A Dragon Robe Cut from Bloodstained Cloth

A length of coarse, old hemp cloth, soaked through with blood and tears in the Han Palace's weaving workshop, bore the humiliation of Consort Bo's fall from favored concubine in the Wei Palace to a life in the dust. It also carried the prophecy that she would "bear the Son of Heaven" and the life-saving lie that a "blue dragon coiled around her belly." It witnessed her clutching her young son Liu Heng as she escaped the palace, where Empress Lu had slaughtered her way through the harem, and fled to the bitter cold of the Dai kingdom. For twenty-three years, amid the winds and frost beyond the northern frontier, Consort Bo used this cloth and her needle to stitch frugality and clear-mindedness into her son's very bones. She forged it into Liu Heng's backbone and armor. When an envoy from Chang'an knelt and called for him to "ascend the throne," the cry tore through the Dai kingdom. Consort Bo brought out the bloodstained cloth she had kept hidden away and shouted words that shook the heavens: "Use it! For you, Liu Heng! Cut out a dragon robe!" Clad in this "dragon robe" woven from blood and tears, Liu Heng entered Chang'an. When assassins struck at Ba Bridge, Consort Bo unfurled the cloth like a battle standard blotting out the sun. As he ascended the throne, the cloth pressed against his heart, cold as ice and searing as a brand. When meritorious officials forced their way into the palace to demand rewards, a bowl of millet gruel from Dai was her silent lash. When the Xiongnu threatened the border, she coughed up blood as she offered a handkerchief, stopping a war that would have engulfed the empire. This cloth was the heavy foundation of Liu Heng's power, and a sword hanging over his head. Consort Bo tempered him through a lifetime of hardship, only to remind the son on the dragon throne: never forget the severed fingers of the weaving women, the frozen bones of the common people, or the wounds of the realm. At last, Emperor Wen of Han, Liu Heng, entered the court beneath his twelve-symbol black ceremonial crown, as the people hailed him as emperor. The rough feel of the cloth remained against his heart, an eternal brand: his mother's armor and prison, and the weighty beginning of an era built on a foundation of blood and tears.