False Blood

The emperor asked me whether my marriage was happy.

I knew he would ask.

Rumors filled the palace.

How could he ignore them?

“Very happy,” I answered.

“Last night, Consort Prince was exhausted from the long journey, and I had caught some cold. That is why we slept separately.”

The emperor’s eyes blurred.

Prince Ling looked at me in disbelief.

I placed my hand over his.

His palm was rough.

Cracked by cold wind.

After I spoke for him before the emperor, Prince Ling treated me with less distance.

I gave him everything.

Or rather, I acted as if I did.

Mother had said that sometimes, to make others enter a play, you must perform the whole play first.

The emperor often summoned me.

Sometimes he allowed Prince Ling to accompany me.

Most times he called only me.

I knew he feared losing control over me.

Or over Mother’s shadow.

“Jiao, are you truly happy with Prince Ling?”

“Yes.”

“Better than when you lived in the palace?”

“Yes. Prince Ling is good.”

Disappointment entered his eyes.

Partly because his imperial pride was unsatisfied.

Partly because he envied that I could be paired with Prince Ling.

That day, he gifted me a pair of golden mandarin ducks.

He hoped I would soon bear royal descendants.

I agreed.

Prince Ling grew brighter after our marriage.

No longer as gloomy as at first.

But we still had not consummated.

I knew this could not continue.

That night, I ordered my maid to obtain an indecent powder.

The Taoist said a fingernail’s worth could make someone deliriously happy.

Brothel performers treasured it.

When the maid gave me the powder, I poured it into wine.

After sunset, I carried the wine to Prince Ling.

“The wine smells lovely,” I said. “Drinking alone would be dull.”

He hesitated.

I swallowed a large mouthful without speaking.

The strong wine flushed my cheeks.

Under candlelight, I looked even more alluring.

Prince Ling drank.

“You!”

He realized what was in it.

Men knew that smell better.

But the drug rose quickly.

His restraint broke when he saw the half-exposed curve beneath my collar.

The next morning, he woke and saw the blood on the sheets.

He swore he would treat me well.

I responded with false affection.

Then turned and drank the contraceptive decoction I had prepared.

Two months later, news of my pregnancy spread.

The emperor summoned me personally.

“Is it true?”

“The physician has checked. It cannot be false.”

His gaze drifted.

Under my high married hairstyle, I looked even more like Mother.

Recently, his health had worsened.

He often hallucinated.

He woke from sleep calling Mother’s name.

The physicians said he might not survive next winter.

I knew my counterattack had officially begun.