“No, you’re hated because you plotted to have the rightful heir murdered. Twice.”
“Was any other avenue open to me? Should I embrace a quiet and chaste old age, as does every respectable woman? You know how unfair that is. In these times, life is a game that a widow cannot win. You ought to know.”
Xiaobo tried to show no reaction, but Zheng didn’t seem to need one.
“May I tell you a story? As it happens, I grew up not far from here.” Indeed, every member of the spy agency knew perfectly that Zheng came from the neighborhood of Daxing, but Xiaobo said nothing. She could tell the story would have a dangerous ending. “When I was a little girl, I met a very old spinster who made a living from weaving baskets. She wasn’t really a neighbor; she was more of a traveling saleswoman. Every week she’d pass in front of our house carrying her baskets. She had a funny way of walking, not exactly like a woman with bound feet, but still distinctive. One day, I mustered enough courage to stop her in the street and ask her directly why she walked that way. She looked at my feet, saw that they were already bound, and out of some deep sense of pity, she agreed to reveal her secret to me. As it turned out, she was the only child of a somewhat distinguished family that had fallen into hard times, and marrying her off would have been their only salvation from misery. She’d been betrothed three times, and for various reasons, the wedding was always canceled. Mostly it had to do with her family’s declining good name. The point is she never found a candidate again. No one wanted to be her fourth suitor, because ignorant people believe it’s bad luck to be the fourth anything, so she ended up unmarriageable and on the point of starving. When her parents died, she knew she’d have to support herself, and the first thing she had to do was to fix those useless feet. Can you imagine? I have to admire what she did to give herself a new life. It’s bad enough to be bound; it’s a pain none of us would have chosen willingly. But she, having already known that pain, decided to go through it again. She broke delicate bones that had taken years to heal from the first breaking and forced her feet back to their true size. Of course, a foot that has been bound and unbound isn’t much use either; she showed me what flabby pieces of meat result from the attempt. But that didn’t stop her, because she knew, as every woman knows, that once marriage is off the table, life will never be kind to us again.”
Xiaobo didn’t know what to do or what to say to pretend Zheng’s words didn’t directly relate to her. Since she’d created her disguise, her survival strategy had been to not even think of her womanhood. She’d become used to living with the hope that the truth would never be found if she taught herself to ignore it.
“Ever since you arrived in the capital, my people have informed me of the curious way you walk. It’s not like the gait of a bound woman, of course; you no longer bend your knees the way we do. But the way that basket weaver walked is unforgettable to me. Since I hadn’t yet seen you in person, I still had my doubts, but they vanished this morning, when one of my servants ran from the Hall of Mental Cultivation to tell me you’d just blocked an attempt to ban foot binding.”
“What does that have to do with whatever it is you’re imagining about me?”
“Tell me: how was your meal with the Emperor? Did you enjoy the seasoning?”
This time, Xiaobo’s reaction was evident. She’d paid little attention to the food because her mind had been too occupied considering the possible repercussions of Tsunenaga’s blunder, but she still remembered how curious it had tasted.
“That spicy sweet flavor was dong quai. It’s a pretty little herb with white flowers; I’m sure you would love it when it’s in full bloom. But it’s the root that we use. Oh, don’t worry about the Emperor; I’m told the new taster is good at his job, and dong quai has no effect on men anyway. It’s on women that it works. It’s usually taken by daughters of good families that need to get rid of an inconvenient pregnancy. But even in a woman who is not pregnant, a careless amount can cause copious bleeding.”
Xiaobo’s insides twisted again, and it was more than mere worry.
“You can keep insisting you’re not a woman hiding under those eunuch robes. Soon I will know.”
Morning, October 5 (Gregorian), 1620
Beijing
To Tsunenaga’s surprise, the Emperor summoned him for a second talk. He was again escorted out of the barracks and led, this time, to the garden behind the Palace of Heavenly Purity, where Taichang invited him to walk along an artificial canal decorated with carved stone fences. Tsunenaga was surprised to see that Xiaobo was not there. A court eunuch who spoke Portuguese greeted him and started walking alongside them. Without waiting for the customary salutation, Taichang began, “Yesterday was a full day. Things still need doing. Positions to fill, captains to promote. My father left many decisions unfinished, but that is true of every dead man.”
“Why is Your Majesty telling me all this?”
“Indeed, why you? I’ll tell you why: anyone else I may choose to talk to has some stake in my decisions. But you’re not from here, and if given the chance, you’d run away to your island. You don’t care how I run the empire, and that’s why I find I can tell you about it.”
Tsunenaga tried to divine what could be behind that outpour of honesty, and liked none of the possible explanations. “Is Your Majesty asking for my advice?” He had the suspicion that the translator was not fully competent in Portuguese, or maybe his own Spanish was the barrier, but it caused him anxiety to not know whether he was getting the full meaning.
“Maybe more than that. I still don’t know. My gratitude to you seems to not have been exhausted. I wish I could do more to show you my appreciation.”
“That is very gracious of Your Majesty.”
“Spare me the formulas. What do you wish for?”
He thought for a moment and said, “In my country, a man of my position displays his rank by carrying a sword in public.”
“A sword? Is that what you want?”
“If it’s at all possible, Your Majesty.”
“The necessary arrangements can be made to let you have one. Of course, I forbid you to carry it in my presence. But before commoners, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thank you.”
The Emperor adopted a more serious expression. “Your request about religious freedom has given me much to consider.”
Xiaobo had omitted telling Tsunenaga what she’d said in his name, and he proceeded accordingly. “It wouldn’t be the first time that the ruler of a mighty empire opens the way for a new religion and gains even more glory for the empire. If Your Majesty allows me to tell the story of the Roman Constantine—”
“I’m not only thinking of the new. There are hundreds of traditions among my subjects, and I’ve been thinking that the way my father and all his fathers handled religion was too beholden to just one way of doing things.”
As the translator repeated this, Tsunenaga saw with alarm the implications of the Emperor’s plan. “But of all religions, only one is correct.”
“I’ve heard that, as much from the Jesuits as from every other breed of priest. Such arguments are not very convincing to me.”
Tsunenaga tried to remember the lives of saints he’d read in Spain, and what obstacles they’d found in their quest to evangelize. “An ordinary citizen may feel obliged by his lord, but you have the freedom to make up your own mind. If you tell your people what to believe, they will have to obey.”
“That is true. But we both know you’d like to be the one to tell me what to tell them.”