Xi Leizu’s slim hands were clasped in her lap as she sat under the shade of a mulberry tree, her back leaning on its brown trunk. The spring sun was warm and calming, and the leaves murmured in the wind as she rested there, apparently calm. But her eyes were closed, and her brows were furrowed with worry, pain, and trouble.
Her maid, Li Zhiruo, hovered next to her in a pale green ruqun, which consisted of a wrap-around linen shirt with sleeves, a short waist skirt on top of a longer skirt held together by a slim sash. It was of varying shades of green, though the collar of the shirt, or the ru, was white. Her brows were equally furrowed as her mistress’, though hers were made of concern rather than pain.
“Do you want me to massage your head to soothe your headache, my lady?” She asked anxiously. Leizu waved her hand, wordlessly refusing.
“Shall I get you some tea, then?” She pushed, distressed as she wished for something constructive to do.
Leizu only nodded her head a little but didn’t pay that much attention to her maid’s question, her own mind furiously laboring somewhere else like a worker ant.
Zhiruo rose, dusted herself off, and ran from the green garden with its flowers, trees, and beauty. She passed under the moon gate, paying no attention to how she looked so improper and unbecoming for a handmaiden, holding her skirt and running. Quickly, her mind went through the possible teas to help the headache. Having decided on a certain tea, she went over the steps in her mind. Urging her feet to move as fast as possible, she cared not for the stares of the servants, or the court ladies, or even the other wives as she rushed through the palace.
Leizu, in the meantime, was rocking herself softly back and forth with a throbbing headache that only worsened the more she thought. Her hands reached up to touch her temples and then fell loosely back to her lap.
“What shall I do? What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” She wondered agitatedly.
Above her, a busy silkworm spun its cocoon, never knowing the fate that awaited it.
A wind blew through the mulberry trees, bringing the scent of change.
***
Sitting outside in the late afternoon sunshine didn’t seem to be a bad idea at first.
They could be idle for once, after the enormous holiday of Qingming Jie, the Tomb-Sweeping Day. It seemed good to sit in the courtyard near the gardens on the steps of the Eastern Palace and talk a while. But it had quickly turned to issues Leizu didn’t know what to do with. Why did she have to touch upon it? She should have just kept her mouth closed.
It all began with the planning of Emperor Huang’s thirtieth birthday. With a casual mention of it by Leizu, the three other wives of the emperor had exploded with conversation, ideas, and gifts.
“I’ll make him a hair-gathering pin of ivory!” Fang Leishi, the second wife, exclaimed, touching the jeweled flowers on her neat hair. Leizu allowed a calm smile to show on her face. Fang Leishi had made the first comb from fishbone, giving everyone an easier time taming their hair. Ever since ivory was introduced by a trader from a faraway place, she had wanted to make a pin from the strange material. She thought it would make a great pin, despite what everyone else thought.
The hair-gathering crown was used by every male to gather their hair and put it at the top of their heads. It was a small cap that had a hole through the sides where a pin would go to secure their hair. It was regularly made of wood, but Leishi thought it could be made of ivory as well.
“That will definitely help him to keep his hair in place as he puts on his Twelve-Tasselled Crown,” Leizu responded, thinking of the heavy, cumbersome, but magnificent headdress Emperor Huange wore as his crown. It was a hat with a flat piece on top that extended forward and backward from the emperor’s head, and on each end hung twelve beaded tassels of jade, altogether making twenty-four tassels.
“Hmm…,” Wu Tongyu said, her thin lips pursing into an even thinner line of thought. Her white fingers played quietly with each other in her lap, long and slender. Her slim brown eyes pondered, then lit up. When they lit up, even Leizu had to admire her beauty, which gave her the position of third wife. “I’ll make him a feast!”
“Please don’t make a mess in the kitchen!” Leishi answered with a slight groan, almost despairingly. She was elegant and graceful, and she hated messes, be they in the kitchen or in the garden. She was, in other words, prim and proper, as befit a woman of the Yan clan. As the second wife, Leishi was given in a political alliance to Emperor Huang, and as such, was the most dignified, as well as the most immaculate among them at any given time. Leizu suspected that it might have had something to do with her discovery of the comb.
Zhang Momu, the fourth wife, had to chuckle a little at this statement. It was a well-known fact that Tongyu loved good food and drink. Somehow, she managed to be the beauty she was despite her enjoyment of food. As a byproduct, she also invented chopsticks, which provided all the people with clean hands but food in their mouths.
“You do that, Tongyu!” Momu said, laughing. “I’ll make him a jeweled mirror so he can look into it every morning and be reminded of my discovery!”
Momu was no great beauty, in contrast with Tongyu. She had close-set, watery brown eyes, a thin forehead, thick hands, and a short body. She often hid herself behind a veil of white linen to not attract attention. When with the other women, however, she let the veil fall down around her shoulders. None of the other women minded too much, since they knew her to be a gentle, astute woman of good judgment, as well as a healer, who had impressed the Yellow Emperor somuch he took her to be his fourth wife.
Then, as one, they all looked at Leizu expectantly, who hadn’t said anything beyond politely complimenting Leishi’s idea. Leizu knew the reason they were looking at her.
She was the first wife of Emperor Huang. She was officially a wife, unlike the other wives, who were technically only consorts. She was addressed as empress, and so she was, at least in title. But she hadn’t come up with any brilliant ideas as of yet. So, what could her gift be? What could show her celebration of the emperor’s birthday that was uniquely hers? She wasn’t given elegance and capability like Leishi, blessed with captivating beauty like Tongyu, or endowed with wisdom like Momu. For all her being empress, she knew it was only the emperor that put her there. She didn’t have anything to prove to herself or to others that she could be the empress everyone looked for.
At that thought, a headache began. It started at the back of her head. And then, it throbbed until it pounded. She could only hear and feel the rush of anxiety grip her. Agony burst through her like an arrow hitting a man in full armor, painful and tortuous.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in an effort to make the pain go away, but it was useless. She opened them again and saw all the women, wives and maids, still looking at her. The women were staring at her, waiting for her to speak. Though the maids were standing and obviously trying not to look, they did. It was so quiet that you could have heard a needle drop in a pond. It became embarrassing. It became humiliating. It became unbearable.
“Excuse me, but I have a headache,” she replied to the women, who were obviously disappointed. “I am going to take a walk in the garden.”
She rose and walked away, tossing a word over her shoulder. “Come, Zhiruo.”
“Yes, my lady,” Zhiruo answered and walked after her, her steps slightly behind Leizu as the sun shone down and the women stared after the Empress.
***
Leizu was jerked from her memory by Zhiruo’s voice.
“Here is the tea, my lady,” Zhiruo said, bringing a small wooden tray with a clay teapot and two small white jade teacups. She set it down on the ground near Leizu, then lifted the teapot and poured the boiling tea into the jade cup. Steam danced on the water like flickers of flame. Leizu held the tiny cup in her hands, feeling it warm her cold, anxious hands.
“What is it?” She wanted to know, taking a sip.
“Honey ginger tea,” Zhiruo answered, and Leizu had to smile. Ginger tea was often used to soothe headaches, along with a lot of other beneficial properties. Zhiruo was a thoughtful soul and had obviously prepared for a lot more than a simple headache. Frankly, she was right.
The sweetness of the honey soothed her dry throat, and Leizu brushed the lacquered tray with her fingers, which dimly reflected the sunlight. “You really do think of everything.” It was a statement, but really a question.
Zhiruo looked down, blushing. “One is for you, and one for show, since it is rude to take one, as tea is a show of thought for people.”
Leizu understood. Walking past the other wives with a teapot and one teacup meant that none were welcome and she wished for no one to see her. In essence, it meant “go away, because I don’t want to see your face.” It was rude and impolite, although the other wives knew she wished to be alone. However, keeping etiquette was also important.
“Well, this teacup should not collect dust,” Leizu answered, and poured tea for Zhiruo in the second cup. Zhiruo took the cup, stood up, bowed deeply in gratitude, and sat again, taking a sip. It was rare for an empress to do this to her maid, although Leizu had many reasons for doing so. It was an honor to Zhiruo.
Even though Leizu was the empress, she highly valued Zhiruo, who was gentle and quiet, though she was straightforward with her. It was one of those things that Leizu looked for in her top handmaiden, and Zhiruo fit it perfectly. Originally, Zhiruo was her best childhood friend, though she was just the daughter of a servant who served her father. When Leizu was married to Emperor Huang, Zhiruo went along as her servant. She quickly became her only source of support in the crazy world of women and politics. Zhiruo leaned over and filled Leizu’s cup again with tea, and Leizu inclined her head slightly, silently thanking her.
They both quietly sipped their tea as the breezes blew gently above them. Then, while the leaves twirled in the wind, something dropped with a small plunk into Leizu’s steaming teacup full of ginger tea.
Leizu jerked her head back instinctively. Zhiruo craned her neck over to look at what had fallen into her cup. Strangely, the object began unraveling until it floated gently at the top of the cup. Leizu set the cup down on the tray and began winding the thread around her finger. It was wet and clung to her as a result. It was white and long, so long she eventually asked Zhiruo to take one end and walk to the end of the garden. It came to about ⅕ of a li, which was about 100 meters. Leizu started at the thread, stunned. The headache rapidly receded. This thread was finer and softer than linen. She could use it for clothing. But where did it come from?
“Probably from the tree, my lady,” Zhiruo answered, and Leizu realized she had said the question aloud. “If I had to take a guess, it would be the silkworms.”
Leizu looked up at the tree leaves and saw a web of cocoons. Then she reached her hand up and began to pluck them off the tree, jumping when they were too high.
Zhiruo frowned. “May I ask what you are doing?”
Leizu turned, a brilliant smile on her face. “Have you felt the thread of the humble silkworm? That such a humble silkworm can make such a fine thread is beyond my thought. It can be made into clothing. I know it can. It is finer and softer than linen.”
Zhiruo still stood there, lips drawn into a pondering line. “Won’t you need time to gather all the threads? The thread is too fine to be used on its own. You will need to make it into thread, and then you must find a loom able to work such a thread like that of the tiny silkworm. You need to think before you do something like this.”
Leizu nodded at those statements but continued picking. After a short, slightly critical silence, she replied. “Well, I have all the time until the celebration to pick and to make it into cloth. There are many silkworms in this garden. I can spend hours on it, and hours on it I shall spend.”
She turned and smiled at Zhiruo.
“I will not order you to join me, Xiaochun,” she said, using Zhiruo’s personal name as a sign of friendship and deep affection. Zhiruo was the name she was given as an adult, and her personal name, the one given at birth, was Xiaochun. Zhiruo was her official name, to put it more simply.
Zhiruo threw up her hands.
“Well, if you guess so, and think so, then do so!” She sighed, and careful not to step on the tray; she too began to pick, sighing often and shaking her head in astonishment and exasperation. Leizu, she admitted to herself, was stubborn as the ten suns who refused to come down from the sky.
The wind blew through their hair, as if telling them to keep working. The leaves danced, as if begging them to take the mass of silk off their wonderful green leaves. And the women worked until the one sun turned the sky to blood-red and beautiful orange and the clouds to soft pink and rose gold.
***
Every day, the two women would pick, starting in the morning until noon. They received no trouble from anyone, since Leizu was the empress and could do whatever she liked in the gardens. They were not spied on by the consorts or their servants, as Zhiruo quietly suspected. In fact, the two barely saw any of them, and they came to the conclusion that they too were busy with preparing the emperor’s thirtieth birthday. Preparation meant work, work meant busyness, and busyness meant no time at all to relax.
After picking and filling many, many baskets of cocoons, they dropped them into boiling water and tried to draw them out. It took patience and timing, since if you drew it too slowly, it would stick together, and if you drew it too fast, it would break. They had to also experiment with making it into thread. They eventually wound onto a reel, turning it like a spindle or a spinning wheel, and combined them into a single thread. Zhiruo held it up to the sunlight, examining it with a critical eye while she stood in the courtyard by the pillars.
“It’s a good thread,” she pronounced.
Leizu smiled in victory. This would be her present. And it was fit for an Emperor. And so, the days passed like that, until they had enough thread to make a yichang, which was the same as a ruqun, only it was made for men. The upper garment was much longer than the lower garment was, or so it was planned to be. She also planned for it to be completely dyed in yellow, which was the color of the emperor. She kept some of the threads back to make the white hem.
Zhiruo wrinkled her nose at the pot which stood over an open fire in their personal courtyard. She lifted the lid and grimaced.
“It smells like…like…like…ugh!”
Leizu’s cheeks were pinched in an effort to keep from smelling, but she answered Zhiruo calmly, with the smoothness of silken strands.
“It is necessary.”
They rolled the thread around in the mixture made of turmeric, keeping it there for a few days in order for the dye to be fully absorbed.
After the threads had been dyed, the two women set about for the loom. Leizu looked at the backstrap loom in her chamber, pursing her lips. It was hung on the wall, attached to a rope, and had sticks for its frame. Nothing was currently woven on it as yet, so the strap for her back to give tension to the loom lay limp on the ground.
“The backstrap loom will not work,” Leizu said, shaking her head. “It is too small and unfit for the yichang I will make.” She had her mind set on what she imagined.
“Then what are we to do?” Zhiruo said in despair. Obstacle after obstacle! Why did she even bother to try and keep up with Leizu?
“We must,” replied Leizu, turning sharply on her heel, “make a loom fit to make the yichang.” Her pale pink ruqun swirled after her in her wake.
“But—but—but—!” Zhiruo exclaimed, about to point out all the wrong things in that statement. She quickly realized Leizu had already strode out of the room and hurried after her. She did notice that a few of the threads were gone from the place where they were hanging. As she rushed from the room, she realized they were in Leizu’s hands.
***
The man stroked his thin black beard as he pondered what his empress put before him on the table. To be sure, what she was asking was baffling, but not impossible, if he tried to work at it. He was very apprehensive about it all, though. She had brought a few of the threads with her and had explained her predicament.
“You will need much more than sticks with a strap if you are to weave a fine material such as this,” he began, fingering the silken strands. “You will need a frame, preferably of wood or bamboo. Then you will need a larger shuttle to throw back and forth in order to weave.”
“That much I figured,” Leizu answered. “What else shall we need?” He frowned, forehead wrinkling in thought.
“You will need something to pass the threads through, like a heddle, but more fixed. It could be made of wood,” he acknowledged, then frowned again. He didn’t want to say anything that could not be done. What the empress was asking could cost him his life if he raised her hopes too high and then crushed them by producing something less than expected. Particularly as this indirectly included the emperor.
“Do not worry,” Leizu said, sensing his reluctance. “Do you think you have an idea?” He sighed. His empress was pushing him to the limit. “No, not yet.”
To his surprise, she smiled slightly, touching him on the shoulder.
“I would never expect you to think of one right now. But please make it as quickly and as surely as you can.” Her dark, earnest eyes pierced him with a sense of urgency.
He bowed, folding his hands in a gesture of acknowledgement and respect. “It will be done, Empress.”
She nodded her head, and then stepped from the room with such a calm grace that the man had to blink a little in a quiet daze of wonder. He had never seen her so determined, so earnest, so graceful. To be truthful, he always thoughtConsort Fang was better at acting as a wife of the emperor than she was, though he kept his silence.
Then he came to himself, shaking his head. And he set to work.
***
A week later, a servant came to Leizu’s chambers, calling for her. She quietly walked out with Zhiruo behind and said, “What is it?”
He answered her, “The master asks that you come, for it is finished.”
Leizu and Zhiruo shared a look, and they disappeared back into their rooms. Then, with the glimmering threads in her hands, Leizu walked back to the servant and nodded calmly.
“Lead the way.”
***
Leizu sat at the bench as the man explained the strange frame in front of them. It was very tall and the wood was thick. The warp, which was stationery, was not strung, for Leizu would do it herself. There were two strange things like levers at the bottom of the loom attached to the main frame of the loom itself.
“This,” said the man, gesturing to the levers, “is pushed with your feet to lift the heddle as you weave to provide greater ease and give tension to the loom.”
Leizu smiled at the man. “We’ll see how it is. Give us a few minutes.”
The man nodded hurriedly and walked out of the room as the two women began to string the silk used for the warp onto the loom. It took more than a few minutes. It took almost half an hour, and by the end, both women were tired and aching.
“Ai!” Zhiruo said as she straightened. “This loom is tiring to use.”
Leizu, however, was now beginning to sit down on the bench, and began to draw the threads through the warp, slowly starting to weave. Her fingers moved haltingly, especially when it came to the two treadles, but after a time, herfingers moved at a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow.
She stopped a little and turned to Zhiruo.
“You can go if you want, Zhiruo,” she said. Zhiruo nodded, bowed, and left to take a rest. This was one of thethings that made Leizu a good mistress, Zhiruo thought. And also, a good friend.
Meanwhile, Leizu’s hands were moving across the loom, and the yichang was beginning to take shape. The man peered in the door an hour later, only to hear the thud of the shuttle and see the fast-moving fingers of his empress. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph.
The wind outside danced in the courtyard, sweeping in through the opening of Zhiruo’s and Leizu’s chambers. Zhiruo, who was sewing up her clothes, felt the wind on her face and smiled as well.
***
Months later, midsummer’s day fell quietly. It was almost like any other day. The only difference in the emperor’s court was the presence of all the nobles as they sat in the throne room, ranked according to the emperor’s wishes. The difference in the women’s court, however, was tremendous.
Instead of orderly, calm women talking while they worked, women were running hither and thither as other women worked endlessly in the kitchen, putting last-minute changes onto the food, balancing them on trays, and carrying them to the other servants who would bring the before the emperor. Shouts were heard across courtyards, and heads were bobbing up and down in acknowledgement.
Three wives of the emperor were fussing over their clothes and their servants angled the mirror just right so that they could adjust that one last hairpin in their hair. They hurriedly tied their sashes and smoothed their clothes, dabbing onpowders and dusting their hands off. Then they quickly took their gifts, handed it to their servants, and walked out of their chambers pretending that none of their agitation had ever happened.
One wife was quietly getting ready, putting on her white ru with light blue hem, and her deep sky blue qun, which was embroidered with white osmanthus flowers. She quickly swept her hair up in a bun, keeping it there by many hairpins and jeweled flowers. Then, as she was handed one by Zhiruo, she frowned, looking at it.
“Why this one?” she wanted to know. It was a chai, a two-pronged gold hairpin with jade flowers. It was given to her by the emperor the day they were married, and ever since that day, she had never worn it again. She thought, quite often, that there was nothing to make her stand out from the other wives, nothing that marked her as special. So why should she wear this?
“It’s his birthday,” Zhiruo explained. “So you should wear it.”
“There is no need for extravagance,” responded Leizu quietly, setting the hairpin down onto the little jewelry table. “I should not wear it.”
“My lady,” Zhiruo said, exasperated. “He gave it to you not because you were given in a political alliance, not because you were pretty, not because you had great wisdom or healing, but because he loved you for who you are, not for what you could bring him, not for what you looked like, not for the wise things you brought with you. He loved you for who you are and that was it. So wear the hairpin.”
Zhiruo picked the hairpin up firmly and stuck it gently on the right side of her hair, leaving the two jade flowers to adorn her dark hair, along with the rest of her jewelry.
“Very well,” Leizu answered softly, giving in. As she rose and walked away, she had a sudden insight. Perhaps the reason she was trying so hard was so she could stand out from the women. She could say that she had created something wonderful, something beyond their discoveries.
But it was just luck, after all.
If the silkworm had not dropped into the teacup, she never would have found it. If she never had the headache, she never would have gone into the garden. If she had never brought the emperor’s birthday up, she would never have had the headache.
And she would never have discovered silk.
Zhiruo’s words rang inside her mind. He loved you for who you are and that was it.
She quietly touched the two jade flowers on her head and thanked the heavens that she had Zhiruo for her friend. She didn’t need to be special to be the empress. She just had to be a good empress.
That was all that mattered.
***
When Zhang Momu brought her gift to the emperor, he unwrapped it and there was a quiet murmur of amazement from the nobles. It was a mirror, with a backing of gold and jewelry embellishing the edges. He thanked her and she bowed, leaving quietly.
When Wu Tongyu brought her special dessert to the emperor, he took a bite and smiled. He told her it tasted beyond anything that had been served so far, and she bowed, eyes lighting with joy.
When Fang Leishi brought her gift to the emperor, he undid the ribbon and amid the astounded whispers, drew out a hair-gathering crown with an ivory pin. He nodded to her and she bowed, a quick, satisfied smile spreading across her face.
Then Xi Leizu gently stepped up to the emperor and presented her gift. He rapidly unfolded the white linen covering. Astonished gasps spread across the hall as he picked it up. The sheen of the silk reflected the sunlight streaming through the open doors, and the nobles could tell it was not linen.
“What is this?” Emperor Huang asked, frowning slightly. “Where is it from?”
“It is from the humble silkworm, Your Majesty,” Leizu replied quietly, bowing as she answered him. “I call it silk.”
“How did you find it?” he continued, curious.
“A cocoon dropped into my teacup while I was in the garden, and so I found that the silkworm produces a fiber called silk, which can be made into thread and dyed to become the garment Your Majesty is currently holding.” explained Leizu. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other wives watching her.
“Never will these women cease making discoveries! When will men ever do something?” The emperor exclaimed, and an awkward laugh rippled around the noblemen. The emperor turned to Leizu and said, “When did this happen?”
“The silkworm fell into my teacup after Qingming Jie, which was about three months before Your Majesty’s glorious birthday celebration,” Leizu responded.
Rustles of amazement went through the officials, and the emperor spoke to Leizu again, quoting a proverb as he did so. “So, you have ground an iron bar to a needle, and have succeeded very well in your perseverance.”
“I thank the emperor for his kind words,” Leizu answered, bowing again. As she straightened, she heard the emperor say something so quiet, it could only be heard between the two of them.
“I am very pleased, Xi Yuming,” he said in a low voice, and a ripple of shock flooded through her. He had used her personal name. “I thank you very much for the clothing. It is beyond anything here given before.”
She said nothing and only bowed again, but she could see the pleasure and the gratitude in his eyes as she left the emperor’s presence.
***
A few days later, Leizu and Zhiruo were having yet another late tea in the garden under the very same mulberry tree Leizu had sat under a few months ago. The sun was going down, but the heat lingered in the air, producing a comfortable, almost sleepy atmosphere.
“Isn’t it strange?” Zhiruo murmured. “Now all you are doing is teaching the other women to weave silk, whereas before we would do our own separate things.”
“The threads of silk have brought us together,” Leizu replied, touching the jade chai hairpin, the only ornament adorning her hair. Though she wore other ones during the day, it quickly got weighty to carry around, and so when it was just the two of them, she would take all of them off except for that one. Silence fell over them for a short while.
“I have been wondering about something,” Zhiruo said suddenly, turning to Leizu. “You have become more confident in yourself since the emperor’s birthday. Why is that?”
“Well,” Leizu smiled gently, “I realized that I don’t need to be special to be an Empress. I just need to be a good Empress.”
“I suppose that means I must be a good servant then,” Zhiruo grumbled jokingly as she settled down against the tree.
“You don’t have to be,” Leizu answered, laughing. “You are already a good friend.”
Zhiruo smiled, acknowledging Leizu’s statement, but returning the compliment. And the wind caressed their hair as the setting sun looked down and smiled at them as it disappeared over the horizon, leaving only the stars in its wake.