the place of the dead Dowager Mother, her son was born, indisputably the heir, and the midwives so declared him. While Yehonala crouched upon a stool, a midwife caught the child and held him up before the ladies.
“See, Venerables,” she announced. “A male child, in full health and strength!”
And Yehonala, half fainting, looked up and saw her son. He lay in the midwife’s hands, he moved his arms and legs, and opening his mouth he cried aloud.
When night fell, the soft spring night, the courtyard outside her little private palace was lit by the light of lanterns set upon an altar of sacrifice. From her bed Yehonala looked through the low latticed windows upon the assembly of princes and ladies and eunuchs who stood beyond the table, the candlelight flickering upon their faces and upon their many-colored robes of satin, embroidered in gold and silver. It was the hour of birth sacrifice to Heaven, and the Emperor stood before the altar to give thanks and to announce his heir. Upon the altar were three offerings, the steamed head of a pig, white and hairless, a steamed cock, naked of feathers except for its head and tail, and between pig and cock a live fish, struggling in a net of scarlet silk.
The rite was difficult. Yet none could make it except the Son of Heaven himself, for this fish had been taken alive from a lotus pond, and it must be returned alive again to that same water, or the Heir would not live to reach his manhood. Nor could the imperial father make haste or violate the solemn dignity of what he did, lest Heaven be offended. In deep silence he raised his arms, in silence he knelt before Heaven, to whom he alone could make obeisance, and he chanted his prayers. Exactly at the right moment he ended, and seizing the still-living fish with both hands he gave it to the Chief Eunuch who hastened to the pool and threw it in, waiting to see if it swam away. If it did not, then the Heir would die a child. He peered into the water, his lantern held high, and in silence the Court waited and the Emperor stood motionless before the altar.
The light fell upon a flash of silver in the water.
“The fish lives, Majesty,” the eunuch shouted.
And upon these joyful words the assembly began to laugh and talk. Firecrackers were lit, caged birds in all the palaces were freed, and rockets sprayed the sky with light. While Yehonala leaned upon her elbow, the whole sky seemed to split before her eyes, and from the center she saw floating against the sparkling darkness a huge golden orchid, its petals touched with purple.
“Lady, this is in your honor!” her serving woman cried.
A roar rose up from the city when the people saw the sight, and Yehonala laughed and threw herself upon her pillows. How many times in her life had she wished she were a man but now how glad was she to be a woman! What man could know such triumph as hers, that she had made a son for the Emperor?
“Is my cousin, the Consort, in the courtyard, too?” she asked.
The old woman peered into the lights and shadows of the courtyard. “I see her standing among her ladies,” she replied.
“Go out to her,” Yehonala commanded. “Invite her to come in. Tell her I long to see her.”
The woman went out and approaching proudly she asked the Consort to come to the bedside of her mistress.
“She looks upon the Dragon Consort as her elder sister,” the woman said, coaxing.
But Sakota shook her head. “I rose from my bed to attend the sacrifice,” she said, “and to my bed I must return. Indeed, I am not well.”
She turned away as she said this and leaning upon two ladies, and led by a eunuch with a lantern, she walked into the darkness of a round moon gate.
All were surprised at this refusal and the woman went back to Yehonala to report. “Lady, the Consort will not come. She says she is ill, but I think she is not.”
“Then why did she not come?” Yehonala demanded.
“Who can tell how the heart of a Consort changes?” the woman
“See, Venerables,” she announced. “A male child, in full health and strength!”
And Yehonala, half fainting, looked up and saw her son. He lay in the midwife’s hands, he moved his arms and legs, and opening his mouth he cried aloud.
When night fell, the soft spring night, the courtyard outside her little private palace was lit by the light of lanterns set upon an altar of sacrifice. From her bed Yehonala looked through the low latticed windows upon the assembly of princes and ladies and eunuchs who stood beyond the table, the candlelight flickering upon their faces and upon their many-colored robes of satin, embroidered in gold and silver. It was the hour of birth sacrifice to Heaven, and the Emperor stood before the altar to give thanks and to announce his heir. Upon the altar were three offerings, the steamed head of a pig, white and hairless, a steamed cock, naked of feathers except for its head and tail, and between pig and cock a live fish, struggling in a net of scarlet silk.
The rite was difficult. Yet none could make it except the Son of Heaven himself, for this fish had been taken alive from a lotus pond, and it must be returned alive again to that same water, or the Heir would not live to reach his manhood. Nor could the imperial father make haste or violate the solemn dignity of what he did, lest Heaven be offended. In deep silence he raised his arms, in silence he knelt before Heaven, to whom he alone could make obeisance, and he chanted his prayers. Exactly at the right moment he ended, and seizing the still-living fish with both hands he gave it to the Chief Eunuch who hastened to the pool and threw it in, waiting to see if it swam away. If it did not, then the Heir would die a child. He peered into the water, his lantern held high, and in silence the Court waited and the Emperor stood motionless before the altar.
The light fell upon a flash of silver in the water.
“The fish lives, Majesty,” the eunuch shouted.
And upon these joyful words the assembly began to laugh and talk. Firecrackers were lit, caged birds in all the palaces were freed, and rockets sprayed the sky with light. While Yehonala leaned upon her elbow, the whole sky seemed to split before her eyes, and from the center she saw floating against the sparkling darkness a huge golden orchid, its petals touched with purple.
“Lady, this is in your honor!” her serving woman cried.
A roar rose up from the city when the people saw the sight, and Yehonala laughed and threw herself upon her pillows. How many times in her life had she wished she were a man but now how glad was she to be a woman! What man could know such triumph as hers, that she had made a son for the Emperor?
“Is my cousin, the Consort, in the courtyard, too?” she asked.
The old woman peered into the lights and shadows of the courtyard. “I see her standing among her ladies,” she replied.
“Go out to her,” Yehonala commanded. “Invite her to come in. Tell her I long to see her.”
The woman went out and approaching proudly she asked the Consort to come to the bedside of her mistress.
“She looks upon the Dragon Consort as her elder sister,” the woman said, coaxing.
But Sakota shook her head. “I rose from my bed to attend the sacrifice,” she said, “and to my bed I must return. Indeed, I am not well.”
She turned away as she said this and leaning upon two ladies, and led by a eunuch with a lantern, she walked into the darkness of a round moon gate.
All were surprised at this refusal and the woman went back to Yehonala to report. “Lady, the Consort will not come. She says she is ill, but I think she is not.”
“Then why did she not come?” Yehonala demanded.
“Who can tell how the heart of a Consort changes?” the woman
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