Chapter Twenty-five One Morn Awakened (I)

　　Fire-trees and silver flowers join as one; the star-bridge’s iron locks swing open. Dust is brushed away with the horses; the bright moon follows the people who come. The entertainers bloom like ripe plums; the wandering songs fall like drifting petals. The Golden Guards relax their curfew; the jade clepsydra need not hurry.

　　Time, like an arrow, had flown—a year had passed. It was now the fourth year of Yifeng (679), the night of the Shangyuan Festival. The Emperor ascended the Chengtian Gate and issued a proclamation:

　　“At the root of the realm Heaven bestows grace; it is once more Shangyuan. The celestial officers grant blessings and the people rejoice. This Shangyuan, decorate lamps in full splendor. The Golden Guards shall relax the ban and night roaming is permitted for three nights.”

　　So the capital of Chang’an hung countless lanterns; merchants fashioned wares to sell; nobles and commoners alike thronged the streets. Some masked themselves with beast-faces, some men wore women’s robes; actors and acrobats put on strange guises.

　　The Emperor returned to Hanyuan Palace and received the foreign envoys. After formal greetings and the offering of tribute, the court withdrew to the Linde Hall for a night banquet: musicians played, palace dancers rose, and Crown Prince Li Xian presented a congratulatory poem:

　　“A thousand doors and ten thousand households shine with lamps;

　　The first-month Shangyuan stirs the hearts of men.

　　Full streets and narrow lanes, sleeves whirl in dance;

　　At once the heavens seem to lend voice to verse.”

　　When the feast had deepened a palace maid brought out a flower lantern. Its form was delicate and novel—red oiled paper painted with several carp, utterly translucent and exquisite.

　　“Your Majesty,” she said, “the hour is auspicious. If Your Majesty lights this lantern and sends it forth, let the city share in the joy.”

　　The Emperor himself touched the flame, and the lantern’s light was carried out of the palace into the sleeping capital.

　　Princess Li Lingyue remained at the Taiping Monastery. The festival night, with its revelry and crowds, made the palace parents forgetful; a quiet melancholy crept into her heart.

　　Lin Chaoyang, seeing her seated at the monastery balustrade, heavy-eyed and low of spirit, sought permission from the National Preceptor to escort her to the city. The Preceptor consented but warned him to watch over her closely.

　　Lin Chaoyang bowed and promised. He drew a brief character in qi before her eyes—“Yue’er”—and asked if she knew the day.

　　“Shangyuan,” she answered. “Whenever the festival comes Father and Mother are busy and seem to forget Yue’er,” she added.

　　Lin Chaoyang promised to take her out that night. She brightened at the offer, and the two slipped into Chang’an.

　　The capital had become a sea of lamps. Banners and pennants fluttered; lamp-poles bore lotus lights; the air was thick with music. Hanyuan Palace glittered like a constellation; the streets were like rivers of light. Lanterns and moon hung in partnership—the city looked as if the stars had descended to walk its avenues.

　　They passed fish-and-dragon dances with tens of thousands of performers, music by armies of players. Then came the eight-li Lantern Way—an endless avenue of lanterns, each a little world: turning-wheel lamps, jade-rabbit lamps, peacock-display lamps, “Three Battles with Lü Bu” lamps, Zi Ya’s “Fengshen” lamps, and a thousand other forms that seemed to conjure myth itself.

　　Even the common vegetable-shaped lanterns—cabbage, gourd, watermelon, chili, cat, dog, lamb, child-shaped lights—were crafted with such fidelity that the eye grew dazzled. The whole sight felt like a cosmos in miniature.

　　Beyond the lantern road, Lin Chaoyang and Li Lingyue drifted from the West Market into the East Market, where a spectacle unlike anything in the West awaited: a grand outdoor theatre with tens of thousands of performers. Stiltsmen, boat-dry-draggers, young maidens performing the “dry-boat” dances—each troupe dazzling the crowds.

　　Li Lingyue paused to watch; Lin Chaoyang bought a river-lantern nearby. Then she noticed, in the dim flicker of lamps, a pair she recognized: Crown Prince Li Xian and Shangguan Wan’er were choosing river-lanterns for release.

　　Li Lingyue crept up behind Li Xian and covered his eyes, teasing, “Guess who I am.”

　　He laughed and called, “Yue’er—don’t be a nuisance.”

　　She cried out, surprised he recognized her. Wan’er teased that only the Princess would have the boldness and leisure to do such a thing.

　　Li Xian explained they had come because Yue’er had been away from the palace long enough that Father and Mother missed her, and they had been sent to find her.

　　Li Lingyue, realizing she had indeed been away too long, asked where Father and Mother were; Li Xian replied they were not far behind.

　　The Emperor and Empress were among the common throng that night, disguised in plain clothes though the imperial air clung to them. Around them twenty or so Golden Guards in plain dress walked as protection; the Emperor had with him Ming Chongyan and princes Li Zhe and Li Dan.

　　The Empress asked why Li Xian had brought Wan’er; the Emperor said it was to encourage them, to bless young affections.

　　Soon the five of them—the Emperor, Empress, Li Xian, Li Zhe, Li Dan—and their companions found a wine-house near the festivities and settled inside.

　　Lin Chaoyang and Ming Chongyan stood as friends, old companions sharing drink. The Princess and Wan’er wrote wishes on river-lanterns before releasing them: Li Lingyue penned, “May I win Prince Xiyuan the husband”; Wan’er wrote, “May I be Prince Xian’s wife.”

　　They set the lanterns afloat together and watched them drift downstream.

　　As chance would have it, a boat hidden by a drooping willow struck Li Lingyue’s lantern and smashed it. She snapped, hands on hips: “Who dares to smash my lantern?”

　　A young man on the boat leapt ashore in embarrassment and bowed, “I am Xue Shao; the willow blinded my helmsman. Forgive me, Princess.”

　　Lin Chaoyang and Li Lingyue took his apology in good humor; Xue Shao—nephew to General Xue and related to noble houses—blushed and fumbled his words, but something in his gaze lingered on the Princess and did not go unnoticed.

　　Pang Tongshan, the Right Golden Guard general, who had been watching for any slight to security, came forward at once and rebuked the man, then escorted Xue Shao into the wine-house, where he was presented to the imperial party.

　　Li Lingyue teased Xue Shao and warned him not to be like other rakish nobles; Xue Shao protested his sincerity and pledged to visit the National Preceptor’s school in hopes of learning Daoist arts himself.

　　Inside the wine-house, Ming Chongyan asked after his master at the Xuanyuan Emperor Temple and the monk’s health. Lin Chaoyang said the master was well and urged Ming to visit the temple.

　　The Emperor, overhearing, promised later to allow Ming the visit. Xue Shao pledged a toast and the hall erupted in song.

　　Nearby, three maidservants brought dishes to the table. Li Lingyue, playing at mischief, asked Xue Shao if he found them pleasing; he answered honestly that none compared to the Princess. Laughter ensued.

　　Later Xue Shao confided he wished to study under the National Preceptor; the Emperor kindly allowed that after the festival the young man might go to Taiping Monastery and seek a teacher, provided he was sincere.

　　As the night wore on and the entertainment rose and fell, Li Lingyue tasted sweets and drifted toward sleep. Four princes—Li Hong’s sons—enacted a brief theatrical fight for her pleasure, and Wan’er accompanied them on the drum.

　　Wan’er, who watched Li Xian intently, felt her heart quicken when his dark eyes met hers. Shyness and color warmed her face; Li Xian, blithe and unconcerned, asked if she was faint.

　　Wan’er laughed it off, and the evening’s mirth rolled on.

　　When the Emperor learned of the Princess’s mild illness following a prior festival season, he promised an ample reward and promotion for any healer who could restore her health.

　　But that was another thread; for this night the city was a river of lamps, music and laughter, and two young women put their private wishes into floating lights and watched them join the lantern-borne constellations drifting down the moonlit channel—promises set to water and sky.