Molly X. Chang’s The Nightblood Prince features a royal love triangle complicated by a prophecy and politics. Set in a world inspired by ancient China and predicating a sequel, the novel explores gender roles, the reasons for war, and the process of identity formation.
Now seventeen, Fei Lifeng is destined to be the future Empress of Rong. Betrothed to Siwang and feeling like nothing more than a pawn in a quest for power, she hungers for choice, control, and freedom. Fei hopes that if she can kill a Beiying tiger during the season’s first imperial hunt, the emperor will be obligated to grant her a wish, the wish to be free of her betrothal. She doesn’t want to bend to the will of a man or to “exist in docile and delicate beauty, while princes like Siwang bask in glory and admiration” (12). Fei questions: “What use is power, without freedom? What good is the life of an empress if she is a prisoner chained by rules and tradition and others’ opinions?” (15).
In addition to the plot point in which Fei will forge a path towards self-definition, Chang points out several difficult truths: “In life, not everyone was created equal. . . . People were treated differently because of which region of the empire they hailed from and which family they descended from” (20). In another, Chang invites readers to wonder: “Some things in life are more beautiful in theory than they are in reality. And sometimes, we get what we want just to discover that it is not what we imagined” (117).
Fei’s life is further complicated by her magical ability to see the future. This power inside her is both magnificent and dangerous since men of this era and realm do not prefer powerful women. By avoiding marriage, according to her prophecy, Fei will not only gain her freedom but restore peace to the land. Yet, she questions her worth: “Even if I had magic and the mark of a phoenix between my brows, I wasn’t the fallen goddess the world wanted to believe I was” (70).
However, Lan Yexue, the Prince of Lan, complicates Fei’s plan by crossing her path with an injury. Intent on appeasing Yexue’s suffering and saving his life, Fei learns that knowledge and secrets are the most valuable currency and that power corrupts a person. She also begins to question her feelings for Siwang. While she loves Rong Siwang the boy, she isn’t sure she can love Siwang the prince who wants to rule the world—“a man whose greed might one day bring calamity to Yong’An and cause the death of everyone we had ever met” (58). Aware of Siwang’s benevolence, Fei also knows his dark and vicious side: “I saw it in rare flashes when his perfect mask slipped in moments of rage” (70).
As a further complication, Yexue promises Fei freedom and invites her to run away with him—a kindred spirit who also has magic in his veins. Would Fei sacrifice her pampered life and her closest friend in exchange for freedom? Would she leave the palace and forfeit her right to watch Siwang “grow into his potential and become the fiercest emperor whose name would be remembered for eras to come” (114)?
On Fei’s journey to escape obedience and to live beyond the ordinary, Chang invites readers to question whether land is worth the bloodshed of war, whether we can find truth in such proclamations as Siwang’s: “To relinquish our land is to dishonor everything that has come before us” (202).
In Fei’s view, “War isn’t just killing soldiers, but also parents through heartbreak and children through poverty. . . . The cost of war would always be greater than the justifications” (204). Fei further believes that emperors and armies should be fighting for the citizenry, the work force and villagers who keep a country functioning, “not to conquer but to protect. Instead, they waged wars for pride and greed, and passed these human lives from one rapacious hand to another. . . . These were the people whose hunched backs empires were built upon—why should they always be the first to suffer? The collateral damage, seeking refuge in any city that would take them, praying for the amity that might never come and a bounteous son of heaven who might not exist. When would these borderlands know peace” (235)?
As readers oscillate between wondering who the villain of this story is, Chang peppers her text with Chinese characters and maxims, adding to the reader’s cultural insight and wisdom.
- Donna