Prologue
flames of sunrise. Nevertheless, nothing of her thoughts was reflected in her appearance. Humbly she bowed her head. She smiled cryptically. There was an Empress once who had ruled China with the strength and power of a man. Perhaps. . .
And so they entered the Hall of Ancestors.
4.
When they emerged, the sun had departed. It had gone over the far hills to die. Yuhan was enveloped in a cloak of maiden modesty, a costume which she believed fitting for the occasion, but she was well aware that it was lightly woven so that she could slip out of it gracefully. Yes, she had honored her ancestors, because some day she wanted her descendants to venerate her. She wanted them to say, "How lovely was Yang Yuhan, who walked with the grace of willow flowers. For her beauty, men would build cities, or lay them low. She was the most artful woman of China."
5.
Not long after sunrise the next morning, for the Chinese Court day begins early, the retinue of the young Prince Shou came for Yuhan. Outwardly the house of Yang was quiet and austere; within all was turbulence. Hearts were fluttering, tears were falling, though also there were smiles. Yang Yuan-kuei was proud of Yuhan, proud that he had played so important a part in her upbringing.
