what we usually think of as concubines,” says Eunuch Cao.
“I have had it with speaking in riddles,” snaps the Emperor. “Just tell me what my son is doing with thirteen concubines that nobody wants.”
“Nothing, Your Majesty.” A beat. “The concubines are, I believe, the purview of the Crown Princess Consort. She teaches them to help her build things. The revitalization of Tongniu after the flooding last year was much improved by the machinery built by the Crown Prince’s harem, you might recall.”
“It’s a factory,” the Emperor groans.
“And a school. And the Crown Princess Consort’s group of friends. They are all very industrious, lovely young ladies.”
“Wonderful. I don’t know why we even bother having customs or traditions or—anything. Cheng Shaoshang is just going to trample all over them while her husbands defend her.”
A silence.
“Very well. Perfect. This never happened. What was I doing again?”
“You were going to ask General Huo to assist Yuan Shen in his investigation.”
The Emperor rubs his forehead.
“I don’t suppose Zisheng is waiting outside to be called back in, is he?”
“I’ll check, Your Majesty.” Eunuch Cao goes outside, and returns. “I’m afraid he’s left with the Crown Prince and his Consort.”
“How much would you hate me if I sent you back to go fetch him?”
“I could never hate Your Majesty.”
“Hm. Send Yuan Shen to fetch him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Yuan Shen no doubt deserves some credit for bringing this situation to the Emperor’s attention, no matter how inadvertently. But he is also the cause of the Emperor’s current headache. He might as well suffer the shamelessness too.