The temperature suddenly dropped and water in the giant jar in the courtyard outside the audience hall glazed over with ice. Inside, the wood-burning heaters glowed red in the four corners. Nuharoo and I were glad that we had had the windows repaired. The gaps had been sealed to stop the whistle of the northwest wind. The eunuchs also changed the draperies. The thin silk curtains were replaced by thick velvet.
As soon as Guang-hsu was able, I talked with Tutor Weng and made the audiences his classroom. It was not easy for my son. His tutor would help him digest what he saw and heard. Often the matters were too complicated for a child to grasp. To make it work, I took time preparing Guang-hsu for the upcoming discussion.
"Was it Russia's business to protect Sinkiang?" Guang-hsu asked about the situation back in 1871, when tsarist forces had moved into our far western wilderness of Sinkiang, a region called Ili, after its river.
"Russia went on behalf of our court, to prevent Ili from becoming an independent Moslem state," I replied. "We didn't invite the Russians, though."
"You mean the Russians invited themselves in?"
"Yes."
Guang-hsu tried to comprehend. "But… weren't the Moslem uprisings swept away?" He pointed at the map and his finger traced the places. "Why are the Russians still here? Why didn't they return to where they came from?"
"We don't know," I said.
"Yung Lu is in Sinkiang, isn't he?" the child persisted.
I nodded.
"Has he done something to drive the Russians away?"
"Yes, he has asked our charitable Russian neighbors for the return of Ili."
"And?"
"They refused."
"Why?"
I told Guang-hsu that I wished I could explain. Unlike Tung Chih, at least Guang-hsu understood that China did not hold a strong hand at the bargaining table. Guang-hsu tried hard to fathom the decisions he was forced to make, but often it was impossible. The child couldn't perceive why China had to carry on long and exhaustive diplomatic negotiations with Russia only to have to yield in the end. He would never understand why a treaty in his name he had just signed, in February of 1881, imposed a payment of nine million rubles to Russia for China's own territories.
I began to see how Guang-hsu was reacting to the audiences. He was under constant pressure and suffered terribly. When he heard bad news, I could feel his nervousness and saw fear written on his face. I was guilty of joining the ministers who grumbled impatiently about when Guang-hsu would catch up by growing up.
Soon it was no longer simply a learning experience for Guang-hsu. Shocked on a daily basis, his mood and health were adversely affected. Yet my choice was either to shelter him or to let him live the truth. Either way it was cruel. When we summoned the minister of agriculture to give his prediction on the next year's crops, Guang-hsu broke down. He felt personally responsible when the minister forecasted drastic harvest shortfalls resulting from flood and drought.
Now an adolescent, Guang-hsu did show determination and self-discipline. I was relieved when he exhibited no desire to cavort with the eunuchs and no interest in slipping out of the palace to carouse. He seemed to prefer solitude. He would eat his meals alone and was uneasy around company. When dining with Nuharoo and me, he sat quietly and ate whatever was put on his plate. My sadness over the loss of Tung Chih affected him so profoundly that Guang-hsu made sure that his behavior would please me.
I wished that I could tell the difference between his seriousness in study and his encroaching melancholy. Even though my experience told me that daily audiences could be a tremendous strain, I didn't realize that to a child they could be poison.
Eager to bring him to maturity, I denied the possibility that I could be robbing him of his childhood. Guang-hsu's pleasant appearance fooled me. Only later would he confess that he feared that he wasn't living up to my expectations.
I didn't tell Guang-hsu that losing was simply a way of learning how to win. I was afraid of repeating my mistakes with Tung Chih. Spoiling and pampering were in part what had killed my son. Tung Chih rebelled because he knew that he didn't have to worry about losing my affection.
Guang-hsu followed strict protocol and etiquette. Tutor Weng took every measure to prevent him from the possibility of abusing his privileges. Thus Guang-hsu was turned into a palace hostage. Only later would I learn that each and every time the ministers addressed their problems to the child, he would consider them his own. He became ashamed of himself for his inability to solve the problems of the empire.
Around 1881 my health declined. I lost my normal cycle and again had trouble sleeping. I ignored my fatigue and sudden flushes of heat and hoped they would go away. By the time the country celebrated my forty-sixth birthday in November, I was seriously ill. It took me longer to rise and dress, and I had to drink ginseng tea to keep up my strength. Nevertheless, I continued to attend audiences and supervise Guang-hsu's study. I encouraged Tutor Weng to introduce the Emperor to people from outside the capital.
Guang-hsu granted the governors of twenty-three provinces private audiences. The senior governors that had been appointed by my husband, Emperor Hsien Feng, were especially grateful. I attended each audience and was glad to meet with my old friends. We often had to pause to dry our tears.
By the onset of winter I was completely exhausted. My chest was congested and sore, and I had terrible diarrhea. One morning I passed out during an audience.
Dressed in her golden court robe, Nuharoo visited me the next morning. It was the first time I saw her hair wrapped on a black board in the shape of a V, rich with jewelry and ornaments. I complimented her and asked if she would conduct the audiences. Nuharoo agreed, then added, "But don't expect me to be a slave."
I hadn't had the leisure of waking up to daylight for years. As winter became spring, my energy slowly returned. Spending the day in the sunshine, I worked in my gardens. I thought of Yung Lu and wondered how he was doing in the distant Moslem state. I had written to him but received no response.
Guang-hsu stopped by after audiences and brought me dinner. He had grown taller and was sweet and gentle. He kindly placed a piece of roasted chicken on my plate and asked if I was enjoying the new blooming camellias.
I asked Guang-hsu if he wondered about life outside the Forbidden City, and also if he missed his parents. "Mother and Father are permitted to visit me at any time," he replied. "But they haven't come."
"Maybe you should invite them."
He looked at me for a moment and then shook his head. I couldn't tell if he had no desire to meet them or was afraid of offending me. My past comments about my sister must have influenced his attitude. Although I had never intentionally disparaged Rong, I hadn't had good things to say about her either.
I asked Guang-hsu if he remembered the death of his cousin Tung Chih, and how he felt about being chosen to succeed him.
"I don't remember much about Tung Chih," Guang-hsu said. Regarding the night of his departure from home, he recalled being held in Yung Lu's arms.
"I remember his dark face and the decorative buttons on his uniform. The buttons were cold against my skin. I felt strange. I remember that it was pitch-dark." He looked at me intently and added, "I enjoyed riding with the Bannerman."
"You are being kind, Guang-hsu," I said, comforted but still feeling guilty. "It must have been terrible to be pulled away from your warm bed and a deep sleep. I am sorry to have put you through it."
"There was a purpose in my chaotic beginning," the boy said in an old man's tone.
I sighed, again impressed by his sensitivity.
"Good living needs no reasoning, convincing or explaining, while bad requires plenty." Guang-hsu smiled. "Three of my brothers died by my mother's hand. I would have been next if you hadn't adopted me."
He rose and offered me his right arm. We stepped into the garden. He came up to my eyebrows and looked thin in his yellow satin robe. His movements recalled his cousin's.
"I am sure my sister didn't mean harm," I said.
"Mother is very ill. My father said that he's given up."
"Prince Kung's wife told Nuharoo that your father has moved out and is living with his fifth concubine. Is it true?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Will Rong be all right?"
"Mother fell from her bed and broke her hip last month. She blamed the doctors for her pain. I shouldn't have sent Doctor Sun Paotien."
"Why not? What happened?"
"She hit him." After a pause, Guang-hsu added, "She hits everybody who tries to help her. Sometimes I wish she was dead."
"I am sorry."
Guang-hsu went quiet and wiped his eyes.
"I wasn't thinking of your welfare when I adopted you," I confessed. "The welfare of the dynasty was the only thing on my mind. Tung Chih had a tragic end. I still can't forgive myself. I let him down… and I am afraid to let you down, Guang-hsu."
The young man dropped to his knees and kowtowed. "Mother, I beg you to stop thinking about Tung Chih. I am here, alive, and I love you."