Almost a hundred bleary-eyed lords and their attendants lined the Hall of Five Seasons, blood crusting many a scabbard.
The first step in the coup, of course, had been to secure the rightful heir, Prince Bian, and make sure no quick-thinking opponent could steal away or murder him before we could get him enthroned.
The heir’s guards understandably took objection to a small army of sword-brandishing warlords carrying off their charge in the middle of the night. Our intentions might have been easily explained, but the scent I now recognized as the Tiger’s Bloodlust Mandate had washed over the coalition – now little more than a well-dressed mob – and the Stallion’s own Mandate had given us all such courage that no one had bothered with explanations.
The prince’s guardsmen were, unfortunately, cut down, and when the chaos was at its thickest in those dark Imperial halls, I had needed to draw my own sword just to defend myself.
At least, standing in the chilly silver mist of dawn, that was what I told myself.
The second step in the coup had been to secure the heir’s immediate rival. A small, sobbing Prince Xie now stood between his stricken grandmother and his frightened older half-brother, while the Five-Clawed Dragon robe was placed around the older boy’s shoulders.
That boy, now the Son of Heaven, turned to ascend the steps of the five-sided altar. He lit five bowls of incense – Green, Red, Yellow, White, and a sooty colorless smoke that passed for Black – as offerings to the five roving stars under which he now ruled.
Thus, it was done. Matter of succession settled.
Lastly, as the new Emperor was not yet an adult, he did not yet have a courtesy name. And though there would be many official ways to speak of his majesty, or – if one’s rank were sufficiently high – to address him directly, it could not be implied that the new Emperor was in any way inexperienced, a boy controlled by his elders. Oh no, he needed a courtesy name if only to maintain the farce of his capacity to rule. With no surviving father or grandfather, the Imperial Grand Marshal – the boy-king’s uncle – would be the one to name him. No doubt, his mother the Ox Empress had already chosen the name, but, as a woman, it was improper for her to speak in an official capacity or visibly engage in the politics of the court.
It was an absurd presumption, I thought, since the events that had directly resulted in the new Emperor’s coronation had all been orchestrated by her hand, and she was now perhaps the most powerful person in the Land Under Heaven. But the traditions of patriarchy were maintained nonetheless.
“I, Oxblood, Imperial Grand Marshall and brother to the new Empress Dowager, his majesty’s venerable mother…”
The Ox Empress was given that much acknowledgement, at least, if not mentioned by name
“...name the Son of Heaven… Emperor Shining Light!”
An unreadable look flitted across the younger prince’s face. His grandmother too appeared to be confused. In fact, many upon that dais, as the sacred chimes rang out across the courtyard, seemed to be shook by something so simple as the granting of a courtesy name. There must be more to this, I knew. There was something to that name to which only the highest members of the court were privy.
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Then, Emperor Shining Light looked to his smaller half brother, and did something very unexpected. The Marshal drew in a breath to close the ceremonies, but the little Emperor beat his uncle to it.
In thin piping voice, against all protocol and expectation, he said, “I, Emperor Shining Light, name my brother, Prince Xie, my heir.”
There was stunned silence among the assembled. Was the Emperor supposed to speak at his own coronation? Was this the proper protocol for naming an heir? In any case, there was no denying the voice of the new Emperor.
“Emperor Shining Light has spoken,” The Marshal intoned, though the boy's mother, the Ox Empress looked chagrined.
Then, looking to the tiny Emperor as if there might be yet more surprises – there weren’t – the Grand Marshal sucked in a breath and bellowed, “Emperor Shining Light. Long may he reign under heaven!”
“LONG MAY HE REIGN UNDER HEAVEN!” All in attendance cried out.
“Long may he rule the land!”
“LONG MAY HE RULE THE LAND!”
“Long may he reign under heaven!”
“LONG MAY HE REIGN UNDER HEAVEN!”
“Long may he rule the land!”
“LONG MAY HE RULE THE LAND!”
Five times the phrases were repeated, and none shouted the response louder than the Ten Imperial Attendants, the eunuchs who had been spared.
The third and final step in the coup was meant to be their extermination. The Marshal had laid all the blame for the ‘confusion’ of the late Emperor’s will at their feet, and the mob of warlords and attendants – myself included – had every intention of excising the eunuch's influence from the palace. In short, they were to be rounded up and killed, in whichever order was most convenient for the mob. While many of the lesser eunuchs, and many beardless-servants-thought-to-be-eunuchs were cut down on sight, the Ten Imperial Attendants had miraculously survived the night.
Courage and bloodlust had fueled the mob, but when the Ten Imperial Attendants themselves had been cornered, I myself stood before them with dripping sword raised, panting as the ringing of steel echoed throughout the palace.
For a moment, the briefest of moments, my rage and courage failed me, and I wished with all my heart that the bloodshed could come to an end if only for a day. Suddenly, a sense of calm washed over us. The Marshal himself strode through the mob, setting his hand upon our upturned blades. Even so, he never could have halted us in time if it hadn’t been for the Mandate of Heaven he so clearly exuded. I had seen many gifts of which I was intensely jealous, including the Tiger’s and the Stallion’s, but never had I felt such a powerful and unique aura as Grand Marshal Oxblood's. And never would I have guessed that the Mandate of the Imperial Marshal – the highest military authority in all the land – was the Mandate of peace.
For some reason, a reason I would never truly know, the Marshal had changed his mind about the fate of the Ten Imperial Attendants at the last moment, sparing them. So too had the child-Emperor found the courage and wit to outmaneuver his own mother and save his younger half-brother from her plotting. If the intermittent looks shot by the Ox Empress in the direction of the Ten Imperial Attendants, and eventually the tiny Prince Xie were any indication, sparing the rivals of her son had not been part of the Ox Empress's plan, this day.
Interminable plotting, a sleepless night, a decision from my father that would set the course of my destiny. Despite everything that had already happened and what was still to come that day, those two decisions by the butcher called Oxblood and the little boy-Emperor are the ones that stick most within my memory, and puzzle me most, even now. For those two acts of peace, two acts of mercy, would give rise to the greatest chaos and cruelty the Land of Heaven has ever known: The Tale of the Three Kingdoms.
