A MESSAGE CAME from Prince Kung asking for permission to be in Jehol for the mourning ceremony. According to tradition, Prince Kung had to make an official request and the throne had to approve it. Although Kung was Tung Chih’s uncle, he was by rank a subordinate. The boy had become Emperor, and Prince Kung was his minister. To my astonishment, Prince Kung’s request was denied.
Household law forbade Hsien Feng’s widows to meet any male relative during the mourning period. Obviously Su Shun was behind this. He must have feared that his own power would be threatened.
Nuharoo and I were practically imprisoned in our quarters. I was not even allowed to take Tung Chih to visit the hot spring. Whenever I did step out, Chief Eunuch Shim followed. I felt that Prince Kung needed to know how things were going.
But Prince Kung simply withdrew his request. He had no choice but to do so. If he insisted on coming, Su Shun had the right to punish him for disobeying the Emperor’s will.
Nevertheless, I was disappointed that Prince Kung gave in so easily. I wouldn’t know until later that he sought another path. Like me, he viewed Su Shun as a danger. His feelings were shared and supported by many-clansmen, Imperial loyalists, reformers, scholars and students-who would rather see power in the hands of the liberal-minded Prince Kung than Su Shun.
Tung Chih expressed little interest when I told him stories of his ancestors. He couldn’t wait to finish a lesson so that he could be with Nuharoo, which made me jealous. I was becoming a tougher mother after his father’s death. Tung Chih couldn’t read a map of China, couldn’t even remember the names of most provinces. He was already a ruler, but his biggest interests were eating sugar-coated berries and fooling around. He had no idea what the real world was like and didn’t care to learn. Why should he when he was constantly made to feel that he was on top of the universe?
To the public, I promoted my five-year-old son as a genius who would lead the nation out of troubled waters. I had to do so in order to survive. The more people trusted the Emperor, the more stable the society. Hope was our currency. Behind closed doors, however, I pushed Tung Chih to live up to his role. He needed to rule on his own as soon as possible because Su Shun’s power would only continue to grow.
I tried to teach him how to conduct an audience, how to listen, what kinds of questions to ask, and most important, how to make decisions based on collective opinions, criticisms and ideas.
“You must learn from your advisors and ministers,” I warned, “because you are not-”
“Who I think I am.” Tung Chih cut at me. “In your eyes, I’m as good as a wet fart.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or slap his face. I did neither.
“Why do you never say ‘Yes, Your Majesty’ like everyone else?” my son asked.
I noticed that he had stopped calling me Mother. When he had to address me, he called me Huang-ah-pa, a formal name meaning “Imperial Mother.” But he called Nuharoo Mother, in a voice that was full of warmth and affection.
If Tung Chih had accepted my rules, I would have swallowed the insult, because all I desired was for him to be a fit ruler. He could interpret my intentions any way he wanted. My feelings would not be hurt even if he hated me at the beginning. I believed that he would thank me in the future.
But I underestimated the power of the environment. It was as if he were a piece of clay that had been molded and baked before I could touch it. Tung Chih scored poorly on his exams, and he had trouble concentrating. When his tutor shut him inside the library, he sent his eunuchs to Nuharoo, who came to his rescue. The tutor was punished instead of the student. When I protested, Nuharoo reminded me of my lower status.
An-te-hai was the one who pointed out that what was going on had nothing to do with being a parent. “You are dealing with the Emperor of China, not your child, my lady,” he said. “It is the entire culture of the Forbidden City that you are up against.”
I hated the idea of tricking my son. But when honesty failed, what choice did I have left?
When Tung Chih brought me his unfinished homework, I no longer criticized him. In an even voice I told him that as long as he felt that he had done his best, it would be fine with me. He was relieved and felt less compelled to lie. Gradually Tung Chih became willing to spend time with me. I played “audience,” “court room” and “battles” with him. Carefully, quietly, I tried to influence him. The moment he detected my true motives, he ran away.
“There are people who try to make the Son of Heaven a fool,” Tung Chih once said in the middle of a game.
Nuharoo and the master tutor Chih Ming wanted Tung Chih to learn the exclusive “Emperor’s language.” They also designed the lessons so that Tung Chih would focus on Chinese rhetoric and ancient Tang poetry and Sung verses, “so he can speak elegantly.” When I opposed the idea and wanted to add science, math and basic military strategy, they were upset.
“It is considered prestigious to own a language,” Master Chih Ming explained with passion. “Only an emperor can afford it, and that is the point.”
“Why do you want to deprive our child?” Nuharoo asked me. “Hasn’t Tung Chih, as the Son of Heaven, been deprived enough?”
“It is a waste of time to learn a language that he can’t use to communicate,” I argued. “Tung Chih must be presented immediately with the truth about China! I am not concerned about how well he dresses, eats or says Zhen instead of I.” I suggested that Prince Kung’s letters and the drafts of treaties be Tung Chih’s texts. “The foreign troops will not leave China on their own accord. Tung Chih has to drive them out.”
“It is a terrible idea to do that to a child.” Nuharoo shook her head, making all the ornamental bells on her hair ring. “Tung Chih will be so frightened that he will never want to rule.”
“That’s why we are here to support him,” I said. “We work with him, so that he will learn the art of war by fighting the war.”
Nuharoo gave me a hard stare. “Yehonala, you are not asking me to disobey the rules and to ignore our ancestors’ teachings, are you?”
I was heartbroken when I saw how my son was being taught to misread reality. He couldn’t distinguish fact from fantasy. The false notions packed into his little brain made him vulnerable. He believed that he could tell the sky when to rain and the sun when to shine.
Against Master Chih Ming’s advice, Nuharoo’s repeated interference and Tung Chih’s own inclination, I forced my way with my son, which drove him farther from me. I believed that this was of the utmost importance. In our “court” games Tung Chih played the Emperor and I his wicked minister. I mimicked Su Shun without using his name. I even took up Su Shun’s northern accent. I wanted to teach Tung Chih not to be intimidated by the enemy.
When the lessons were over, there was never a thank-you or a goodbye. When I opened my arms and said “I love you, son,” he brushed me away.
The ceremony marking Tung Chih’s official ascent to the throne began when Hsien Feng’s body was placed in its coffin. A decree was issued within the court to proclaim the new era, and Tung Chih was expected to issue a decree in honor of his mothers. As usual we received a lot of useless tributes and gifts.
I was aware that Su Shun had drafted this honor. But I was forbidden to learn what was written until the decree was announced. I was tense and nervous, but there was nothing I could do.
When the decree was announced, Nuharoo was honored as “the Empress of Great Benevolence Tzu An” and I as “the Empress of Holy Kindness Tzu Hsi.” To anyone who knew the subtleties of Chinese, the difference was obvious: “great benevolence” was more powerful than “holy kindness.” We may have both been honored as empresses of the same rank, but the message to the nation was that my position was not equal to Nuharoo’s.
The emphasis on her prestige over mine pleased Nuharoo. Although she had been the appointed Empress during Hsien Feng’s reign, that didn’t guarantee that she would hold the same title when the era changed. After all, I was the mother of the heir. The liability of my new title was that the nation was led to believe that Tung Chih considered Nuharoo above me-Su Shun got his way.
More alarming to me was that Su Shun had issued a decree again without obtaining both Nuharoo’s and my signature seals. Nuharoo didn’t want to raise the issue since she had what she desired. But to me this was a violation of principle-Su Shun was failing to properly execute Emperor Hsien Feng’s will. I had every right to challenge the decree. However, if I fought, it would give Su Shun a chance to damage my relationship with Nuharoo.
I contemplated the situation and decided to stay where I was.
After the announcement of the honor, Nuharoo and I were to be treated equally. I moved from my quarters to the west wing of the Hall of Fantastic Haze, called the Western Chamber of Warmth, which prompted the ministers to call me the Empress of the Western Chamber. Nuharoo moved to the Eastern Chamber of Warmth, and thus she was known as the Empress of the Eastern Chamber.
On September 2, 1861, the first official decree was formally published. It announced the new era to the nation and the boy Emperor’s coming. The decree included the new Emperor’s honors to his mothers. The nation was given a ten-day holiday to celebrate.
As the country learned about Nuharoo and me, Su Shun convened the Board of Regents for an audience of his own. He demanded that from now on Nuharoo and I must stamp the decrees that he drafted, without question.
This time Su Shun also offended Nuharoo. An argument flared while Tung Chih and the entire court were present.
“Females stay out of the court’s business; that is the Imperial tradition.” Su Shun emphasized that it was for the country’s benefit that his administration bypass us. He created the impression that Nuharoo and I were responsible for slowing down the court’s procedures and that I, especially, was a troublemaker.
“If we are not to take part in the court’s business,” Nuharoo said to the audience, “then why did His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng bother to place the seals in our hands?”
Before Su Shun got a chance to respond, I echoed Nuharoo. “Emperor Hsien Feng’s purpose was more than clear. The two grand seals represent a balanced judgment. His Majesty wanted us to work side by side. The seals are to prevent autocracy and”-I raised my voice, speaking as clearly as I could-“to avoid the possible tyranny of any single regent. The eight of you are wise men, so I don’t have to remind you of those terrible lessons of the past. I am sure none of you wants to model yourself after Ao Pai, who went down in history as a villain because he allowed his desire for power to corrupt his soul.” I glanced at Su Shun before concluding, “Empress Nuharoo and I have decided that as long as we live, we will honor our commitment to our husband.”
Before the last word came out of my mouth, Su Shun stood up. His olive complexion had flushed a deep red. His eyes revealed great anger. “Originally I didn’t want to expose my private conversations with His Late Majesty, but you have left me with no choice, Lady Yehonala.” Su Shun walked toward his men and spoke loudly. “Emperor Hsien Feng had already seen through Lady Yehonala’s wickedness when he was alive. Several times he spoke with me about taking her with him. If she hadn’t taken advantage of His Majesty’s illness and manipulated him into changing his mind, we would be able to do our job today.”
“His Majesty should have insisted!” The Gang of Eight nodded.
I was so furious I couldn’t speak. I tried hard to hold in my tears.
Su Shun continued, his chest heaving. “One of the ancient sages of China foretold that China would be destroyed by a woman. I hope we do not hasten the day.”
Terrified by the expression on Su Shun’s face, Tung Chih jumped up from the throne. He threw himself first at Nuharoo and then at me.
“What’s wrong?” Tung Chih asked when he noticed that my arm was trembling. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, my son,” I said. “I am fine.”
But Tung Chih started to cry. I rubbed his back to calm him. I didn’t want to give my son and the court the impression that I was weak.
“Allow me to share my thoughts with you, gentlemen,” I said, composing myself. “Before forming your judgment-”
“Stop!” Su Shun interrupted me and turned to the court. “Lady Yehonala has just violated a house rule.”
I realized where Su Shun was heading. He was using a family rule against me. “Rule one hundred and seventy-four reads: ‘A lower-rank Imperial wife will be punished if she speaks without the permission of the higher-ranking wife.’” Glancing at Nuharoo, who stared blankly, Su Shun went on. “I am afraid that I must perform my duty.” He snapped his fingers. “Guards!”
Led by Chief Eunuch Shim, several guards rushed in.
“Seize the Empress of Holy Kindness and take her away for punishment!”
“Nuharoo, my elder sister!” I cried, hoping that she would come forward. All she had to do was to say that I had her permission to speak.
But Nuharoo was confused. She stared as if she didn’t understand what was happening.
The guards grabbed my arms and began to drag me away.
“Heaven above,” Su Shun said, beseeching in Peking-opera style, “help us get rid of an evil fox who has confirmed our ancestors’ worst predictions.”
“Nuharoo!” I struggled to push the guards away. “Tell them I had your permission to speak. Tell them I am the Empress and they can’t treat me like this. Please, Nuharoo!”
Su Shun walked up to Nuharoo, who was frozen in place. He bent down and whispered in her ear. His hands drew circles in the air. His broad frame blocked her view of me. I was sure what he was saying: the faster I was hanged, the better her life would be. He was describing a life for her without rivals. A life where only her words ruled. Nuharoo was too frightened to think. I knew she didn’t trust Su Shun, but she might not be able to resist his vision of her future.
The guards dragged me through the hallway. Everyone seemed caught up in the moment. If there were questions, nobody asked. I was lost in the crack of time, and I knew I would vanish before people could come to their senses.
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.
I decided to hold on to the report until I could meet with Prince Kung and discuss the matter. Tseng was too important to the nation’s stability, and if this was what he would cost me, I might have to close my eyes and pay the price. In a way, I would rather see Tseng Kuo-fan keep the money, knowing that he would use it to equip his army, which would end up protecting me, than see the money fall into Su Shun’s hands and be spent on conspiracies against me.
The report left me with the impression that Tseng had offered Hart what amounted to a large bribe for his cooperation. But Hart had proven unshakable: he would not compromise his loyalty toward his employer, Prince Kung. What had made him stand so firm? What principles and values had he been raised with? I hadn’t expected a foreigner to be loyal to our dynasty. This taught me a great lesson. I wanted to meet this man. If I could, I would have him introduced to Tung Chih.
My request to meet with Robert Hart was first delayed, then postponed, and then turned down. The court voted unanimously that it would be an insult to China if I “lowered” myself to meet with him. More than four decades would pass before we finally met. Then, I told the court that I wouldn’t be able to die in peace if I didn’t thank the man who had helped me hold the sky together.
The blood-colored wild chrysanthemums bloomed in madness. The plants hung over my fences and covered the ground of my courtyard. Still shaken by the contents of a letter recently sent by Prince Kung, I was in no mood to appreciate the flowers. In his letter, the prince described his day. It was after he delivered the treaties signed by his dying brother, Emperor Hsien Feng.
“I was escorted to the Forbidden City by General Sheng Pao, who was no longer captive, and four hundred horsemen. I then took only twenty men and entered the main hall of the Board of Rites to meet with my counterpart, Lord Elgin.” Through Prince Kung’s choice of words I sensed his anger. “This was my first time entering the heavenly ground after the foreigners had assaulted it. Lord Elgin was three hours late. He entered with two thousand men in a display of pomp. He rode in a crimson palanquin borne by sixteen men, knowing that this privilege was reserved only for the Emperor of China. I made an effort to be gracious, although I was disgusted beyond description. I bowed slightly and shook Elgin’s hands in the Chinese style. I struggled and succeeded in keeping my emotions from spilling.”
I admired the wisdom of his concluding words, addressed to Su Shun and the court: “If we do not learn to restrain our rage but continue with hostilities, we are liable to sudden catastrophe. We must advise our people throughout the nation to act in accordance with the treaties and not allow the foreigners to go even slightly beyond them. In our external expression we should be sincere and amicable but quietly try to keep them in line. Then, within the next few years, even though they may occasionally make demands, they will not cause us a great calamity. Time is crucial to our recovery.”
Again I felt that Tung Chih was blessed by having a level-headed uncle. Su Shun might increase his own popularity by challenging Prince Kung and calling him “the devil’s slave,” but what could be easier than sneering at someone? Prince Kung had a nasty but necessary job. His office was in a rundown Buddhist temple in northwestern Peking. It was a dirty, cheerless, barren space. His workload was excessive, and the outcome of his negotiations almost a foregone conclusion. It must have been unbearable. The numbers the foreigners demanded in indemnities and reparations were ridiculous, far in excess of any real damages and military costs. His days must have been worse than my own.
By the time I put the letter down I was so exhausted that I fell asleep instantly. In my dreams I set fire to every pile of documents in my room.
It was my weakness that I longed for a man’s shoulder to lean on. I knew it and struggled against it, but my feelings kept surfacing. I sought distraction and buried myself in work. I asked An-te-hai to make stronger tea and chewed up the leaves after I drank. Finally I succeeded in clearing my floor of all the documents. I didn’t know if the court’s business had slowed because Su Shun couldn’t keep up with me, or if he had changed his tactics and stopped sending me documents.
Without work to occupy my evenings, I became restless and irritable. There were other things I could have turned to-reading, writing a poem or painting. But I was simply unable to concentrate. I went to bed and stared at the ceiling. In the deep quiet of night Yung Lu’s face and the way he moved on his horse passed back and forth before my eyes, and I wondered what it would be like to ride with him.
“Would you like a back rub, my lady?” An-te-hai whispered in the dark. His voice told me that he had been awake.
I said nothing and he was beside me. He knew that I wouldn’t allow myself to say yes. But he also knew I had been in a kind of agony. Like a force of nature, my desire must follow its own path until sated and spent. My body was ready for release.
In silence, An-te-hai held me. Gently and slowly he touched my shoulders, my neck, my back. My body was comforted. He kept rubbing. His hands were everywhere. Soothing and dream-like, he breathed lines from a song into my ear:
The void in my mind expanded. Plum flowers danced in the air like white feathers.
An-te-hai became more forceful the moment he discovered my arousal. He breathed deeply as if to smell my scent.
“I love you so much, my lady,” the eunuch whispered again and again.
My eyes saw Yung Lu. He was taking me with him on his horse. Like an ancient Bannerman’s wife, I clung to his waist amid the clattering pots and pans lashed to the saddle. The two of us moved in perfect rhythm. We traveled in an endless wilderness.
My body grew calm, like an ocean after a storm.
Without lighting a candle, An-te-hai removed himself from the bed.
A strand of wet hair had fallen on my face. I tasted my own sweat.
In the moonlight my eunuch prepared a basin of warm water. He bathed me tenderly with a towel. He did it smoothly as if he had been practicing this all his life.
I drifted into peaceful sleep.