Xiantian Year Two, December. Chang'an.
After a heavy snowfall, the winter of Chang'an welcomed a brand-new era name.
The edict changing the era had been issued three days prior. Xiantian Year Two was changed to Kaiyuan Year One. Yao Chong said that His Majesty had chosen this era name himself. "Kai" means to open or pioneer; "Yuan" means the beginning or the first. To pioneer a new beginning. Standing in the Taiji Hall before the civil and military officials, he had declared, "I desire an age of prosperity even greater than the Zhenguan Reign." No one laughed. Because he was serious.
The ceremony for the change of era was set for the first day of the twelfth lunar month. Before dawn, the light in the dental clinic was already on. It wasn't just that lamp shaped like the osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace—that lamp had never gone out, from Chang'an to Luoyang and back again. But today, a second lamp stood beside it. He had sent it over. Made of white paper, painted with a rising sun. He said, "This is called 'Kaiyuan'."
"Your Majesty, it is time to dress," Qingyuan stood at the door. She no longer called me "Third Lady" (San Niang). Since the day of the investiture, she had changed. I had tried to make her switch back, but she refused. I suggested she use it only in private, but she said that was impossible too. "If I get used to it, what if I accidentally call you that in the court?" She had a point. But I still wasn't quite used to it.
"Your Majesty, today is the ceremony for the change of era. All the officials will be there. Envoys from various nations are coming too," Qingyuan chattered as she combed my hair. "Tibetans, Turks, Uyghurs, Nanzhao—they are all coming. I hear there are also people from Dashi (Arabia) and Tianzhu (India), from very, very far away."
"Mm."
"Are you not afraid, Your Majesty?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of so many people watching."
I thought about it. In Vancouver, what I feared most were final exams. Thousands of pages of textbooks, hundreds of case studies, dozens of medications. Afraid of failing, afraid of not graduating, afraid of not finding a job. Later, I wasn't afraid anymore. Because I passed, graduated, and found a job. Then, I traveled through time. If I'm not afraid of time travel, what else is there to fear? Besides, no matter how many foreigners are here today, could they outnumber the people in the Emergency Department of Vancouver General Hospital? Every day there were patients speaking all sorts of languages—Cantonese, Punjabi, Korean, Spanish. English was actually the least common.
"I'm not afraid," I said.
Dressing
Combing hair. Placing the crown. Drawing eyebrows. Dotting lips. Just like the day of the investiture. But today's crown was slightly lighter than the one on that day. It was not the Nine-Dragon Four-Phoenix Crown, but another kind. He said, "On the day of investiture, it was to tell the world that you are the Empress. Today, it is to tell the world that My Empress stands by My side."
"Your Majesty, it is done." Qingyuan stepped back, looking at me.
I looked at myself in the bronze mirror. My hair was piled high, adorned with twelve golden dian (hairpins). The huadian on my forehead was a sun cut from gold foil. Eyebrows like distant mountains, lips like pomegranate flowers. The huiyi robe was deep cyan, with twelve rows of pheasant patterns, outlined in gold thread. Same as the investiture day. Yet different. On the investiture day, I was the one being conferred. Today, I am the one standing by his side.
Footsteps sounded at the door. He stood there, already changed into his gunmian (imperial ceremonial robes). Black upper garment with red lower skirt, twelve-tasseled crown. Morning light fell upon him; the bead strings of his crown flashed, like light tempered with stars. His eyes were very bright.
"Qingyan."
"Your Majesty."
"Still call me 'Your Highness' (Dianxia)." He walked over, reaching out to lightly touch the huadian on my forehead. "Beautiful."
"Your Highness is deceiving people. This crown is still heavy."
"Bear with it. Once the ceremony is over, it will be fine."
Taiji Hall
The square in front of the Taiji Hall was even larger than on the day of his ascension.
Not because the square had grown, but because there were more people. Civil and military officials, dressed in crimson, green, and cyan, stretched from the Duan Gate all the way to the Taiji Hall. Twice as many as on the ascension day. Envoys from various nations stood at the very front—Tibetans, Turks, Uyghurs, Nanzhao—several more countries than before. There were also men from Dashi, wearing turbans and long beards. And men from Tianzhu, with dark skin, wearing vibrant robes. There were also envoys from Goryeo, Japan, Zhenla, and Piao. Standing at the very front was an envoy with blond hair and blue eyes. A Roman.
In Vancouver, I had seen many "Romans." Not actual Romans, but Italians. They liked playing soccer in the summer, drinking espresso in the winter, and talking with expressive hand gestures. But this Roman was different. He wore a Roman-style toga, his hair curly and golden, looking like a ball of fire under the morning light. He stood there, back straight, gaze steady. In his hands, he held a box encrusted with gemstones.
"Who is that person?" I whispered to Qingyuan.
"I hear he comes from the Kingdom of Fulin. Very, very far, even farther than Dashi. It took him two years to reach Chang'an," Qingyuan lowered her voice. "They heard the Great Tang had a new Emperor and came specifically to offer congratulations."
Fulin. The Eastern Roman Empire. I had seen this name in textbooks. Constantinople, Hagia Sophia, the Code of Justinian. But I never imagined that one day, in front of the Taiji Hall of the Great Tang, I would see a real Roman.
The chimes sounded. Nine beats. One after another, echoing from the Taiji Palace to every corner of Chang'an. These were not the bells of ascension, but the bells of a new era. Deeper, heavier, farther-reaching. Like the earth trembling, like history turning a page.
He emerged from the Duan Gate. Gunmian, black upper garment, red lower skirt, twelve-tasseled crown. Same as the ascension day. But his stride was different. On the day of ascension, his steps were steady and heavy—the steadiness of someone who had walked through darkness for too long and finally reached the end. Today, his steps were light and quick—the lightness of someone standing at a new starting point, ready to move forward.
He walked to the front of the Taiji Hall and turned around. The bead strings of his crown swayed gently in the wind. He was looking. Looking at the officials, looking at the foreign envoys, looking at the banners of the honor guard. When his gaze swept over the Roman envoy, it paused for a moment. Then he saw me. I was on the tower to the side of the Taiji Hall. The same position as on the ascension day. But his gaze was brighter than it had been then.
The voice of the Tongshi Sheren (Master of Ceremonies) rang out: "Proclaiming the edict—"
He walked to the front of the hall. The Shizhong held the investiture scroll, the Zhongshu Ling held the imperial seal. His voice was not loud, but every word was clear:
"We have heard that the Way of Heaven and Earth gives life through integrity (Zhen); the virtue of an Emperor is greatest in pioneering the beginning (Kai). With Our limited wisdom, We succeed to this great enterprise. Day and night, We are reverent and fearful, as if treading on spring ice. Now, we change Xiantian Year Two to Kaiyuan Year One. To begin anew with the world. A general amnesty is granted to the realm. Wine and meat are bestowed for three days. Civil and military officials shall each receive increased ranks and titles. Widowers, widows, orphans, and the childless shall each receive relief and aid. Revere this!"
The square fell silent for a moment. Then, a mountainous shout erupted.
"Long live the Emperor!"
It was not the voice of one person, but of thousands. Echoing from the Taiji Hall, from the palace city, from Chang'an itself. Spreading across the entire realm.
He stood before the Taiji Hall, looking down at the kneeling crowd. The bead strings of his crown swayed gently in the wind. He did not smile. An Emperor cannot smile during the ceremony of changing the era. But his eyes were smiling. He saw. Across hundreds of people, across the bead strings of his crown, across the wind filling the entire square. He saw the woman in the huiyi robe, standing in the corner of the tower. His eyes lit up. Only for an instant. But I saw it.
The officials bowed again.
"Long live the Emperor, ten thousand times ten thousand years!"
The music sounded again. This time it was "Da He" (Great Harmony), the piece played when the Son of Heaven returns to his seat. The sound of the chimes was as steady as a mountain; the sound of the flutes was as light as the wind. He turned and walked into the Taiji Hall. The bead strings of his crown flashed in the sunlight.
The Letter from Fulin
After the ceremony, the envoys from various nations presented their gifts in turn. Tibet offered fine horses and gemstones; the Turks offered sable furs and ceremonial daggers; the Uyghurs offered camels and wine; Nanzhao offered ivory and rhinoceros horns. Dashi offered spices and pearls; Tianzhu offered Buddha statues and sutras. Goryeo offered ginseng and silk; Japan offered swords and folding screens.
Finally, it was the turn of the envoy from Fulin.
He walked to the front of the hall and knelt. He spoke a sentence in Latin. I understood it.
"Dominus noster, imperator Romaniae, salutem dicit imperatori Tang."
The hall fell silent for a moment. No one understood. The translator stood nearby, his face flushed red. He couldn't understand. The entire court looked at each other in confusion. No one knew what this blond, blue-eyed man was saying.
His brow furrowed slightly.
"Your Majesty," the translator knelt, "I... I do not understand the language of Fulin—"
The hall became even quieter. So quiet one could hear the wind blowing against the banners.
I stood on the tower, looking at the Roman envoy. He knelt there, holding the gemstone box, his face filled with anxiety, expectation, and unease. He had traveled for two years, from Constantinople to Chang'an, crossing deserts, climbing snow-capped mountains, fording rivers. He brought the greetings of the Roman Empire to the Great Tang. But no one could understand his words.
So I spoke.
My voice drifted down from the tower. Not loud, but in the quiet hall, everyone could hear it.
"He says—The Roman Emperor sends his greetings to the Son of Heaven of the Great Tang."
The hall fell silent for a moment. Then, everyone began searching for the source of the voice. Where did that sound come from? Who was speaking?
He was also looking for me. Standing before the Taiji Hall, he turned his head, gazing toward the tower. Across the bead strings of his crown, across the wind filling the hall. He saw me. I did not hide. I stood there, wearing the huiyi, wearing the golden crown, standing in the corner of the tower.
"Your Majesty—" Qingyuan whispered behind me, her voice trembling.
I took a deep breath. And spoke in English.
"His Majesty the Roman Emperor sends his greetings to the Emperor of the Great Tang. This gift is a token of friendship between our empires."
I had practiced my English for four years in Vancouver. In the Emergency Department, there were more English-speaking patients than Chinese-speaking ones. My spoken English wasn't the best, but it was clear enough. Every word was distinct, drifting down from the tower, floating into the Taiji Hall, entering everyone's ears.
The Roman envoy raised his head, looking at me. His eyes lit up. Kneeling there, he turned toward my direction and spoke another sentence in Latin.
"Gratias tibi ago, domina. Deus te benedicat."
"He says—Thank you, my lady. May God bless you."
The hall remained silent for a long time. Then, he smiled. Standing before the Taiji Hall, the bead strings of his crown swaying gently in the wind. He smiled.
"Empress," his voice was not loud, but every word was clear, "is there anything you do not know?"
I did not answer. I just stood there, looking at him. Across the bead strings of his crown, across the wind filling the hall.
"My Empress," he turned to the civil and military officials, "knows how to treat teeth, how to examine corpses, and how to speak the language of Fulin. Which of you can do these things?"
No one answered.
The Roman envoy, holding the gemstone box, walked to the foot of the tower and bowed deeply to me. He said in stiff Chinese, "Thank you, Empress."
Court Congratulations
The ceremony for the change of era was complete. He accepted the congratulations of the ministers in the Taiji Hall. I accepted the congratulations of the titled ladies in the Qingning Palace.
There were twice as many people as on the day of the investiture. Princesses, wives of kings, and titled ladies, dressed impeccably, lined up from the doorway to the courtyard. They knelt, performing the ritual of six standings, three kneelings, and three prostrations.
I sat on the throne, watching them. Many people. Very orderly. Very beautiful. But I wasn't thinking of them. I was thinking of him. When he heard me speak the language of Fulin in the Taiji Hall, his eyes had been bright. Brighter than the lamps in the Taiji Hall. Brighter than the lights of Chang'an. Brighter than the era name Kaiyuan itself.
The ceremony ended. The titled ladies dispersed. The hall became quiet, leaving only the scent of agarwood and the light of the candles.
He stood at the door. He had already changed into casual clothes—a moon-white round-collar robe, hair bound with a jade hairpin. Just like the first time he came to the clinic.
"Why has Your Highness come?"
"To find you." He walked in, squatted down before me, and helped me remove the crown from my head. When his fingers touched my hair, my neck finally relaxed.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"The words you said in the Taiji Hall today—were you serious?"
"Which words?"
"'I desire an age of prosperity even greater than the Zhenguan Reign.'"
He looked at me and smiled. "Do you think I was boasting?"
"No. I was just thinking—the Reign of Zhenguan belonged to Emperor Taizong. Yours is the Prosperity of Kaiyuan. It's not about being better than Zhenguan; it's about being different."
He paused. "Different?"
"Mm. The Reign of Zhenguan was fought for. Yours will be built. They are different."
He looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled. That smile was light, faint, but his eyes were bright.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Do you know why I chose the era name 'Kaiyuan'?"
"'Kai' is to pioneer, 'Yuan' is the beginning. To pioneer a new beginning."
"Not just that." He looked at me. "Yuan also means 'the first'. You are my first. And my only."
My eyes grew warm.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"Do you know what made me happiest today?"
"What?"
"It wasn't the ceremony for the change of era. It wasn't the congratulations from the titled ladies." I looked at him. "It was when I stood on the tower and used English—used the language of Fulin—to translate for that envoy, and the way you looked at me."
"What kind of look?"
"The look that said, 'My Empress knows everything.'"
He laughed. "Then what do you know?"
"I know how to treat teeth. I know how to examine corpses. I know how to speak the language of Fulin." I reached out and touched his face. "And I know how to check the teeth of the Son of Heaven of the Great Tang."
"Then check them." He opened his mouth.
I took a look—gums normal, teeth normal, everything normal.
"Your Highness has been brushing very diligently lately."
"Of course." He took my hand. "Everything I promised you, I will fulfill."
Chang'an Night
We walked out of the Qingning Palace and stood at the palace gate.
The night in Chang'an, after the ceremony for the change of era, was still the same as before. The old man selling hubing (sesame cakes) was still shouting his wares, the wonton cart was still steaming, and the shopkeeper next door was still haggling with a customer over shoes. But the people of Chang'an were different. They knew that today a new era name had begun. They didn't know exactly what this era name meant. But they knew that a new year was starting.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Do you know what made me happiest today?"
"Your Highness already said it."
"Not that." He looked at me. "What made me happiest today was when you said to me, 'The Prosperity of Kaiyuan is not about being better than Zhenguan; it's about being different.'"
"Your Highness—"
"Qingyan, do you know? From today on, I am the Emperor of Kaiyuan."
"Mm."
"The Emperor of Kaiyuan must have a Prosperity of Kaiyuan."
"Mm."
"The Prosperity of Kaiyuan must have an Empress of Kaiyuan."
"Mm."
"The Empress of Kaiyuan must stand by the side of the Emperor of Kaiyuan."
He reached out and took my hand. His palm was warm. As warm as the first time he came to the clinic. As warm as every moonlit night he walked me back.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Let's go home. I'll cook a bowl of tangyuan (glutinous rice balls) for you."
"Can Your Highness cook tangyuan now?"
"Just learn and you'll know." The corners of his mouth lifted. "I learn everything quickly."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Okay. Let's go home."
He walked on my left, his large cloak billowing slightly in the wind. The moonlight pushed our shadows together, merging them into one.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"That envoy from Fulin traveled for two years to reach Chang'an."
"Mm."
"He said, 'The Roman Emperor sends his greetings to the Son of Heaven of the Great Tang.'"
"I heard." He tightened his grip on my hand. "My Empress is even more capable than the official translator."
"Your Highness overestimates me."
"Not an overestimation." He stopped walking and looked at me. "Qingyan, do you know what I was thinking when you spoke the language of Fulin in the Taiji Hall today?"
"What?"
"I was wondering, how many other things do you actually know?"
"Does Your Highness want to know?"
"I do."
"Then I will tell you slowly."
"Good."
Under the moonlight, his eyes were very bright. On the windowsill, the lamp shaped like the osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace was still lit. Beside it, the lamp painted with the rising sun was also lit. From Xiantian to Kaiyuan, from Chang'an to Luoyang, from Luoyang back to Chang'an, they had never gone out.
Xiantian Year Two, Twelfth Month, First Day. The Great Tang had a new era name. Kaiyuan. The lamps in the clinic were still lit. Two of them. The osmanthus tree in the Moon Palace, and the rising sun. In the Qingning Palace, the Empress was cooking tangyuan for the Son of Heaven. The Son of Heaven said he could learn anything quickly. But the tangyuan he cooked still had broken skins. The Empress laughed. The Son of Heaven laughed too.
(End of Chapter 22)