Chapter 4 — Storm at the Gates
WARNING: Minor character death in this chapter!

“How is the allocation of rights and principles to the management of water resources different from the normal allocation of rights and principles to the management of other types of property?” Youqing, the second prince, read the question aloud from a piece of paper that the royal tutor had given him with sample questions from the Imperial Civil Examination. After reading the question aloud, he looked to his older brother, who was sitting on a cushion and leaning his back against the wall. 

The three princes had gathered in a private sitting room in the Imperial Residence. During the day, the sitting room was used for the Queen’s particular use, but in the evenings, the boys took over it. It was a well-lit room with a green carpet in the center of the floor. The walls were furnished with fine rosewood chairs, inlaid with gold and decorated with floral motifs. Youqing had moved a low table into the center of the room so he could sit and write while Yixing opted for the cushion. Their youngest brother, Liang, had fallen asleep on the daybed near the portrait of the royal family. 

It was late, just a little past midnight, and the boys were normally tucked away in their own beds by this time. But Youqing was to take the Civil Examination in the morning, and he wasn’t confident yet that he would pass. He looked at Yixing, expecting him to answer, but the crown prince only shrugged.

“You take a guess, first,” Yixing said. “I can’t take the examination for you.”

Youqing tightened the grip on his brush. 

“It’s mobile,” Youqing said. “A city in the North could claim to have control over a certain river, but if the river flows South, a city further downstream could say the same. That makes it difficult to create a property rights scheme for the management of water.”

“True,” Yixing said, looking up at the ceiling. “But you should also consider that water can be reused, so it’s not consumed like other types of property. There’s also a difference between ground water and surface water, and many existing water doctrines—,”

“I need to tell you something,” Youqing suddenly said, cutting Yixing off. Yixing blinked at him and noted how jumpy his brother seemed. The boy’s eyes were darting between Yixing, the door, their sleeping brother, and the ground. Yixing laughed.

“Why are you so nervous?” Yixing asked, slumping down in the cushion. “Even if you fail the exam, it’s not as if you’d be completely excluded from Affairs of State. You’re in the room where it happens all the time.”

Yixing used to think about what a shame it was that his half-brother, six years his junior, had been born second and to a concubine instead of being the first-born son of the queen. Between him and Yixing, Youqing was obviously more interested. But that didn’t seem to be the matter that was bothering the younger prince. Yixing looked sternly at him. 

“What is it?” Yixing asked. Youqing dropped the brush and began scratching his wrist. A nervous habit of his. 

“S-Someting has happened,” Youqing said, keeping his eyes down to the ground. Yixing pushed himself off the cushion and knelt on the edge of the carpet.

“What’s happened?” he asked, getting nervous. Youqing sighed.

“Do you… know the person who collects our laundry at the end of each day?” Youqing said. Yixing pressed his lip together and narrowed his eyes, trying to think of who Youqing was referring to. The person who collected their laundry each day was a servant girl, a teenager. He didn’t know her name.

“Is it… Son—Song… Song Li—,”

“Songlian,” Youqing said, nodding and averting his eyes. Yixing waited and waited for Youqing to continue, but the younger boy just kept staring at the floor, breathing heavy. 

“What about her?” Yixing asked. He watched his brother go from a silent rock to a quivering mess. He was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, but as Yixing got closer a put a hand on his shoulder, he let out the breath he’d been holding in.

“I… well, we… she and I…,” Youqing started sputtering out, but Yixing already understood. He took his hand from Youqing’s shoulder. 

“I see,” Yixing said, staring blankly at the ground between him and Youqing. The younger boy was still too ashamed to look his old brother in the face. Yixing sat back on his heels, pressing his fists against his thighs. Youqing had always been friendly with the help, and the female servants were especially fond of the charming 18-year-old. Somehow, Yixing had overlooked the possibility of something like this happening to them. 

“What exactly has happened?” Yixing asked. The younger prince sighed.

“She’s with child,” Youqing said. “And it’s mine.” 

“God in heaven,” Yixing said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know whether he wanted to scold Youqing for being careless or for consorting with a servant. Or if he wanted to probe him with questions and learn more about how their relationship developed. Still, another part wanted to tell his brother not to worry and that he would make sure everything went smoothly. But Youqing suddenly sat up and there was a look of determination in the young man’s eyes. 

“I’m going to marry her,” he said. Yixing blinked at the boy.

“Youqing, think about this,” Yixing said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Think about what our father would say. You’re a prince, he won’t consent to this easily.”

“I don’t care if it’s hard,” Youqing said, his eyes desperate. “I don’t care if our father will fight me over this. Whatever it takes, I have to.” Without another word, without even pausing to collect his things, Youqing stood up and stormed out the room. Yixing was left stunned in the center of the chamber, staring after the boy. Yixing considered getting up and going after Youqing. But the brothers were too similar; both were stubborn and wouldn’t be moved by anyone once their minds were set. Yixing sighed. He turned to his youngest brother instead, sleeping on the daybed. 

It was late at night, and he had no energy to move Liang back to the harem or to journey back to his own chamber. So he followed the younger boy’s example by walking over to the canopy bed on the further side of the chamber. He laid himself down and fell asleep. 

—

Down by the palace gates, the guards on the turret could not afford the luxury of sleep. Below, the unruly mob from earlier in the day was still gathered at the gate. They had all decided to sit down during the night, but refused to leave for fear that their demonstration would lose strength. They all looked at one another and grumbled that their bodies could not keep up with the passion of their unhappiness. In the surrounding woods, there was movement, unrest. The people began shifting on their feet, looking around themselves. They were apprehensive, as were the soldiers on the turret who noticed the movement, too.

Out of the darkness of the wood emerged a lone figure. A woman in a thick green coat, a pointed cap, and tall brown boots. She walked forward with her head held high, and the surrounding mob was confused by her. She was ordinary woman, and yet the air of regality that surrounded her suggested that they ought to stand and pay their respects. But she kept walking until she nearly at the gate. Upon closer inspection, the crowd determined that she was no ordinary woman. Her face was lined with the wrinkles of late middle age and her hair was partially hidden by her cap. She stared at the gates, looking them up and down, examining them. 

“Have you come to join the demonstration?” one of the people called out to her. She turned and looked at the man. A common peasant, a few years younger than her. The age her brother was when he was killed in action. Her face was austere. 

“No,” she answered. She marched her boots up to a raised platform just to right of the gate, and she stood on it, in clear view of the massive crowd of rioters that had gathered. 

“Listen!” she shouted, her voice reverberating through the crowd. They all stood and a murmur passed like a heartbeat through the people. Even the soldiers on the turrets looked over the edge to see about the commotion. Only a handful of the soldiers recognized Cheng, the banished soldier of the Royal Navy, leader of the People’s Revolutionary Army. With all eyes on her, Cheng continued.

“Brethren,” she projected her voice. “Brethren! Listen to me!”

The crowd shuddered as they all leapt to their feet. 

“I see you all gathered here, huddled against the night and the cold while your king sleeps under yards of silk!” she shouted, her voice as clear and strong as a cannon ball ripping through the mist. “I ask you now why you gather here instead of fight? Yes, fight. Look around yourselves. See how numerous you are!”

From the depths of the forest, the troops of the People’s Army began to step forward, adding to the numbers of the already swollen crowd. Up on the turrets, the soldiers were restless. Messages were dispatched to their superiors. They held onto their weapons.

“My brothers and sisters, consider this!” Cheng shouted. “You are the legs this kingdom stands upon. Why should you all loiter outside the gates of a palace which rightfully belongs to you?”

The crowd began to press against each other. Their jeering began to rise in volume, and the soldiers grew nervous. Someone shouted for a bowman to shoot the woman. Another warned against it, saying that it would only rouse the crowd more. 

“Why should you all bend to the will of one evil man when in your sturdy hearts lies the spark of revolution, the strength of a nation?” she spoke. The people had begun shouting again.

Down with Zhang! Down with Zhang!

“Rise up, I say! Get off your knees!” she shouted, spit during out of with every revolutionary word that left . “You are the ones who know misfortune and degradation, you are the ones with limitless courage and endurance! Liberty and happiness is yours for the taking! Fight for it, comrades! Rise up! Take it! It’s yours!”

The rebels ran forward, storming the palace gates. On the turrets, the soldiers began to scatter, running to their battle stations. They beat on the drums, sounding the alarm. The people rallied against the wooden gates that shut them out. They pressed against it, their cries rising up like a sigh from the depths of the earth. The rebels urged them on. Finally, the gate gave away, and the rabble poured into the palace complex like a poison into a glass. 

“Send a message to the Captain!”

“Archers at the ready!”

“Man the second gate! Don’t let them through!”

“Alert the king and queen! Guards, to the Residence!” 

The mob began to break things, set building on fire. They entered the halls and robbed and looted every room they entered. Cheng and her team of trusted comrades stormed into the complex and immediately ran to the main stairwell of the Eastern part of the compound. Her mind was drunk on the idea of vengeance. Tonight, finally, the three-thousand years of nightmarish tyranny would end at her hand. 

— 

Yixing was jolted awake by a hand clapping over his mouth. He tried to scream, but his eyes opened the sight of Captain Huang’s face. Shadows from a lit torch danced over his face and the faces of the other guards. Yixing sat up in bed and look around himself. 

“What are you doing?’ the prince demanded. He looked behind Captain Huang at the other guards. He saw Youqing and Liang lingering at the back of the group, alarmed expressions on their faces. For some reason, they were wearing the uniforms of the Palace Guard. Captain Huang grabbed Yixing and pulled him off the canopy bed.