Empress in Disguise, Book 1 Read online
Empress in Disguise
Empress in Disguise Book 1
Zoey Gong
Amanda Roberts
Red Empress Publishing
www.RedEmpressPublishing.com
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Copyright © Zoey Gong
www.ZoeyGong.com
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Copyright © Amanda Roberts
www.AmandaRobertsWrites.com
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Cover by Cherith Vaughan
CoversbyCherith.com
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recoding, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.
Contents
Also by Zoey Gong
Also by Amanda Roberts
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Thank You For Reading!
About Zoey Gong
About Amanda Roberts
About the Publisher
Empress in Hiding
Also by Zoey Gong
Contemporary Romance
The New Year Boyfriend
The Animal Companions Series
A Girl and Her Elephant
A Girl and Her Panda
A Girl and Her Tiger
Empress in Disguise Trilogy
Empress in Disguise
Empress in Hiding
Empress in Danger
Also by Amanda Roberts
Fiction Novels
Threads of Silk
The Man in the Dragon Mask
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The Qing Dynasty Mysteries
Murder in the Forbidden City
Murder in the British Quarter
Murder at the Peking Opera
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The Touching Time Series
The Child’s Curse
The Emperor’s Seal
The Empress’s Dagger
The Slave’s Necklace
Empress in Disguise Trilogy
Empress in Disguise
Empress in Hiding
Empress in Danger
Nonfiction
The Crazy Dumplings Cookbook
Crazy Dumplings II: Even Dumplinger
1
“Daiyu! Daiyu!” my sister, Junli, says as she jumps up and down and pulls on my arm. “What’s it say? What’s it say?” We are two of dozens of people crowded around a palace official who is nailing a piece of paper to the community board in the marketplace.
“I don’t know,” I say, not only because I can’t see over the crowd, but because I can’t read. I wait for the official to make an announcement, but as soon as he finishes his task, he elbows us out of the way and moves on. I can see he has a whole stack of papers to put up. Everyone moves in front of the sign, and I know I’m not the only one who can’t read it. Still, it must be important if it is from the Forbidden City.
“What’s it say?” Junli asks again.
“Excuse me, uncle,” I say to a kindly looking man standing next to me. “What does the sign say?”
“Probably nothing that concerns you,” he says as he squints. “Looks like there is going to be a selection ceremony for new consorts for the emperor. Manchu consorts.” The man spits as he turns and walks away. I see two men talking animatedly about the announcement, and I hear one of them shout a loud curse on the imperial family.
“What’s he talking about?” Junli asks. I grab her arm and pull her away from the crowd. No wonder the man putting up the sign left in such a hurry. He didn’t want to be around for any fights that might break out because of it.
“The emperor is looking for a new wife,” I explain simply and quickly to Junli. Actually, he’ll probably take dozens of women into his court as concubines, but I don’t want to explain this to a six-year-old. “But only from among the Manchu, of course.”
“Oh,” Junli replies. As young as she is, even she is aware of the bitter division between the mostly Han Chinese people and the ruling Manchu elite. Two hundred years ago, the Manchu were a bunch of horse-riding, barbarian nomads living north of the wall. They invaded our country during a moment of weakness and now rule us all.
“It would be nice to be an empress,” Junli says absently. “Or a princess, wouldn’t it, Daiyu? Then I’d live in the Forbidden City and wear the prettiest clothes.”
I raise my eyes to the large, imposing, red-brick wall of the Forbidden City that looms over our poor neighborhood.
“I shouldn’t think so,” I say. “It looks like a prison. You know why it’s called the Forbidden City, right?”
“No.”
“Because once a woman enters, she is forbidden from ever leaving!”
“No!” Junli says. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” I insist. “The women are all locked inside a beautiful garden. There are luscious plants, plenty of fruits and vegetables, and they wear beautiful clothes. But it’s a trap.”
“What kind of trap?” I have her hooked now.
“A spider’s trap! Rawr!” I hook my fingers into claws and snarl. Junli squeals and runs away from me. We dodge between other market-goers, around a beggar, and down a long row of food stalls. The smoke and steam of the grills and bamboo baskets make my mouth water.
“Hey, hey!” a man says when I make the mistake of catching his eye and slowing to a walk. “Steamed pork bun! Very cheap! Very delicious!”
I shake my head and walk away, my stomach growling. I only have enough money for a jin of rice and a measure of pork to feed my whole family. I can’t waste any of it on myself. But when I look back to the road, I don’t see my sister.
“Junli?” I call out, and already I can feel myself panicking. “Junli!” I rush down the road, nearly toppling over a woman with bound feet.
“Watch out!” she scolds.
“Sorry!” I shake a man’s sleeve. “Have you seen a little girl?” He shrugs and turns away. I should never have let her out of my sight! It’s so easy for a child to get snatched. A pretty little girl could fetch enough money at a brothel to feed a family for a month.
“Junli!” I scream.
“I’m right here,” she says, appearing at my side from seemingly nowhere. She’s holding a stick of fried meat, chomping away happily.
“Where did you get that?”
She points to a nearby vendor. “He dropped it on the ground, so he said I could have it.”
The man gives a small smile and wave. I take Junli by the arm and drag her away. I know the man meant well, no sense in letting the food go to waste, but the idea that my sister had no qualms about eating food dropped in the dirt, such was her hunger, makes me sick.
We finally make it to the market stall of a woman I know well. “Good morning, laoma,” I say.
“Welcome, little sister,” she says.
I hand her two coins and a
metal container from a slouch bag that hangs from my shoulder. “Rice and pork.” She nods and takes the container from me, measuring out the rice and then pouring it into the container. My face falls when I pick the container up.
“It feels a bit light,” I say. She points up to the sky.
“There’s a drought. The farmer brought me much less than usual, so I had to raise the price. The governor of Peking has refused to help supplement the meager harvest.”
“What about the emperor?” I ask.
The woman scoffs and then laughs. “You think he cares about us? He’ll soon have a hundred more mouths to feed after the selection process.”
It doesn’t seem fair that one man should have enough money to feed a hundred wives while my father can barely afford to feed his only one and his five children. I weigh the container in my hands again. “This isn’t enough for my family, you know that.”
“Sorry,” she says with a shrug. I’m struck dumb. I don’t have more money, but I can’t return home with so little food. I’m about to cry when the woman takes pity on me and opens my container, dropping in another small scoop of rice. It still isn’t enough, but it’s the best she can do. At least she gives me the usual amount of pork. I take my purchases and slip them into my bag as I walk away.
“Hey, you cheated my wife!” I hear a man growl at the woman.
“I’ll tell you what I told her—” the woman says, going on to tell him the same story she told me. I take some solace in the fact that she must not have been lying if she was charging everyone more money. It wouldn’t be good business to cheat repeat customers. Still, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Our food is already not enough for everyone. Mama looks so thin, I think the new baby at her breast might be sucking her very essence from her.
“Look, Daiyu,” Junli says, shaking my arm and pointing ahead. An opera troupe has set up in the middle of a market road. They are all dressed in colorful costumes, though only one man is singing. The rest of the troupe are playing instruments, an erhu, a flute, and a drum. A dwarf with a monkey goes around the crowd with an upturned hat, asking for donations. I wish I had money to give them.
The opera is a popular one, if a little vulgar. It’s called Drunken Beauty, and while there are some other characters early on, the majority of the opera is sung by one person. An imperial concubine, in a bid to get the attention of the emperor since she is merely one of three thousand concubines, has invited the emperor to meet her for a drink at the One Hundred Flower Pavilion. However, through a mix-up, the emperor doesn’t show up, so the concubine drinks the wine alone. Through the show, the concubine becomes increasingly drunk, which leads to a series of hilarious songs and antics and even some impressive acrobatics, depending on the skill of the performer. This young man seems to be focusing more on his singing, which is quite lyrical.
The dwarf stops in front of Junli and lets her pet the monkey. She touches his fur and then runs back to me laughing.
“Did you see? Did you see?” she asks me.
“I saw. Go on, watch the show.” She goes back to the front of the crowd where a few children have gathered. I look around at the people, most of whom are familiar to me. People from the same neighborhood who have lived around me my whole life. People in the same situation as my own family, trying to survive on less and less money each year while the families grow ever larger. I shield my eyes from the growing sun and dust that is blown about on a meager breeze. Aside from the great red wall, all of Peking seems to be various shades of brown. The drought has been more intense than I realized.
I look away from the singer as the sun reflects from his headdress right into my eyes and I see a shoe vendor. I almost turn away—I could never afford a pair of new shoes—but then a thought strikes me and I wander over.
“New shoes, miss?” the man asks. “Lucky red shoes sure to fit your lotus feet.”
“I don’t have lotus feet,” I say. The man looks down at my unbound feet and then sniffs. “I have a few pairs for big-footed girls.”
“No,” I say, “I was wondering if you are buying.” I reach down and slip my shoes off. It’s summer, so I don’t really need them when the roads are dry. I hope I can get enough for them to buy food to last my family a few days. I can scrape together enough supplies between now and winter to sew myself another pair, I hope.
The man holds his hand out. “Let me see.”
I hand him the shoes and a small amount of sadness takes me over as I look at the delicate flowers Mama embroidered on them for me.
“Fair quality, but rather used,” the man mumbles. I shrug. I don’t know how long I’ve worn them, since at least last summer, but they’ve held up well. He reaches into his waistband and pulls out two small coins. I laugh.
“You expect me to go barefoot for so little?” I reach for the shoes to pull them back.
“Fine, fine, little sister,” the man says, pulling out two more coins. I hesitate, wondering if I could get more, but I know I can buy enough rice for a week with what he’s offering. I nod and quickly grab the coins. I return to the opera and clutch Junli’s shoulder.
“Aww,” she moans at having to leave.
“Come on, Mama needs us.” As I move away, the dwarf slips through the crowd in front of me, holding his hat up expectantly. I feel a small pang of guilt as I hold tightly to the coins in my hand. I know the troupe isn’t performing for free, but in expectation that people will give at least a small amount of money in exchange for the entertainment. But I have six hungry mouths waiting for me, not counting my own, so I push my guilt aside along with the dwarf as I drag Junli with me back to the food stall.
As we pass the sign announcing the new concubine selection, I’m reminded just how unfair it is that a bunch of barbarians should have so much while the rest of us have so little. I don’t even have a pair of shoes to wear while the emperor will be able to dress a hundred women in multitudes of fine silk garments.
I turn to the big, red wall and spit on the ground. I know no one inside will ever know the insult I just sent their way, but it makes me feel a little better.
2
“I wish you hadn’t sold your shoes,” Mama says that evening as I fry up some of the meat to add to the children’s bowls of rice, bowls that are full for the first time in weeks. I add some meat to the last bowl and hand it to Mama. She shakes her head.
“No, you eat it,” she says.
“I ate earlier, while you were sleeping.”
She hesitates, and I think she knows I’m lying, but she’s far more hungry than I am. She’s so thin, she appears to be nothing more than bones covered by tight skin. The baby sucks at her breast constantly and yet still cries in hunger.
“Please,” I say, near to tears.
She takes the bowl and eats eagerly, though I can see the tears in her eyes as well. I know it hurts her to take food from me, but if one of us is going to die of hunger, it will be her first, and then the baby. I can go on with less food for a while. I’ve done it before. I know that I just bought more rice than we have been able to afford in weeks, but we need it to last as long as possible.
“Is there any more?” my sister Mingming asks.
“Not tonight,” I say. “But there will be more tomorrow.”
The door to our one-room house opens and Baba walks in. His eyes go wide when he sees the children all eating.
“What is happening?” he asks. I fill a bowl with rice and pork and hand it to him.
“I found a little extra money,” I say, “and was able to buy more rice than usual. Here, eat.”
He takes the bowl and practically pours it into his mouth, the food gone in only a minute. When he’s done, he sighs in satisfaction.
“What did you have to do to get it?” he asks me accusingly when he hands the bowl back.
I can’t help but be hurt by his words and look away as I rinse the bowl in a small pail of water.
“I sold my shoes,” I say. I don’t have to look at him to see the sha
me on his face, I can feel it keenly enough. He grunts and walks over to the bed, sitting next to Mama as he takes off his own shoes and stretches out.
“Here,” he says. I turn and he flips a coin at me. “That’s all I was able to earn today.”
Mama tisks her tongue and looks away. She earns more money than Baba does through her embroidery work than he does through day-laboring. Still, altogether, it’s not enough to feed a family of six, not counting the baby. Mama hands the baby to Baba and totters over on her bound feet to sit by the open window, pulling her embroidery basket next to her. She needs to get as much work done as possible while there is still light. The baby whines as Baba rocks it.
“Dong Fa told me that he sold his second daughter to a brothel last week,” Baba says.
“What?” I ask with alarm. The Dong family lives at the end of the alley, and we’ve known them most of my life. Their second daughter can’t be more than eight years old.
“And the baby he sold to a family whose son died,” he goes on rather absently as he continues to rock his own tiny baby. I look at Mama and see that she is not working, but staring at her hands intently. “She is to be a ghost bride when she is old enough.”