The Zhang Clan's Harem

One empress, three consorts, nine concubines, twenty-seven court ladies, and eighty-one imperial consorts: every one of them surnamed Zhang.

This love, at once near and distant, seems within easy reach, as do power and influence. This smile, not quite a smile, conceals murderous intent and concern. Which of us owes the other? How could there be such retribution?

Along the narrow path, the matron walked slowly, head lowered, carrying a lantern. She murmured, "My lady, the waterside pavilion is just ahead. If you have nothing to do tonight, do not leave the pavilion for a stroll. Before you entered the palace, the matron in charge must have explained the rules. Please abide by them."

That night, the palace lantern in the matron's hand shone especially brightly. This was the night in the Zhang family's harem.

The light of dawn seemed to push open the palace's carved redwood windows, drift past the gauze curtains, and pass through the beaded screen, straight into her eyes. Her raven-black lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. Bracing herself with one hand, she raised her upper body, pushed aside the quilt, slipped into her embroidered cloth shoes, and walked in small steps toward the window. Ignoring the curtains and beaded screen, she reached out with jade-like fingers to open the palace window and take in the morning in the Zhang family's harem.

She did not know what time it was. The footsteps, quiet yet firm, came quickly and in orderly succession. A copper basin of clear water, palace clothes on a wooden tray, hairpins and ornaments in a brocade box: all were laid out before her. This was the morning ritual of washing and dressing.

Even after washing and dressing, after applying a light touch of makeup, the only person who could look upon this face was herself, reflected in the bronze mirror. This palace, this harem belonging solely to the Zhang family, was surely beyond her control.