WE ENTERED Peking through the south gate. I was amazed at the massive rose-colored walls. They were everywhere, one behind another, winding around the entire city. The walls were about forty feet high and fifty feet thick. At the hidden heart of the sprawling, low-lying capital sat the Forbidden City, the home of the Emperor.
I had never seen so many people in one place. The smell of roasting meat fluttered in the air. The street before us was more than sixty feet wide, and for a mile went straight to the Gate of Zenith. Along each side were rows of deep huddled mat-constructed booths and shops festooned with flags announcing their wares. There was so much to see: rope dancers twirling and spinning, fortunetellers throwing interpretations of the I Ching, acrobats and jugglers performing tricks with bears and monkeys, folksingers telling old tales in fanciful masks, wigs and costumes. Furniture craftsmen were busy with their hands. The scenes were right out of classic Chinese opera. Herbalists displayed large black dry fungi. An acupuncturist applied needles to a patient’s head, making him look like a porcupine. Repairers mended porcelain with small rivets, their work as fine as embroidery. Barbers hummed their favorite songs while shaving their customers. Children screamed happily while sly-eyed camels with heavy loads strutted elegantly by.
My eyes were drawn to sugar-coated berries on sticks. I would have felt miserable if I hadn’t seen a group of coolies carrying heavy buckets on bamboo poles across their bare shoulders. The men were collecting feces for the night-soil merchants. They moved slowly toward waiting boats by the canal.
A distant relative whom we called Eleventh Uncle received us. He was a tiny-framed, sour man from my father’s side. He wasn’t pleased with our arrival. He complained about his troubles running a dry-food shop. “There hasn’t been much food to dry in recent years,” he said. “All eaten. Nothing left to sell.” Mother apologized for the inconvenience and said that we would leave as soon as we got back on our feet. He nodded and then warned Mother about his door: “It falls out of its frame.”
Finally we buried our father. There was no ceremony, because we couldn’t afford one. We settled down in our uncle’s three-room house, in a kinsman’s compound in Pewter Lane. In the local dialect, the compound was called a hootong. Like a spider web, the city of Peking was woven with hootongs. The Forbidden City was at the center, and thousands of hootongs made up the web. My uncle’s lane was on the east side of a street near the canal of the Imperial city. The canal ran parallel to the high walls and served as the Emperor’s private waterway. I saw boats with yellow flags travel down the canal. Tall trees were thick behind the walls like floating green clouds. The neighbors warned us not to look in the direction of the Forbidden City. “There are dragons, the guardian spirits sent by the gods, living inside.”
I went to the neighbors and peddlers at the vegetable market hoping to find work. I carried loads of yams and cabbages, and cleaned the stalls after the market closed. I made a few copper pennies each day. Some days no one hired me and I would come home empty-handed. One day, through my uncle, I landed a job in a shop specializing in shoes for wealthy Manchu ladies. My boss was a middle-aged woman called Big Sister Fann. Fann was a heavyset lady who liked to apply her face paint as thick as an opera singer’s. Her makeup flaked off in bits as she talked. Her oily hair was combed back tightly against her skull. She was known to have a scorpion mouth but a tofu heart.
Big Sister Fann was proud that she used to serve the Grand Empress of Emperor Tao Kuang. She had been in charge of Her Majesty’s dressing room, and she considered herself expert in court etiquette. She dressed magnificently but had no money to clean her clothes. During lice season, she would ask me to pinch off the lice around her neck. She would scratch herself raw under her armpits. When she caught the creatures, she crushed them between her teeth.
In her shop I worked with needles, waxed thread, twisters, pliers and hammers. First I decorated a shoe with strings of pearls, encrusting it with stones, then raised the sole on a central wedge, like a streamlined clog, which added extra height to the lady who would wear the shoe. By the time I got off work, my hair would be coated with dust and my neck painfully sore.
Nevertheless I liked to go to work. It was not only for the money, but also to enjoy Big Sister Fann’s wisdom about life. “The sun doesn’t just hang on one family’s tree,” she would say. She believed that everybody had a chance. I also loved her gossip about the royal families. She complained that her life had been ruined by the Grand Empress, who “awarded” her to a eunuch as a figurehead wife, dooming her to childlessness.
“Do you know how many dragons are carved around the Hall of Heavenly Harmony in the Forbidden City?” Above her misery she bragged about the glory of her time in the palace. “Thirteen thousand eight hundred and forty-four dragons!” As always, she answered her own question. “It was the work of the finest craftsmen over generations!”
It was from Big Sister Fann that I learned about the place where I would soon live for the rest of my life. She told me that the hall’s ceiling alone housed 2,604 dragons, and each had a different meaning and significance.
It took her a month to finish describing the Hall of Heavenly Harmony. I failed to follow Big Sister Fann and to keep count of the number of dragons, but she made me understand the power they symbolized. Years later, when I sat on the throne and was the dragon, I was very much afraid that people would find out that there was nothing to the images. Like all my predecessors, I hid my face behind the gorgeous carvings of dragons and prayed that my costumes and props would help me play the part right.
“Four thousand three hundred and seven dragons inside the Hall of Heavenly Harmony alone!” Gasping, Big Sister Fann turned to me and asked, “Orchid, can you imagine the rest of the Imperial glory? Mark my words: a glimpse of such beauty makes one feel that one’s life has been worthy. One glimpse, Orchid, and you will never be an ordinary person again.”
One evening I went to Big Sister Fann’s place for dinner. I lit a fire in the hearth and washed her clothes while she cooked. We ate dumplings stuffed with greens and soybeans. Afterward I served her tea and prepared her pipe. Pleased, she said that she was ready to tell me more stories.
We sat into the night. Big Sister Fann recalled her time with her first Majesty, Empress Chu An. I noticed that when she mentioned Her Majesty’s name, her voice had a worshipful tone. “Chu An was scented with rose petals, herbs and precious essences since she was a child. And she was half woman and half goddess. She exhaled heavenly aromas as she moved. Do you know why there was no announcement and ceremony when she died?”
I shook my head.
“It had to do with Her Majesty’s son Hsien Feng and his half-brother Prince Kung.” Big Sister Fann inhaled deeply and continued. “It took place about ten years ago. Hsien Feng was eleven and Kung was nine. I was part of the servant group who helped raise the boys. Among the nine sons Emperor Tao Kuang had, Hsien Feng was the fourth and Kung the sixth. The first three princes died of illness, which left the Emperor six healthy heirs. Hsien Feng and Kung showed the most promise. Hsien Feng’s mother was my mistress, Chu An, and Kung’s mother was the concubine Lady Jin, who was the Emperor’s favorite.”
Big Sister Fann lowered her voice to a whisper. “Although Chu An was the Empress, and as such enjoyed the greater power, she was extremely insecure about her son Hsien Feng’s chances for succession.”
According to tradition, the elder son would be considered the heir. But Empress Chu An indeed had reason to worry. As the greater physical and intellectual talents of Prince Kung began to declare themselves, it gradually became obvious to the court that if Emperor Tao Kuang had good sense, he would select Prince Kung over Hsien Feng.
“The Empress arranged a plot to get rid of Prince Kung,” Big Sister Fann continued. “My mistress invited the two brothers for lunch one day. The main meal was steamed fish. The Empress had her maid Apricot put poison on Kung’s plate. Now I would say that Heaven must have meant to stop this act. Right before Prince Kung lifted his chopsticks, the Empress’s cat jumped onto the table. Before the servants were able to do anything, that cat ate Prince Kung’s fish. Immediately the animal showed signs of poisoning. It wobbled, and in minutes it fell flat on the floor.”
Much later I would learn the details of the investigation conducted by the Imperial household. The first suspects were the people who worked in the kitchen. The chef, especially, was questioned. Knowing that he had little chance to live, he committed suicide. The next to be interrogated were the eunuchs. One eunuch confessed that he saw Apricot speak secretively with the chef on the morning of the incident. At that point Empress Chu An’s involvement was exposed. The matter was brought to the Grand Empress.
“‘Fetch me the Emperor!’” Big Sister Fann mimicked the Grand Empress. “Her voice echoed through the hall. I was attending my mistress and thus witnessed Her Majesty’s face turn from red to white.”
Empress Chu An was found guilty. At first Emperor Tao Kuang didn’t have the strength to order her execution. He blamed the servant girl Apricot. But the Grand Empress stood firm and said that Apricot wouldn’t act alone “even if she borrowed a lion’s guts.” Eventually the Emperor gave in.
“When Emperor Tao Kuang entered our palace, the Palace of Pure Essence, Her Majesty sensed that she had reached the end of her life. She greeted her husband on her knees and was unable to rise afterward. His Majesty helped her up. His swollen eyes showed that he had been crying. Then he spoke, expressing his regret that he could no longer protect her, and that she must die.”
Big Sister Fann sucked on her pipe, unaware that it had gone out. “As if accepting her fate, Empress Chu An stopped weeping. She told His Majesty that she knew her shame and would accept the punishment. Then she begged for a last favor. Tao Kuang promised to grant anything she wished. She wanted to keep the true reason for her death a secret. When the wish was granted, the Empress bade her husband farewell. She then sent me to fetch her son for the final time.”
Tears began to well up in Big Sister Fann’s eyes. “Hsien Feng was a fragile-looking boy. From his mother’s face he sensed tragedy. Of course he wouldn’t have guessed that in the next few minutes his mother would be gone from the face of the earth. The boy brought his pet, a parrot. He wanted to cheer his mother up by making the bird talk. Hsien Feng recited his new lesson, one he had been having trouble with. She was pleased and hugged him.
“His laughter brought more sadness to the mother. The boy took out his handkerchief and wiped her tears. He wanted to know what was bothering her. She wouldn’t answer. Then he stopped playing and became scared. At that moment the sound of drums came from the courtyard. It was the signal to hurry Empress Chu An on her way. She held her son again. The drumbeat got louder. Hsien Feng looked terri-fied. His mother buried her face in his little vest and whispered, ‘I shall bless you, my son.’
“The voice of the minister of the Imperial household echoed in the hallway. ‘Your Majesty the Empress, on your way, please!’ To protect her son from seeing the horror, Empress Chu An ordered me to take Hsien Feng away. It was the hardest thing I ever did. I stood like a dead tree trunk. Her Majesty came and shook me by the shoulders. From her wrist she took off a jade bracelet and tucked it in my pocket. ‘Please, Fann!’ She looked at me pleadingly. I woke to my senses and dragged the screaming Hsien Feng away from his mother. Outside the gate stood the minister. He was holding a piece of folded white silk-the hanging rope. Behind him were several guards.”
I wept for the young boy Hsien Feng. Years later he would become my husband, and I kept a tender spot for him in my heart even after he abandoned me.
“A tragedy foreshadows good luck. Let me tell you, Orchid.” Big Sister Fann took the pipe from her lips and knocked the ashes out on the table. “And this applies exactly to what happened next.”
In the shadows of the candlelight, the story of my future husband continued. It was autumn, and the aging Emperor Tao Kuang was ready to choose a successor. He invited his sons to Jehol, the Imperial hunting ground in the north, beyond the Great Wall. He wanted to test their abilities. Six princes joined the journey.
The father told the sons that Manchus were known as great hunters. When he was their age he had killed more than a dozen wild animals in half a day-wolves, deer and boar of all sorts. Once he took home fifteen bears and eighteen tigers. He told the sons that his great-grandfather Emperor Kang Hsi was even better. Every day he rode six horses to exhaustion. The father then ordered the sons to show him what they could do.
“Knowing his own weakness, Hsien Feng was depressed.” Big Sister Fann paused for a beat. “He knew that he wouldn’t survive the competition. He decided to withdraw but was stopped by his tutor, the brilliant scholar Tu Shou-tien. The tutor offered his student a way to turn defeat into victory. ‘When you lose,’ Tu said, ‘report to your father that it was not that you couldn’t shoot. Say that it was your choice not to shoot. It was for a virtuous reason such as benevolence that you refused to perform your hunting skills to their fullest.’”
In Big Sister Fann’s words, the autumn hunting scene was grand. The bushes and weeds were waist high. Torches were lit to flush the wild animals. Rabbits, leopards, wolves and deer ran for their lives. Seventy thousand men on horseback formed a circle. The hunting ground thundered and quaked. The men slowly closed in. Imperial guardsmen followed each prince.
On top of the highest hill stood the father. He was on a black horse. His eyes followed his two favorite sons. Hsien Feng was dressed in a purple silk robe and Prince Kung in white. Kung charged back and forth. The animals fell one after another before his arrows. The guards cheered.
The sound of a trumpet called the hunters back at noon. The princes took turns presenting their father the animals they had shot. Prince Kung had twenty-eight. His handsome face was marked by the scratch of a tiger claw. The wound was seeping blood. His white robe was stained. He smiled with elation knowing that he had performed well. The other sons came. They showed their father the animals tied under the bellies of their horses.
“Where is Hsien Feng, my fourth son?” the father asked. Hsien Feng was summoned. He carried nothing under the belly of his horse. His robe was clean. “You didn’t hunt.” The father was disappointed. The son replied as the tutor had instructed: “Your humblest son had trouble killing the animals. It was not because I refused Your Majesty’s order or lacked skill. It was because I was moved by the beauty of nature. Your Majesty taught me that autumn is the time when the universe is pregnant with spring. When I thought about all the animals that would be caring for their young, my heart felt for them.”
The father was stunned. Instantly, he made a decision on his heir.
The candle had gone out. I sat quietly. The moon was bright outside the window. The clouds were thick and white, like giant fish swimming across the sky.
“It is my view that Empress Chu An’s death played a big part in the selection of the heir too,” Big Sister Fann said. “Father Emperor Tao Kuang felt guilty that he took the mother away from her child. The fact that he never granted Lady Jin the wish to be titled Empress after Chu An was the proof. My mistress got what she wanted after all.”
“Isn’t Lady Jin the Grand Empress today?” I asked.
“Yes, but she didn’t get that title from Tao Kuang. Hsien Feng gave it to her when he became the Emperor. Again it was Tu’s advice. The act helped to add greatness to Hsien Feng’s name. Hsien Feng understood that the public knew that Lady Jin was Chu An’s enemy. He wanted people to believe in his benevolence. It was also to squelch the doubts of the nation, because Prince Kung was still on everyone’s mind. The father didn’t play fair. He didn’t keep his promise.”
“What about Prince Kung?” I asked. “After all, he scored the highest during the hunt. How did he feel about his father honoring a loser?”
“Orchid, you must learn never to judge the Son of Heaven.” Big Sister Fann lit another candle. She stuck her hand in the air and drew a line under her neck. “Whatever he does is Heaven’s will. It was Heaven’s will that Hsien Feng was made Emperor. Prince Kung believes this too. And that is why he assists his brother with such devotion.”
“But… was Prince Kung even a little bit jealous?”
“There has been no sign of it. However, Lady Jin was. She was bitter about Prince Kung’s submission. But she managed to hide her feelings.”
It was a terrible winter. Frozen bodies were found in the streets of Peking after an ice storm. I gave all that I earned to Mother, but it was not enough to pay the bills. The lenders lined up at our door. The door had repeatedly fallen out of its frame. Eleventh Uncle was uneasy and his thoughts were written all over his face. I knew he wanted us to move out. Mother took a cleaning job but was fired the next day, for she became ill. She had to lean against the bed to stand up, and her breath was labored. My sister Rong brewed herb medicine for her. Along with the bitter leaves the doctor prescribed cocoons of silkworms. The foul smell was in my clothes and hair. My brother Kuei Hsiang had been sent to borrow money from neighbors. After a while nobody would open the door for him. Mother bought cheap burial clothes, a black gown, and wore it all day long. “You won’t have to change me if you find me dead in bed,” she said.
One afternoon Uncle came with his son, to whom I had never been introduced. His name was Ping, meaning “bottle.” I knew that Uncle had had a son by a local prostitute and that he hid him because he was embarrassed. I didn’t know that Bottle was retarded.
“Orchid will make a good wife for Bottle,” Uncle said to my mother, pushing Bottle toward me. “How about I give you enough taels to help pay off your debts?”
Cousin Bottle was a slope-shouldered fellow. The shape of his face matched his name. He looked sixty years old, although he was only twenty-two. Besides being “slow,” he was an opium addict. He stood in the middle of the room smiling at me from ear to ear. His hands went constantly to pull up his pants, which fell right back to where they were, below his hips.
“Orchid needs decent clothes,” Uncle said, ignoring Mother’s reaction, which was to shut her eyes and bang her head on the bed frame. Uncle picked up his dirty cotton sack and took out a pink jacket patterned with blue orchids.
I ran from the house into the snow. Soon both of my shoes were soaked and I could no longer feel that I had toes.
A week later Mother told me that I was engaged to Bottle.
“What do I do with him?” I cried to her.
“It’s not fair for Orchid,” Rong said in a small voice.
“Uncle wants his rooms back,” Kuei Hsiang said. “Someone offered him more rent. Marry Bottle, Orchid, so Uncle won’t kick us out.”
I wished that I had the courage to say no to Mother. I did not have any choice. Rong and Kuei Hsiang were too young to help support the family. Rong had been suffering from severe nightmares. To watch her sleep was to watch her going through a torture chamber. She tore up the sheet as if possessed by demons. She was constantly afraid, nervous and suspicious. She walked like a frightened bird-wide-eyed, freezing in the middle of her movements. She made rattling sounds when she sat down. During meals she would continually knock her fingers on the table. My brother went the other way. He was disoriented, careless and lazy. He gave up his books and would do nothing to help.
All day long at work I listened to Big Sister Fann’s stories of men of charm and intelligence, men who spent their lives on horseback, conquered their foes and became emperors. I went home only to face the reality that I would be married to Bottle before spring.
Mother called from her bed, and I sat down beside her. I couldn’t bear looking at her face. She was bone-thin. “Your father used to say, ‘A sick tiger that loses its way on a plain is weaker than a lamb. It can’t fight wild dogs who come to feast.’ Unfortunately that is our fate, Orchid.”
One morning I heard a beggar singing in the street while I was brushing my hair:
I stared at the beggar as he passed my window. He raised his empty bowl toward me. His fingers were as dry as dead branches. “Porridge,” he said.
“We are out of rice,” I said. “I have been digging up white clay from my yard and mixing it with wheat flour to make buns. Would you like one?”
“Don’t you know that white clay clogs the intestines?”
“I know, but there is nothing else to eat.”
He took the bun I gave him and disappeared at the end of the lane.
Sad and depressed, I walked to Big Sister Fann’s in the snow. When I arrived I picked up my tools and sat down on the bench and started to work. Fann came in with breakfast still in her mouth. She was excited and said she saw a decree posted on the city wall. “His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng is looking for future mates. I wonder who the lucky girls will be!” She described the event, which was called the Selection of Imperial Consorts.
After work I decided to go and take a look at the decree. The direct route was blocked, so I weaved through the lanes and alleys and got there by sunset. The poster was written in black ink. The characters were blurred from the wash of wet snow. As I read it, my thoughts began to race. The candidates had to be Manchu, to keep the purity of the Imperial bloodline. I remembered Father once told me that among four hundred million people in China, five million were Manchu. The poster also said that the girls’ fathers had to be at least the rank of Blue Bannerman. That was to ensure the girls’ genetic intelligence. The poster further declared that all Manchu girls between the ages of thirteen and seventeen must register with their state for the selection. None of the young Manchu women were allowed to marry until the Emperor had passed them up.
“Don’t you think I have a chance?” I cried to Big Sister Fann. “I am a Manchu and seventeen. My father was a Blue Bannerman.”
Fann shook her head. “Orchid, you are an ugly mouse compared to the concubines and court ladies I have seen.”
I drank from a bucket of water and sat down to think. Big Sister Fann’s words discouraged me, but my desire was not diminished. I learned from Fann that the Imperial court would review the candidates in October. Governors all over the nation would send out scouts to gather beautiful girls. The scouts were ordered to make lists of names.
“They missed me!” I said to Big Sister Fann. I found out that the Im-perial household was in charge of this year’s selection, and the beauties from each state were being sent to Peking for the household committee to review. The chief eunuch, who represented the Emperor, was expected to inspect more than five thousand girls and select about two hundred from among them. Those girls would be presented to Grand Empress Lady Jin and Emperor Hsien Feng for viewing.
Big Sister Fann told me that Hsien Feng would select seven official wives, and that he would be free to “reward happiness” to any court ladies or maids in the Forbidden City. After the official wives were chosen, the rest of the finalists would be kept and would live in the Forbidden City. They might never get a chance to mate with His Majesty, but they were guaranteed a lifetime of annual taels. The amount given was based on title and rank. All told, the Emperor would have three thousand concubines.
I also learned from Big Sister Fann that besides the consort selection, the Selection of Imperial Maids was also held this year. Unlike the consorts, who were given magnificent palaces to live in, the maids lived in barracks behind the palaces. Many such quarters had been left to decay and were barely fit to live in.
I asked Big Sister Fann about the eunuchs, two thousand of whom lived in the Forbidden City. She told me that most of them came from poverty. Their families were utterly beyond hope. While only castrated boys were qualified to apply for the positions, not every castrated boy was guaranteed a place.
“Besides being quick-witted, the boys had to be above average in looks,” Big Sister Fann said. “The smartest and handsomest would have a chance to survive or even become favorites.”
I asked why the court wouldn’t hire normal boys.
“It is to guarantee the Emperor as the sole seed planter,” she explained. The system was inherited from the Ming Dynasty. The Ming Emperor owned ninety thousand eunuchs. They were his in-house police force. It was a necessity, because cases of murder are not infrequent in a place where thousands of females compete for one male’s attention.
“The eunuchs are creatures capable of extreme hatred and cruelty and also loyalty and devotion. Privately they suffer a great deal. Most wear thick underwear because they constantly leak urine. Have you ever heard the expression ‘You stink like a eunuch’?”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I married one, for heaven’s sake! The leaking puts a lot of shame on the man. My husband had a profound understanding of mistreatment and suffering, but that did not stop him from being vicious and jealous. He wished everyone tragedy.”
I didn’t tell my family about what I intended to do, because I was aware that my chance of success was one in a million. The next morning I went to the local courthouse before work. I was nervous but determined. I announced my purpose to the guard and was guided to an office in the back. The room was large. Its columns, tables and chairs were wrapped with red cloth. A bearded man dressed in a red robe sat behind a large redwood desk. On the desk was a rectangular piece of yellow silk. It was a copy of the Imperial decree. I went up to the man and got down on my knees. I stated my name and age. I said that my father was from the Yehonala clan and was the late taotai of Wuhu.
The bearded man measured me with his eyes. “Do you have better clothes?” he asked after a hard stare.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“I am not allowed to let anyone enter the palace looking like a beggar.”
“Well, may I have your permission to ask whether I am qualified for the entrance? If I can get a yes from you, sir, I shall find a way to prepare my appearance.”
“Do you think I’d bother to waste my breath if I didn’t find you qualified?”
“Well,” Mother said, a bit relieved, “I will just have to tell your uncle that Bottle has to wait until the Emperor passes you up.”
“Maybe by then Uncle will get hit by a cart or Bottle will die of an opium overdose,” Kuei Hsiang said.
“Kuei Hsiang,” Rong stopped him, “you don’t curse people like that. After all, they sheltered us.”
I always found that Rong had better sense than Kuei Hsiang. That was not to say that Rong was not afraid. She continued to be delicate and fearful throughout her life. She would spend days working on an embroidery and then suddenly abandon it, saying that she saw its color turning. She would conclude that there must be a ghost at work. She would panic and cut up the piece.
“Why don’t you study, Kuei Hsiang?” I said to my brother. “You have a better chance than Rong and I. The Imperial civil service examination comes up every year. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“I don’t have what it takes” was Kuei Hsiang’s reply.
Big Sister Fann was surprised that I passed the entrance exam at the office of the Imperial household. Grabbing a candle, she studied my features.
“How did I miss it?” She turned my head right and left. “Bright almond-shaped single-lid eyes, smooth skin, a straight nose, a lovely mouth and a slender body. It must be the clothes that diminished your looks.”
Putting down the candle, Fann folded her arms. She paced around the room like a cricket in a jar before a fight. “You are not going to look like this when you enter the Forbidden City, Orchid.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and said, “Come, let me transform you.”
It was in Big Sister Fann’s dressing room that I was turned into a princess.
Big Sister Fann proved to me her reputation-she who was once in charge of dressing the Empress wrapped me in a light green satin tunic embroidered with lifelike white pheasants. Embroidered borders in a darker shade decorated the neck, cuffs and edges.
“This tunic was Her Majesty’s. She gave it to me as a wedding present,” Big Sister Fann explained. “I hardly wore it because I was afraid of stains. And now I am too old and heavy. I loan it to you, the matching headdress too.”
“Won’t Her Majesty recognize it?”
“Don’t worry.” Fann shook her head. “She has hundreds of similar dresses.”
“What will the dress make her think?”
“That you have her taste.”
I was thrilled and told Big Sister Fann that I couldn’t thank her enough.
“Remember, beauty is not the only measurement at the selection, Orchid,” Big Sister Fann said as she dressed me. “You can lose because you are too poor to bribe the eunuchs, who will in turn find a way to point out your shortcomings to His and Her Majesties. I have personally attended this kind of occasion. It was so exhausting that every girl looked the same by the end. His and Her Majesties’ eyes wouldn’t register beauty anymore, and that’s why most of the Imperial wives and concubines are ugly.”
Over the endless months of waiting, I could scarcely contain my agitation. I slept fitfully and awoke from dreams full of dread. Then the waiting ended: tomorrow I would enter the Forbidden City to compete for the selection.
Clouds hung high in the sky and the breeze was warm as my sister and I strode through the streets of Peking. “I have a feeling that you will be one of the two hundred concubines, if not one of the seven wives,” Rong said. “Your beauty is unmatchable, Orchid.”
“My desperation is unmatchable,” I corrected her.
We continued walking and I held her hand tightly. She was dressed in a light blue cotton gown with stitch pads neatly sewed on her shoulders. She and I looked alike in terms of features, except sometimes her expression gave away her fear.
“What if you never get to spend a night with His Majesty?” Rong asked. Her raised eyebrows formed a line on her forehead.
“It is better than marrying Bottle, isn’t it?”
Rong nodded.
“I’ll send you the most fashionable clothes patterns from the palace,” I said, trying to be cheerful. “You’ll be the best-dressed girl in the city. Fine fabrics, fabulous lace, peacock feathers.”
“Don’t you go out of your way, Orchid. Everyone knows that the Forbidden City has strict rules. One wrong move and your head could be chopped.”
For the rest of the walk we were quiet. The Imperial wall seemed taller and thicker. It was the wall that would separate us.