When the Sea Turned to Silver
Page 46
“She must be very beautiful,” said the girl. There was a hint of awe and envy in her voice.
“Oh, she is,” one of the women said. “Remember how angry the emperor was after what she had done to his wall? But as soon as he saw her, he was enchanted.”
“Who?” Yishan said, matching his steps with the group. “What did she do to the wall?”
“She destroyed it!” the first woman said, looking at Yishan. “Did you not hear the story?”
“Destroyed the Vast Wall?” Pinmei gasped.
“Well, only part of it,” the woman conceded. “She was looking for her husband at the Vast Wall. She traveled a great distance, all on foot, with only a bundle of cloth…”
“I bet it was clothes for her husband,” another interjected. “Someone said it was all embroidered…”
“But when she finally got to the wall, she was told her husband had died,” the woman continued, ignoring the interruption. “And, in shock, she began to wail and wail and cursed the heavens, ten hundred tears pouring—”
“I was told she stood like a statue and shed only one tear,” another person said.
“Well, a hundred tears or one,” the woman said, obviously cross to have her account disputed, “when her tear fell on the wall, the part it touched just collapsed—as if crushed by her sorrow.”
“And her husband’s body was right there in the rubble,” another woman added.
“So the emperor was angry and probably wanted to punish her, right?” Yishan said, prodding. “But when he saw her, he wanted to marry her?”
“And she wouldn’t,” the girl piped in. “Not unless he gave her husband a funeral that buried him in the sea.”
“Which is what is happening now!” the first woman said, glaring at all the others.
In the distance, a faint, ponderous beating of drums called. Yishan looked at Pinmei, and without a word they began to run forward, bits of conversation dropping upon them with the snow.
“…four hundred li of the wall fell,” one voice said as Yishan darted through a pack of people, “as if her tear knocked it down…”
“…thousands of bones under the wall,” another voice said as Pinmei ducked underneath a gossiping couple.
“…it had to be clothes,” another said as they pushed onto the Grand Pier, the broad platform stretching over silent waves of ice like an unfinished bridge. “She had the embroidered bundle put into the coffin with him…”
But then Pinmei’s ears became deaf to all but the crashing sounds of cymbals and drums. Yishan grabbed Pinmei’s arm and pulled her farther down the long pier ahead of them. As they neared the end, Pinmei could see the black gash of water where the ice had been chopped away. Imperial soldiers poured into the streets.
“Back!” a soldier barked as the soldiers lined up on either side of the pier. “Stand back!”
The crowd moved in a wave, pushing Pinmei and Yishan to the edge of the wharf. Pinmei looked over her shoulder nervously, eyeing the ice below.
“Kneel!” another soldier ordered as the pounding of drums became even louder. “All kneel as the emperor arrives!”
Everyone immediately obeyed. The sounds of the drums and cymbals boomed as the procession passed.
Pinmei peeked through the clumps of people in front of her. Funeral banners swayed before her, and farther away stood two figures shrouded with the pale coarse clothes of mourning. Pinmei thought the broad-shouldered man looked more annoyed than sad, his head bowed only the smallest fraction in respect for the dead. Yishan nudged her and Pinmei nodded back. They both knew it was the emperor.
The drums stopped beating and the cymbals made their final bang. For a moment there was no sound; even the wind was as silent as the trapped water below. There was the low murmuring of a priest as the pallbearers began to lower the coffin from their shoulders. As the mourners turned their backs to the coffin to await its burial, Pinmei could not help stealing a look.
For, as she suspected, standing next to the emperor in white funeral robes was Lady Meng.
CHAPTER
63
Lady Meng was as beautiful as ever. Even in funeral clothing, she looked as if she had been carved of ivory, the flower-petal fineness of all her features undiminished by the rough hemp robes. Delicate snowflakes fell upon her, and as she heard the splash of the coffin falling into the sea, Lady Meng raised her head. She gave the sky a small, sad smile, the same smile she had given Pinmei as they said farewell.
The emperor had already turned back around, eager for the burial to be completed. When he saw the coffin’s absence, his back straightened and, saying something impossible for Pinmei to hear, took hold of Lady Meng’s arm as if to take possession of her. Lady Meng flinched and pulled away, walking to the edge of the pier to look down into the black water.
“It is done,” the emperor said, this time his voice loud enough for all to hear.
Lady Meng turned around and slowly lifted her head—her neck rising to a proud, defiant arch. The wind began to blow again, a low, angry howl.
“Come!” the emperor demanded, beckoning with his arm.
“I will not come,” Lady Meng said. Her voice was low, her words cutting into the air.
“I have done as you asked!” the emperor said. “Do you not remember?”
“I said I could only marry after my husband was buried,” Lady Meng said.
“And now he is buried,” the emperor said, “and you are to be my wife.”
“Marry you?” Lady Meng said, her eyes glittering. “A ruthless tyrant who does not care who suffers for him? Never!”
“You will marry me!” the emperor said, his voice dangerous. He began to stalk toward her, snowflakes whipping around him in a mad frenzy.
“You may try,” Lady Meng said, speaking the words as if spitting poison, “to marry my corpse.”
Then, in a single, swift motion, she jumped into the black water.
“No!” Pinmei’s scream was lost in the gasps of horror from the crowd. Everyone pushed forward, the people to gape and the guards to act as the emperor bellowed, “Get her! She is not to get away!”
But those at the edge of the pier halted, bewildered at what they saw below. As those unable to see clamored with questions, agitated shouts and murmurs of wonder resounded. “The water has frozen over!” someone screeched. “The hole has closed!”
“Oh, she is,” one of the women said. “Remember how angry the emperor was after what she had done to his wall? But as soon as he saw her, he was enchanted.”
“Who?” Yishan said, matching his steps with the group. “What did she do to the wall?”
“She destroyed it!” the first woman said, looking at Yishan. “Did you not hear the story?”
“Destroyed the Vast Wall?” Pinmei gasped.
“Well, only part of it,” the woman conceded. “She was looking for her husband at the Vast Wall. She traveled a great distance, all on foot, with only a bundle of cloth…”
“I bet it was clothes for her husband,” another interjected. “Someone said it was all embroidered…”
“But when she finally got to the wall, she was told her husband had died,” the woman continued, ignoring the interruption. “And, in shock, she began to wail and wail and cursed the heavens, ten hundred tears pouring—”
“I was told she stood like a statue and shed only one tear,” another person said.
“Well, a hundred tears or one,” the woman said, obviously cross to have her account disputed, “when her tear fell on the wall, the part it touched just collapsed—as if crushed by her sorrow.”
“And her husband’s body was right there in the rubble,” another woman added.
“So the emperor was angry and probably wanted to punish her, right?” Yishan said, prodding. “But when he saw her, he wanted to marry her?”
“And she wouldn’t,” the girl piped in. “Not unless he gave her husband a funeral that buried him in the sea.”
“Which is what is happening now!” the first woman said, glaring at all the others.
In the distance, a faint, ponderous beating of drums called. Yishan looked at Pinmei, and without a word they began to run forward, bits of conversation dropping upon them with the snow.
“…four hundred li of the wall fell,” one voice said as Yishan darted through a pack of people, “as if her tear knocked it down…”
“…thousands of bones under the wall,” another voice said as Pinmei ducked underneath a gossiping couple.
“…it had to be clothes,” another said as they pushed onto the Grand Pier, the broad platform stretching over silent waves of ice like an unfinished bridge. “She had the embroidered bundle put into the coffin with him…”
But then Pinmei’s ears became deaf to all but the crashing sounds of cymbals and drums. Yishan grabbed Pinmei’s arm and pulled her farther down the long pier ahead of them. As they neared the end, Pinmei could see the black gash of water where the ice had been chopped away. Imperial soldiers poured into the streets.
“Back!” a soldier barked as the soldiers lined up on either side of the pier. “Stand back!”
The crowd moved in a wave, pushing Pinmei and Yishan to the edge of the wharf. Pinmei looked over her shoulder nervously, eyeing the ice below.
“Kneel!” another soldier ordered as the pounding of drums became even louder. “All kneel as the emperor arrives!”
Everyone immediately obeyed. The sounds of the drums and cymbals boomed as the procession passed.
Pinmei peeked through the clumps of people in front of her. Funeral banners swayed before her, and farther away stood two figures shrouded with the pale coarse clothes of mourning. Pinmei thought the broad-shouldered man looked more annoyed than sad, his head bowed only the smallest fraction in respect for the dead. Yishan nudged her and Pinmei nodded back. They both knew it was the emperor.
The drums stopped beating and the cymbals made their final bang. For a moment there was no sound; even the wind was as silent as the trapped water below. There was the low murmuring of a priest as the pallbearers began to lower the coffin from their shoulders. As the mourners turned their backs to the coffin to await its burial, Pinmei could not help stealing a look.
For, as she suspected, standing next to the emperor in white funeral robes was Lady Meng.
CHAPTER
63
Lady Meng was as beautiful as ever. Even in funeral clothing, she looked as if she had been carved of ivory, the flower-petal fineness of all her features undiminished by the rough hemp robes. Delicate snowflakes fell upon her, and as she heard the splash of the coffin falling into the sea, Lady Meng raised her head. She gave the sky a small, sad smile, the same smile she had given Pinmei as they said farewell.
The emperor had already turned back around, eager for the burial to be completed. When he saw the coffin’s absence, his back straightened and, saying something impossible for Pinmei to hear, took hold of Lady Meng’s arm as if to take possession of her. Lady Meng flinched and pulled away, walking to the edge of the pier to look down into the black water.
“It is done,” the emperor said, this time his voice loud enough for all to hear.
Lady Meng turned around and slowly lifted her head—her neck rising to a proud, defiant arch. The wind began to blow again, a low, angry howl.
“Come!” the emperor demanded, beckoning with his arm.
“I will not come,” Lady Meng said. Her voice was low, her words cutting into the air.
“I have done as you asked!” the emperor said. “Do you not remember?”
“I said I could only marry after my husband was buried,” Lady Meng said.
“And now he is buried,” the emperor said, “and you are to be my wife.”
“Marry you?” Lady Meng said, her eyes glittering. “A ruthless tyrant who does not care who suffers for him? Never!”
“You will marry me!” the emperor said, his voice dangerous. He began to stalk toward her, snowflakes whipping around him in a mad frenzy.
“You may try,” Lady Meng said, speaking the words as if spitting poison, “to marry my corpse.”
Then, in a single, swift motion, she jumped into the black water.
“No!” Pinmei’s scream was lost in the gasps of horror from the crowd. Everyone pushed forward, the people to gape and the guards to act as the emperor bellowed, “Get her! She is not to get away!”
But those at the edge of the pier halted, bewildered at what they saw below. As those unable to see clamored with questions, agitated shouts and murmurs of wonder resounded. “The water has frozen over!” someone screeched. “The hole has closed!”
