The emperor is on the palace steps,
he is wearing the regalia of a warrior,
resplendent in gold and jade, and secretly
wishes to put an end to all fighting.
It is a thought that frightens him.
And the empress, he does love her, or did.
Because he has not touched her for a year
she now shies away from him, stays in
the shadows of the court and has taken
to spending her evenings with her eunuch,
who if the rumors are true is much endowed.
He plucks his facial hair and eyebrows
to hide his true nature. She weeps for her past.
The emperor has many concubines
to choose from. What is there to explain?
There is pain in joy and joy in pain.
And forgiveness. What is that but a slow poison.
And what is a tear but a bargaining chip?
So potent, all the perfume in the sixteen kingdoms
cannot disguise it.