Empress Orchid (34 page)

I struggled to free myself from the guards. First my arms went limp, then my legs. As my body was tossed to the floor, my dress tore and my hairpins fell out.

“Halt!” A child’s voice pierced the air. “This is Emperor Tung Chih speaking.”

I was sure that I was hallucinating. My son stepped to the center of the room like a mature man. His manner reminded me of his father.

“Lady Yehonala has no less right to speak in this court than you, Su Shun,” my child said. “I shall order the guards to remove you if you cannot mend your behavior!”

In awe of the Son of Heaven, Chief Eunuch Shim dropped to his knees. The guards followed, and then the court, including Nuharoo and me.

The place grew as silent as a still pond. The clocks on the walls started to chime. For a long time no one dared move. The sun’s rays shot through the curtains, turning the tapestry into gold.

Standing tall by himself, Tung Chih didn’t know what to say next.

“Rise,” the child finally uttered, as if remembering a forgotten phrase from his lessons.

The crowd rose.

“I am resigning, Your Young Majesty!” Su Shun was himself again. He took his peacock-feathered hat off and placed it on the floor in front of him. “Who will follow me?” He began to walk out of the hall.

The rest of the members of the Regency looked at one another. They
stared at Su Shun’s hat as if seeing its decorative jewels and feathers for the first time.

Prince Yee, Emperor Hsien Feng’s first cousin, made his move. He chased after Su Shun, yelling, “Grand Councilor, please! There is no point in lowering yourself to a child’s whim.”

The moment the words came out of his mouth, Prince Yee realized that he had made a mistake.

“What did you say?” Tung Chih stamped his feet. “You have insulted the Son of Heaven, and
Zhen
here orders your beheading! Guards!
Guards!
”

At Tung Chih’s words Prince Yee threw himself down and knocked his head hard on the floor. “I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness, for I am your father’s cousin and a blood relation.”

Looking at the man on the floor with a bleeding forehead, Tung Chih turned to Nuharoo and me.

“Rise, Prince Yee.” As if she finally found her place, Nuharoo spoke. “His Majesty shall forgive you this time, but he will not allow rudeness in the future. I trust that you have learned your lesson. Young as Tung Chih is, he is still the Emperor of China. You should always remember that you are his servant.”

The members of the Regency retreated. As soon as Nuharoo had Su Shun’s “forgotten” hat returned to him, the grand councilor got back to work. Not a word was spoken about the incident.

The body of Emperor Hsien Feng had been scheduled to be taken from Jehol to Peking for burial. The rehearsals for the moving ceremony were exhausting. During the day, Nuharoo and I dressed in white robes and practiced our steps in the courtyard. In our hair we wore baskets of white flowers. We made countless inspections: from the costumes worn by the paper gods to the decorative accessories for the horses; from the ropes that would tie down the coffin to the coffin bearers themselves; from the ceremonial flags to the selection of mourning music. We examined the wax pigs, cotton dolls, clay monkeys, porcelain lambs, wooden tigers and bamboo kites. In the evenings we inspected the leather silhouette figures that would be used in theatricals.

Tung Chih was drilled to perform the son’s duty. He practiced his walks, bows and kowtows in front of an audience of five thousand. During breaks, he sneaked out to watch the marching of the Imperial Guards, commanded by Yung Lu. Every night Tung Chih came to me describing his admiration for Yung Lu.

“Would you come with me next time?” he asked.

I was tempted, but Nuharoo turned Tung Chih down. “It would be improper for us to appear in our mourning gowns,” she said.

After dessert Nuharoo excused herself to chant. She had been drawn more deeply into Buddhism since Hsien Feng’s death. Her walls were covered with tapestries of Buddha figures. If it had been permitted, she would have ordered the construction of a giant Buddha in the middle of the audience hall.

I was full of unrest. One night in a dream I turned into a bee, trapped inside a forming lotus heart. With my every struggle the lotus seeds popped like little nipples. I woke and found that An-te-hai had placed a bowl of lotus-seed soup in front of me and that my vase had been filled with freshly picked lotus flowers.

“How did you know my dream?” I asked the eunuch.

“I just know.”

“Why all the lotuses?”

An-te-hai glanced at me and smiled. “It matches the color of Your Majesty’s face.”

The feelings I had been experiencing had only deepened. I could no longer deny to myself that they found their focus in the figure of Yung Lu. Listening to the news brought by Tung Chih excited me. My heart skipped when Yung Lu’s name was mentioned. I found myself hungry for details as Tung Chih described Yung Lu’s mastery of horses.

“You watched him from a distance?” I asked my son.

“I ordered a demonstration,” he replied. “The commander was happy when I commended him. Oh, Mother, you should have seen his way with the horses!”

I tried not to ask Tung Chih too much—I was afraid of arousing Nuharoo’s suspicion. To her, even thinking about any male other than our dead husband was a sign of disloyalty. Nuharoo made it clear to the Imperial widows that she wouldn’t hesitate to order their execution— by dismemberment—if she discovered an infidelity.

An-te-hai slept in my room and was a witness to my restlessness. But he never brought the subject up or mentioned any of my utterances that he might have heard. I knew that I often tossed and turned at night, especially when it rained.

On one such rainy night, I asked An-te-hai if he had noticed any changes in me. Carefully, the eunuch described my body’s midnight “uprisings.” He reported that I had cried out in my dreams, begging to be touched.

• • •

Winter came early. The September mornings were chilly and the air was fresh and clear. With the maples just starting to turn, I decided on a walk that would take me by Yung Lu’s training ground. The more I warned myself of the impropriety, the more my desire pushed me forward. In order to disguise the intent of my outing, the night before I told Tung Chih that there was a rabbit with red eyes that I would like to take him to see. Tung Chih asked where it was hidden. I answered, “In the bushes not far from the training ground.”

The next day we rose before dawn. After breakfast we set off in palanquins, passing the flame-colored trees. The moment we saw Yung Lu’s guards, Tung Chih took off and I followed.

The path was bumpy, and the bearers tried their best to steady the palanquin. I lifted the curtain and looked out. My heartbeat quickened.

An-te-hai followed by my side. His expression told me that he knew my purpose and that he was curious and excited. It touched me with sadness to see that An-te-hai still thought a man’s thoughts. Indeed, if appearance was the measure, women would think An-te-hai more attractive than Yung Lu. My eunuch had a full forehead and a perfect jaw and his eyes were large and bright, which was unusual for a Manchu. Highly trained in court manners, he always carried himself gracefully. Turning twenty-four the week before, An-te-hai had been with me for more than eight years. Unlike many eunuchs who sounded like old ladies, he spoke in a masculine voice. I wasn’t sure if An-te-hai still had a male’s bodily needs, but he was a sensuous being. As our time together lengthened, I was more and more struck by the curiosity he showed about what went on between a man and a woman. It would become An-te-hai’s curse.

In the morning fog I watched the Imperial Guards being drilled. Hundreds trotted and marched over packed dirt. They reminded me of hopping toads in a rice field during a drought. The air was crisp and the sun was yet to fully rise.

“Watch out for Tung Chih,” I told the bearers, and asked to be let out of the palanquin. My shoes collected dew as I slowly walked along a side path. Then I saw him, the commander, on his mount. I took a moment to compose myself.

He sat unmoving on the horse but stared in my direction. The fog between us made him look like a paper-cutout warrior.

I approached him with An-te-hai by my side.

The warrior tapped the animal’s flank, and it cantered toward me. I gazed at him under the shadows cast by the rising sun.

The moment he recognized me, he slipped off the horse and threw himself on the ground. “Your Majesty, Yung Lu at your service.”

I knew that I was supposed to say “Rise,” but my tongue faltered. I nodded and An-te-hai interpreted: “You may rise.”

The man in front of me stood. He was taller than I remembered. The sunlight sculpted his figure and his face looked like a hatchet.

I didn’t know what to say. “Tung Chih wanted to visit the woods,” I said after a pause, and then added, “He is chasing a rabbit.”

“That is very nice,” he said, and then he too ran out of words.

I glanced at his men. “How … are your troops doing?”

“Almost ready.” He was relieved to find a topic.

“What are you trying to achieve exactly?”

“I am working to build my men’s endurance. At present they are capable of staying in formation for about half a day, but the parade with the coffin will last fifteen days.”

“May I trust that you are not overworking your men or yourself?” I said. Immediately I caught the softness in my tone. I realized that I had just asked a question, which etiquette forbade.

He seemed to be aware of it. He looked at me and then quickly looked away.

I wished that I could dismiss An-te-hai, but that would not be wise. Being seen alone with Yung Lu would be dangerous.

“May I have Your Majesty’s permission to check up on Tung Chih?” An-te-hai asked, reading my mind.

“No, you may not.”

Tung Chih was disappointed: he hadn’t found the rabbit. When we returned to the palace, I promised to have a wooden one made for him. An-te-hai explained my idea to the court’s best craftsman. The man asked for five days to produce the rabbit. Tung Chih waited eagerly.

On the evening of the fourth day, a fantastically crafted wooden rabbit with white “fur” was presented to Tung Chih. The moment my son saw it, he fell in love. From then on he no longer touched any other toys, no matter how fancy they were. The wooden rabbit had the cutest red eyes of chiseled rubies. Its fur was made of cotton and silk. The best part was that the rabbit had movable legs with a string winder. When Tung Chih placed the rabbit on the floor it could hop like a real one.

For the next few days Tung Chih was completely occupied by the
rabbit. I was able to work with Nuharoo on the court documents delivered by Su Shun. My floor was piled with papers and I had no space to move around.

Nuharoo soon resented coming to work with me. She began to make excuses for not showing up. She wanted us to abide by the ancient Chinese philosophy that “the wisest man should appear the most confused.” She believed that if we did so, Su Shun would leave us alone: “Fool and disarm him without using a weapon.” She smiled, charmed by her own words.

I did not understand Nuharoo’s fantasy. We might fool others, but not Su Shun. For me it was harder to deal with Nuharoo than with my son. When she was tired, her temper tantrums rose. She complained about everything—the noise of crickets, the taste of her soup, a dropped stitch in her embroidery. She would insist that I help her fix the problem. I couldn’t help but be affected, and I had to quit working. Finally, I agreed to spare her under one condition—that she read my briefs and place her seal on all the outgoing documents, which I would draft in the name of Tung Chih and stamp with my own seal.

Each evening An-te-hai prepared a pot of strong Black Dragon tea as I labored into the night. By loading me down with work, Su Shun set out to discredit me in the eyes of the court. I had volunteered to put my neck in the noose, and now he was busy tying the knot. He didn’t know me. I wanted to succeed for a very practical reason—to be fit to assist my son. But I had miscalculated. While I was busy shoring up one flank, I left another exposed. I had no idea that the Imperial tutors who were responsible for Tung Chih’s education were Su Shun’s friends. My innocent neglect proved to be one of my biggest mistakes. I didn’t realize the damage being done to Tung Chih until it was too late.

At this point I was desperate to broaden my perspective. I lacked confidence and felt myself poorly informed. The subjects of the papers were vast. To grasp any understanding seemed like trying to climb a greased pole. Since I felt strongly about the role played by the government, I was determined to cut through the corruption around me. I tried to see the basic outlines of things, their true skeleton, and to evaluate everything on merit alone. I also concentrated on becoming familiar with those who had the power to control and influence. Besides reading their reports, I studied their characters, their backgrounds, and their relationships with their peers and with us. Of course I paid particular attention to their responses to our own queries and requests, most often
delivered through Prince Kung. I had always loved opera, but what I was now engaged in on a daily basis was much more dramatic and bizarre.

I learned a lot about people. One document came from one of Prince Kung’s employees, the Englishman Robert Hart, China’s chief of customs. This man was my own age and a foreigner, but he was responsible for generating one third of our yearly revenue. Hart reported that he had recently met strong resistance when collecting domestic customs revenue. Many influential men, including my late husband’s most trusted general, Tseng Kuo-fan—Head-Chopper Tseng, the hero who flattened the Taiping rebels—refused to part with their money. Tseng claimed that the needs of his immediate area required that he, not the central government, keep the taels. His account books had been found vague, and Hart sought instructions from the Emperor regarding whether to press charges against the general.

Su Shun proposed an action on the cover page of Hart’s report. He wanted to have Tseng Kuo-fan investigated and charged. I was not fooled. For some time Su Shun had wished to replace Tseng with one of his loyalists.