Empress Orchid (41 page)

My thoughts went to Rong. I was not sure that talking with her would help her cope with the death of her son. Rong frightened too easily, and I wouldn’t blame her for thinking that the Forbidden City was a terrible place to raise children. I could only pray that the new pregnancy would provide her with hope.

An-te-hai had been acting oddly today. He carried a big cotton sack with him. When I asked what was inside, he said it was his overcoat. I couldn’t understand why he insisted on bringing an overcoat when nothing but blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon.

People leaving the tomb surrounded me. They lined up to pay their respects to me, bowing and kowtowing. Each took minutes to complete the forehead-knocks on the ground. A couple of senior ministers were
nearly blind and had difficulty walking. They wouldn’t accept my pardon and insisted on performing the entire protocol. No one asked if I was tired or hungry.

The temperature began to rise. My hands and body felt warm. Everyone seemed to have had enough and was eager to go back. Yet etiquette could not be ignored. The line of people before me continued to grow. It stretched from the entrance gate to the stone pavilion. I looked from the corner of my eye and saw that the bearers were sharing a joke and the guards looked bored. The horses kicked their hooves. The desert wind sent eerie whistles from afar. By the time the sun was above our heads, many ministers relaxed their manners and loosened their collar buttons. They sat on the ground waiting for the tomb to be shut.

Finally the court’s chief astrologer announced that all was ready. I was ushered toward the tomb while An-te-hai went ahead to check before I entered.

The astrologer told me that I had to proceed by myself, according to custom. “His Majesty is ready to have his last earthly moment with you.”

I suddenly became afraid and wished that Yung Lu were with me.

“Can … someone come with me?” I asked. “Can An-te-hai stay?”

“No, I am afraid not, Your Majesty.” The chief astrologer bowed.

An-te-hai came out and reported that all was ready inside.

My legs trembled, but I forced myself to move.

“Your Majesty,” I heard the architect call, “please come out before noon.”

The tunnel seemed long and narrow. It felt different from the place Nuharoo and I had seen the last time we were here together. I could hear the echoes of my own steps. Maybe it was the new furnishings and tapestries. A large gold table clock came into view. I wondered why His Majesty needed a clock. I knew little about life after death, but from what I was looking at now, I was convinced there must be a need for many things.

As I looked around, a tapestry caught my eye. It depicted an empty hut set in a mountainous landscape. A beautiful woman reclined with her
qin.
Peach blossoms in full bloom were visible through the round window behind her. The vitality of spring contrasted with the young woman’s melancholy. She was obviously waiting for her husband or lover. Her exposed feet were suggestive of her longing for him. To my amazement, her feet were bound.

The light from the oil jar produced a sweet scent and orange rays. It
added warmth to the red furniture. There were layers of comforters, blankets, sheets and pillows on top of a table by the corner. It was inviting, like a bedroom. I saw the familiar table and chair Hsien Feng had used. The tall chair back was carved with lilies. I remembered I once hung my dress on it while spending the night with him.

My eyes landed on the empty coffin with my name on it. It was set right next to Hsien Feng’s, as if I were already dead and buried inside —the way Su Shun had wanted, the way His Majesty almost ordered, the way my life might have been. This would be my resting place forever, away from sunshine, away from spring, away from Tung Chih and Yung Lu.

I was supposed to shed tears. It was expected of an empress. It was why I was left alone. But I had no tears. If I had had any, they would have been for myself. For my life was not much different from being buried alive. My heart was forbidden from celebrating its springs. It had died last night when I sent the whores to Yung Lu. The girl named Orchid from Wuhu wouldn’t have done anything like that.

I was not as brave as I would like myself to be. It was what An-te-hai seemed to understand. I was an ordinary woman and I loved Yung Lu.

I didn’t know how long I had been in the tomb. I had no desire to leave and reenter the light. I wouldn’t find the life I yearned for outside. The laughter I once knew wasn’t there. I couldn’t even look Yung Lu in the eye. What was the point of going on?

At noon the door to the outside world would shut permanently. Interestingly my fear was gone now. There was a strange kind of peace here, cozy and warm like a mother’s womb. It brought me relief to think that all my troubles would be at an end if I stayed here. I would no longer struggle in my dreams and wake up only to hear An-te-hai report that I had cried. I wouldn’t have to degrade myself by relying on a eunuch for comfort. I could say goodbye to Yung Lu right here in the tomb and be done with the pain and agony. I could turn tragedy into comedy. There would be nothing anyone could do to make me suffer again. The comic part would be that I would be honored for voluntarily accompanying Emperor Hsien Feng to the next world. History would praise my virtue, and a temple would be built so that future generations of concubines could worship me.

I stared at the door and the watermelon-shaped pit and the stone ball, ready to roll.

My coffin was covered with white lilacs. I went to see if it was open. It was not, and I couldn’t get it to open. Why had they locked it? The
panels were not carved to my taste. The movements of the phoenixes were dull, the pattern too busy, the color too loud. If I were the artist, I would have added elegance and spirit to it. I would make the birds fly and the flowers bloom.

I noticed something that didn’t belong. It was An-te-hai’s overcoat. He had laid it here. My thoughts were interrupted by this earthly object. Why did An-te-hai leave it behind?

I heard hurried steps and then a man’s quick breathing.

I couldn’t be sure if the sound was from my imagination.

“Your Majesty,” Yung Lu’s voice called, “it’s noon!”

Unable to stop fast enough, he skidded into me, pushing me onto An-te-hai’s overcoat.

We stared at each other and then his lips were on mine.

“This is my coffin,” I managed to say.

“That is why I have dared …” The heat from his mouth hit my neck. “It can’t be a sin to borrow a moment from your next life.” His hands went to my robe, but it was too tightly buttoned.

My limbs became weak and I felt myself begin to swoon. I could hear the pigeons in the sky sending down the music of their wind pipes.

“It’s noon,” I heard myself say.

“And we are in your tomb,” he said, burying his face in my chest.

“Take me.” I wrapped my arms around him.

He pushed himself away, breathing heavily. “No, Orchid.”

“Why? Why not?”

He wouldn’t explain but kept refusing me.

I begged him. I said I had never desired any other man. I needed his pity and his mercy. I wanted him to have me.

“Oh, Orchid, my Orchid,” he kept murmuring.

A loud noise came from the mouth of the tunnel. It was the sound of the stone gate.

“The architect has ordered it shut!” Yung Lu jumped to his feet and lunged toward the entrance, pulling me with him.

I was overwhelmed by the fear of going out. My mind swirled with memories of the life I had led. The constant struggle to keep up appearances, the pretenses, the smiles that had been met with tears. The long sleepless nights, the loneliness that cloaked my spirit and turned me into a true ghost.

Yung Lu dragged me with all his might. “Come on, Orchid!”

“Why do you do this? You don’t need me.”

“Tung Chih needs you. The dynasty needs you. And I …” Suddenly,
as if broken, he stopped. “I look forward to working with you, Your Majesty, for the rest of my life. But if you insist on staying, I shall be here with you.”

Kneeling down to meet his tear-filled eyes, I ceased struggling.

“Will we be lovers?” I asked.

“No.” His voice was faint but not weak.

“But you love me?”

“Yes, my lady. I draw my breath, my every breath, to love you.”

I stepped outside into the light and heard three thundering noises come from behind us. It was the sound of the stone balls rolling into their places.

The moment I appeared in front of the crowd, the ministers threw themselves down on their knees and knocked their foreheads madly on the ground. They cheered my name in unison. Thousands of men spread out like a giant fan half a mile long. They had mistaken my effort to remain inside as a gesture of loyalty toward His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng. They were in awe of my virtue.

There was one person who didn’t kneel. He stood about fifty yards away.

I recognized his pine-tree-patterned robe. He probably wondered what had happened to his overcoat.

All of the characters in this book are based on real people. I tried my best to keep the events the way they were in history. I translated the decrees, edicts and poems from the original documents. Whenever there were differences in interpretation, I based my judgment on my research and overall perspective.

My thanks go to my husband, Lloyd Lofthouse, to Sandra Dijkstra and the team at the Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency, to Anton Mueller and the team at Houghton Mifflin, and to the Museum of Chinese History, the China National Library, the Shanghai Museum and the Forbidden City Museum in Peking.

Anchee Min was born in Shanghai in 1957. As a child, she became a model member of the Red Guard. At seventeen she was sent to work in the harsh conditions of a communal farm, from which she was later plucked by Madame Mao's associates to become a star of the Chinese propaganda film industry. After the death of Mao in 1976, Anchee Min was disgraced and left China for the US in 1984, where she now lives in California. Renowned for her memoir,
Red Azalea
,
Empress Orchid
is her fourth novel.