If I had expected to fight Governor Ho Kui-ching and General Sheng Pao, I never expected to have to fight my brother-in-law Prince Kung. Our histories had been so intertwined for so long that an unraveling of our relationship was not something I was prepared for. Since the crisis that followed my husband's death in Jehol, we had been important, even essential, allies. Kung had remained behind in Peking as the court fled the approaching foreign armies and had the humiliating task of negotiating with the occupying invaders. When Grand Councilor Su Shun attempted to seize power in the exiled court beyond the Great Wall, Kung was still in Peking and free to organize a countercoup. More than any other man, he had saved Nuharoo, myself, and young Tung Chih.
And we were friends-or at least I felt affection for him and believed I understood what motivated him. He had genuine talent and was, I'd always thought, more capable than his brother, who ended up on the throne. More reserved and more disciplined than Hsien Feng, Prince Kung could seem cold, but at least he didn't let bitterness infect him. For this he had my respect, and that of much of the court. I had always felt that he acted for the good of China and not for his own selfish purposes.
But these were difficult times. Conflict swirled around us, coming from within as well as without, and the tensions led to a poisonous atmosphere that pitted faction against faction in the court.
It started slowly, but it became clear that Kung was frequently going around us when conducting court business. This was just what had happened in Jehol, the manipulative Su Shun insisting that Nuharoo and I need not trouble ourselves with the work of the court, which would be better left to men. In so many ways, Prince Kung made it clear to Nuharoo and me that he wanted us to be sisters-in-law, not political partners.
"It's true that as females we might lack knowledge of the foreign powers," I argued, "but that doesn't mean our rights should be cast aside."
Without bothering to confront us, Prince Kung simply continued to go around us.
I tried to get Nuharoo to protest with me, but she didn't share my concern. She suggested that I forgive Prince Kung and move on. "Preserving harmony is our family duty," she said, smiling.
Without the daily reports being supplied to me, I had no idea what was going on. I felt blind and deaf when asked to make decisions during audiences. Prince Kung led the foreigners to believe that Nuharoo and I were mere figureheads. Instead of properly addressing Tung Chih in their proposals, the foreign powers addressed Prince Kung.
Tung Chih was nearly twelve when the Kung situation became intolerable. He would assume his full role as Emperor in a matter of a few years-that is, if there was still a role left for him to fulfill. In audiences he was unaware of the conflict going on just below the surface, but he could sense my own discomfort. The greater strain between us only made him more eager to avoid his duties. While Tung Chih sat tapping his foot or staring off into space until the audiences ended, I could only look out at the assembled ministers, nobles and subjects and feel that I was failing my son.
I realized that unless I convinced Nuharoo that she had much to lose, she would not offer her support. My son would be Emperor in name only while his uncle would wield the actual power. The reason that Governor Ho's and General Sheng Pao's executions encountered resistance was because the men were Prince Kung's friends. At my insistence the executions were eventually carried out, but now I realized how dear my "bloody debt" was to be.
Unprepared and often speechless, Nuharoo and I allowed Prince Kung to conduct the audiences as if we did not exist. The disrespect was so obvious that the court soon felt free to openly ignore us. Yung Lu feared that the army would follow suit.
I knew that I had to stand up for myself and Tung Chih, and it had to be soon. When a low-ranking officer from a northern town sent a letter complaining about Prince Kung, I sensed the moment had arrived.
Within two hours I had composed an edict that presented the case against Prince Kung. I wrote it carefully and stuck to the facts, avoiding any unnecessary slights to the character of my brother-in-law. Then I did the most difficult thing: I summoned my son and attempted to explain what we were about to do. Tung Chih's face went blank and his eyes widened. He looked so young to me, so unprotected, even in his glorious silk robes emblazoned with the Imperial symbol. I hadn't meant to frighten him, and sorrow filled my heart. Still, I needed him to understand.
Then, in the name of my son, I sent for Prince Kung.
A stunned silence settled over the audience as Tung Chih read the edict I had written and placed in his hands. It seemed to take the court by surprise, for no one challenged its claims. The night before, I had managed to persuade Nuharoo to be on my side, although she was absent at the announcement. In the edict I listed the numerous laws Kung had violated. My argument was strong and my evidence solid. My brother-in-law had no choice but to acknowledge that he had committed the wrongdoings.
I humbled Prince Kung by stripping him of all his posts and titles.
That same evening I asked Yung Lu to speak privately with him. Yung Lu made Kung understand that to unite with me was his sole option. "As soon as you make a public apology," Yung Lu promised on my behalf, "Her Majesty will grant back all your posts and titles."
My action was praised by Prince Kung's enemies as "letting go of a dangerous beast." They begged me not to reinstate him. These men had no idea what I wanted from Prince Kung. They couldn't imagine that punishing him was the only way for the two of us to get back together. To be treated as an equal was all I was asking.
To put an end to the rumor that Prince Kung and I were enemies, I issued another edict, granting Kung permission to do something he had long dreamed of: opening an elite academy, the Royal School of Science and Mathematics.
Tung Chih complained about a stomachache and was excused from attending the morning audience. I sent An-te-hai to check on him in the afternoon. My son would turn thirteen this year, and he had been Emperor for seven years. I understood why he hated his duties and would run away whenever possible, but still, I was disappointed.
I couldn't escape my thoughts of Tung Chih as I sat on the throne and listened to Yung Lu reading from Tseng Kuo-fan's letter about the replacements for Governor Ho and Sheng Pao, which still had not been finalized. I had to force myself to concentrate.
I kept my eyes on the door and hoped to hear the announcement that my son was coming. Finally he arrived. The audience of fifty men got down on their knees and greeted him. Tung Chih went to sit on the throne and didn't bother to nod.
My handsome boy had shaved for the first time. He had shot up in height lately. His moonlit eyes and gentle voice reminded me of his father's. In front of the court he appeared confident. But I knew that his restlessness had only continued to grow.
I left Tung Chih alone most of the time because I was ordered to. Nuharoo had made it clear that it was her duty to speak for the Emperor's needs. "Tung Chih must be given a chance to mature on his own terms."
The court had a hard time controlling Tung Chih's wildness. Eventually Prince Kung's son, Tsai-chen, was brought in to be Tung Chih's study mate. Although I was given no say in the decision, I was impressed by Tsai-chen's good manners and was relieved to see that the two boys became friends right away.
Tsai-chen was two years older than Tung Chih, and his experience in the outside world fascinated the young Emperor, who was forbidden to step outside the Imperial gates and who would do anything to get a story out of Tsai-chen. The boys also shared an interest in Chinese opera.
Unlike Tung Chih, Tsai-chen was a robust, well-built boy. Horseback riding was his passion. I hoped that under his friend's influence my son would pick up the Bannerman tradition, the ancient practices of the Manchu warriors who had conquered Han China two centuries before. Our family paintings depicted the Manchu emperors taking part in events through the year: martial arts, horseracing, autumn hunting. For six generations the Manchu emperors carried on the tradition, until my husband Hsien Feng. It would be a dream come true for me to see Tung Chih mount his horse one day.
"I depart for Wuchang this evening." Yung Lu stood in front of me.
"What for?" I asked, upset by the suddenness of the news.
"Warlords in Jiang-hsi province have demanded the right to command private armies."
"Don't they already do so?"
"Yes, but they want the formal sanction of the court," Yung Lu replied. "And of course they not only look to avoid taxes, they expect additional funding from the court."
"It is a buried issue." I turned my head away. "Emperor Hsien Feng rejected the proposal long ago."
"The warlords mean to challenge Emperor Tung Chih, Your Majesty."
"What do you mean?"
"A rebellion is in the making."
I looked at Yung Lu and understood.
"Can you leave the matter to Tseng Kuo-fan?" I felt uneasy about letting Yung Lu go to the frontier.
"The warlords will consider the consequences more seriously if they know they are dealing directly with you."
"Is this Tseng Kuo-fan's idea?"
"Yes. The general suggested that you take advantage of your recent victories in court."
"Tseng Kuo-fan wants me to bear more blood," I said. "Yung Lu, General Tseng would pass his 'Head-Chopper' name to me, if that is what you mean by my recent victories. The thought does not appeal to me." I paused and emotion filled my throat. "I want to be liked. Not feared."
Yung Lu shook his head. "I agree with Tseng. You are the only person the warlords fear today."
"But you know how I feel."
"Yes, I do. But think of Tung Chih, Your Majesty." I looked at him and nodded.
"Let me go and straighten out the matter for Tung Chih," he said.
"It is not safe for you to go." I became nervous and began to speak fast. "I need your protection here."
Yung Lu explained that he had already made the arrangements and that I would be safe.
I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye.
Without looking at me, he asked for forgiveness and was gone.