long, wide sleeves, no bright colours, low-cut gowns, intoxicating scents at court or in a garden.
Shan lives these realities, and she knows their origins: the theories and writings, disputes and interpretations. She knows the great names and their works and deeds. Sheâs steeped in poetry, has memorized verses from the Third and Seventh, the Ninth, before and after the rebellion.
Some lines were remembered through everything that happened.
But who knew what words or deeds would last? Who made these decisions? Was surviving down the years a matter of accident as much as excellence?
She stands by the desk and lamp, suddenly weary, without even the energy to cross the room and close the door the servant has left ajar. It has been an intense day.
She is seventeen, and will be wed next year. She doesnât think (though she might be wrong) that either of the men here fully grasped her fatherâs careful choice of a husband for her from the imperial clan.
A daughter-in-law in Kitai is the servant of her husbandâs parents. She leaves her home and becomes a lesser figure in theirs. The parents can even send her back (and keep her dowry) if she is judged insufficiently respectful. Her father has spared her that, knowing what she is (what he has caused her to be).
The imperial clan have all the servants any of them will ever need, paid for by the court office that administers the clan. They have doctors assigned, and entertainers and alchemists and cooks. Astrologers, though only by daylight and with permission. They have sedan chairs, single or double, at their disposal when they wish to (again with permission) leave the compound by the palace, where they are expected to live forever.
There are funds for formal clothing and adornments for banquets or ceremonies when their presence is required. They are creatures to be displayed, symbols of the dynasty. They are buried in the clan graveyardâwhich is here in Yenling. There isnât enough room in Hanjin. From one graveyard to another, someone had once said.
A woman marrying into the clan lives a different life. And it can be a
good
life, depending on the woman, on her husband, on the will of heaven.
She will have a husband, less than a year from now. She has met him. That, too, is unusual, though not forbiddenâand such matters are conducted differently within the imperial clan. Her fatherâs
jinshi
degree, his status as a court gentleman, had given more than enough stature for him to address, through intermediaries, a family in the clan. Marrying into the imperial ranks isnât universally desired. It is such a sequestered life, shaped by ceremony and regulation, so many living so closely together as their numbers grow.
But for Shan it offers a promise of sorts. Among these people, already marked apart, her own differences might blend, silk threads weaving with each other. It is possible.
And WaiâQi Waiâis a student himself, her father had determined. A little different, too, it seems. A man (a boy, still, really) who has already travelled (with permission) to search out ancient steles and bronzes in the countryside, and brought them home to catalogue.
This wasnât your usual son of the indolent imperial clan, pursuing wine and pleasure in the entertainment districts of Hanjin because there was no ambition possible for him. Sometimes, perhaps out of boredom as much as anything, some of them drifted into intrigues against the throne. They were executed for that.
Qi Wai had been stiff but courteous, sitting with his mother and her aunt on the one occasion they were together, taking tea, after the first negotiations had proceeded satisfactorily. Her father had made it clear to her (and to them, she believed): in his view the marriage turned on the two young people finding or anticipating an affinity.
Shan thought they had, at least potentially, that day.
Heâd looked younger than her (was a year older). He was plump, had
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