by Anchee Min
She stopped me. “Oh, Yehonala. Don’t put me through this torture. I don’t want to know!”
I sat down on a side chair and took the tea An-te-hai passed to me.
“Well.” Nuharoo composed herself. “I am the Empress, and I need to know, correct? All right, tell me what you have to say, but keep it simple.”
I patiently tried to give Nuharoo some sense of the matter. Of course she couldn’t help but know a little already—that the Taipings were peasant rebels, that they had adopted Christianity, and that their leader, Hong Hsiu-chuan, claimed he was the younger son of God, the brother of Jesus. But Nuharoo had little knowledge of how successful they had been in battle. Although Hsien Feng would not publicly acknowledge the situation, the Taipings had taken the south, the country’s farming region, and had begun to press northward.
“What do these Taipings want?” Nuharoo blinked her eyes.
“To bring down our dynasty.”
“It is unthinkable!”
“As unthinkable as the treaties the foreigners have forced on us.”
Nuharoo’s expression reminded me of a child who had discovered a rat in her candy box.
“Free trade plus Christianity is how the foreigners would ‘civilize’ us.”
“What an insult!” Nuharoo sneered.
“I couldn’t agree more. The foreigners say they are here to save the souls of the Chinese.”
“But their behavior speaks for itself!”
“Very true. The British have sold nine million pounds’ worth of goods in China this year alone, of which six million was opium.”
“Don’t tell me that our court is doing nothing, Lady Yehonala.”
“Well, as Prince Kung said, China is prostrate and has no choice but to do what it is told.”
Nuharoo covered her ears. “Stop it! There is nothing I can do about this.” She grabbed my hands. “Leave these matters to men, please!”
Yung Lu, the commander in chief of the Imperial Guards, was summoned by Nuharoo. She believed that as long as she had someone guarding the gates of the Forbidden City, she was safe. I couldn’t argue with her. A few days earlier Nuharoo had conducted the wedding ceremony of Rong and Prince Ch’un. It was a lengthy event that wore me out. But Nuharoo was full of energy and spirit. During the proceedings, she changed dresses thirteen times, more than the bride.
I followed Nuharoo to a quiet chamber in the west wing where Yung Lu had been waiting. As we entered, I saw a man of strong physique rise from a chair.
“Yung Lu at Your Majesties’ service.” The man’s manner was humble and his voice firm. He got down on his knees and bowed deeply. He completed the ritual by performing the traditional kowtows, his head knocking on the ground.
“Rise,” Nuharoo said, and gestured for the eunuchs to bring tea.
Yung Lu was in his late twenties and had a pair of scorching eyes and weather-beaten skin. He had sword-like eyebrows and the nose of a bull. His jaw was large and square, and his mouth was the shape of an ingot. His broad shoulders and the way he stood reminded me of an ancient warlord.
Nuharoo began to chat of small things. She commented on the weather, while he asked about His Majesty’s health. When questioned about the Taipings, Yung Lu answered with patience and precision.
I found myself impressed by his manner, which was reserved and honest. I studied his clothes. He was in a three-piece cavalry brigade uniform, a skirt covered by a sleeveless court gown. Held together by toggles and loops, it was padded and encrusted with copper studs. The plain weave indicated his rank.
“May I look at your crossbow?” I asked.
Yung Lu took it off his belt and passed it to Nuharoo, who then held it out to me.
I examined the quiver, which was made of satin, leather, swan’s-down, silver and sapphires, with vulture feathers on the arrows. “And your sword?”
He passed the blade to me.
It was heavy. As I ran my fingertip along the edge, I felt him watching me. My cheeks ran hot. I was ashamed of the way I was paying attention to a man, although I couldn’t name the nature of my sudden interest.
An-te-hai had informed me that Yung Lu had emerged on the political stage of China by his own merits.
I had to restrain my urge to ask Yung Lu questions. I had to be careful what I said, although I intended to impress him.
I wondered if Yung Lu had any idea how rare it was for someone like Nuharoo or me to have this encounter. How precious it was to be able to spend time with someone who lived his life outside the Forbidden City.
“The inner palace is so isolated that we often feel that we exist only as names to the country”—my voice spoke my thoughts involuntarily. I glanced at Nuharoo, who smiled and nodded. Relieved, I went on. “The elaborate lives we lead serve only to confirm to ourselves that we are the possessors of power, that we are who we think we are, that we needn’t be afraid of anything. The truth is, not only are we afraid, but we also fear that Emperor Hsien Feng is dying of distress. He is the person who is most afraid.”
As if shocked by my revelation, Nuharoo grabbed my hand and pressed her nails into my palm.
But I couldn’t be stopped. “Not a day passes that I don’t fear for my son,” I barged ahead, and then suddenly stopped, deeply embarrassed. I looked down and noticed the magnificent sword in my hand. “I hope that one day Tung Chih will fall in love with a sword this beautiful.”
“Indeed.” Nuharoo seemed glad that I had returned to a proper subject. Joining in, she praised the weapon as a masterpiece of craftsmanship.
I recognized the symbols on the sword’s handle, which were reserved for the Emperor. Surprised, I asked, “Was this a gift from His Majesty?”
“Actually, it was a gift from Emperor Hsien Feng to my superior Su Shun,” Yung Lu replied, “who in turn gave it to me, with the permission of His Majesty.”
“What was the occasion?” Nuharoo and I asked almost at the same time.
“I was fortunate enough to be able to save Su Shun’s life in a fight with bandits in the mountain area of Hupei. This dagger was also my reward.” Yung Lu got down on his left knee and pulled out a dagger from inside his boot. He passed it to me. The handle was made of jade inlaid with stones.
The moment my fingers touched the weapon, I felt a sensation of excitement.
It was noon when Nuharoo said that she had to leave for her Buddha room to chant and count her beads.
To her, what Yung Lu and I were talking about was uninteresting. It amazed me that she found the endless chanting interesting. Once I had asked Nuharoo if she could shed some light on Buddhism, and she said that it was all about “an existence of nonexistence,” or “an opportunity that is not pursued.” When I pressed for more of an explanation, she said that it was impossible. “I can’t describe my relationship with Buddha in an earthly language.” She gave me a steady look, and her tone was full of gentle pity as she said, “Our lives are predestined to attain.”
After Nuharoo left, I resumed talking with Yung Lu. It felt like the beginning of a fascinating journey, which I was enjoying despite my guilt. He was of Manchu origin and was from the north. As the grandson of a general, he had joined the White Bannermen at the age of fourteen and worked his way up, taking the Imperial academic route as well as advanced military training.
I asked about his relationship with Su Shun.
“The grand councilor was in charge of a case in which I was a plaintiff,” Yung Lu replied. “It was in the eighth year of His Majesty’s rule, and I took the civil service examination.”
“I have read about those examinations,” I said, “but I have never known anyone who has taken them.”
Yung Lu smiled and licked his lips.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“Oh, no,” he apologized.
“So, did you win a position through the examination?”
“No, I didn’t,” he answered. “Something strange was going on. People suspected the winner of cheating.
He was a rich layabout. Several people blamed it on corruption among the higher-ups. With the support of fellow students, I challenged the court and demanded a recount of the scores. My proposal was rejected, but I didn’t give up. I investigated the case myself. After a month, through an elderly clansman, I presented a detailed report to Emperor Hsien Feng, who forwarded the case to Su Shun.”
“That’s right,” I said, remembering learning about the case.
“It didn’t take Su Shun long to find out the truth,” Yung Lu said. “However, the case was not an easy one to solve.”
“Why?”
“It involved one of His Majesty’s close relatives.”
“Did Su Shun persuade His Majesty to take proper measures?”
“Yes, and as a result the leader of the Imperial Academy was beheaded.”
“Su Shun’s power rests in his flexible tongue,” Nuharoo interrupted us. She had returned quietly, and sat holding her prayer beads. Her eyes were closed when she spoke. “Su Shun can talk a dead person into singing.”
Yung Lu cleared his throat, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“What did Su Shun say to Emperor Hsien Feng then?” I asked.
“He gave His Majesty an example of a riot that toppled the empire during the fourteenth year of Emperor Shun Chih in 1657,” Yung Lu replied. “It was organized by a group of students who were treated unfairly by the civil service exam.”
I took up my tea and sipped. “And how did you end up working for Su Shun?”
“I was thrown in jail for being a troublemaker.”
“And Su Shun rescued you?”
“Yes, he was the one who ordered my release.”
“And he recruited you and has been promoting you?”
“Yes, from lieutenant to commander in chief of the Imperial Guards.”
“In how many years?”
“Five years, Your Majesty.”
“Impressive.”
“I am terribly grateful and I will always owe the grand councilor my loyalty.”
“You should,” I said. “But keep in mind that it was Emperor Hsien Feng who allowed Su Shun his power.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I thought for a moment and decided to reveal a bit of information An-te-hai had discovered, which was that the leader of the Imperial Academy was Su Shun’s enemy.
Yung Lu was surprised. I expected a response, a question, but none came.
“Su Shun cleverly accomplished an end to a personal grudge,” I added. “He eliminated his rival through the hand of Emperor Hsien Feng, and did so in the name of doing you justice.”
Yung Lu remained quiet. Seeing that I was waiting, he said, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am at a loss for words.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I put down my tea. “I was just wondering if you knew.”
“Yes, in fact … a little.” He lowered his eyes.
“Doesn’t such cleverness say something about Su Shun the man?”
Not daring to reveal himself too freely or doubt my motivation, Yung Lu raised his eyes to examine me. In this look I saw a true Bannerman.
I turned to Nuharoo. The beads sat still on her lap, and her fingers had stopped moving. I did not know whether she was engaged with the spirit of Buddha or had dozed off.
I sighed. The Emperor was too weak, Su Shun was too cunning, and Prince Kung was too far away, while we needed a man close by.
“Time will test Su Shun,” I said. “What we are concerned with here is your loyalty. Who will have it, Su Shun or His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng?”
Yung Lu threw himself on the ground and kowtowed. “Of course His Majesty. He will have my everlasting devotion—there is no question about that in my mind.”
“And us? His Majesty’s wives and child?”
Yung Lu straightened his back. Our eyes met. As when ink wash hits rice paper, the moment created a permanent picture in my memory. Somehow he was betrayed by his expression, which told me that he was, in that instant, judging, weighing, evaluating. I sensed that he wanted to know if I was worthy of his commitment.
Holding his look, I answered him in silence that I would do the same for him in exchange for his honesty and friendship. I wouldn’t have done it if I had had any warning of what was to happen. I was too confident that I had control over my own will and emotions, and that I would be nothing less than Emperor Hsien Feng’s faithful concubine.
In retrospect, I was denying a truth. I refused to admit that I desired more than bodily protection from Yung Lu the moment we met. My soul craved to stir and be stirred. When I touched the edge of his sword, my “right mind” fled.
The eunuch returned with fresh tea. Yung Lu poured the mug down his throat as if he had just walked the desert. But it was not enough to overcome his nervousness. His look reminded me of a man who had just made up his mind to jump off a cliff. His eyes widened and his uneasiness grew thick. When he raised his eyes again, I realized that we were both descendants of the Manchus’ toughest Bannermen. We were capable of surviving battles, external as well as internal. We were meant to survive because of our minds’ ability to reason, our ability to live with frustration in order to maintain our virtue. We wore smiling masks while dying inside.
I was doomed when I realized that my talent was not to rule but to feel. Such a talent enriched my life, but at the same time destroyed every moment of peace I had gained. I felt helpless toward what was being done to me. I was the fish on the golden plate, tied with the red ribbon. Yet no one would bring me back to the lake where I belonged.
Trying to keep up appearances exhausted me.
Yung Lu sensed it. The color of his face changed. It reminded me of the city’s rose-colored walls.
“The audience is over,” I said weakly.
Yung Lu bowed, turned and marched out.
Seventeen
IN MAY OF 1858, Prince Kung brought the news that our soldiers had been bombarded while still in their barracks. The French and English forces had assaulted the four Taku forts at the mouth of the Peiho. Horrified at the collapse of our sea defenses, Emperor Hsien Feng declared martial law. He sent Kuei Liang, Prince Kung’s father-in-law, now the grand secretary and the court’s highest-ranking Manchu official, to negotiate peace.
By the next morning Kuei Liang was seeking an emergency audience. He had rushed back the night before from the city of Tientsin. The Emperor was again ill, and he sent Nuharoo and me to sit in for him. His Majesty promised that as soon as he gathered enough strength he would join us.
When Nuharoo and I entered the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing, the court was already waiting. More than three hundred ministers and officials were present. Nuharoo and I were dressed in golden court robes. We settled in our seats, shoulder to shoulder, behind the throne.
Minutes later Emperor Hsien Feng arrived. He dragged himself onto the platform and landed breathlessly on the throne. He looked so frail that a breeze might have caused him to fall. His robe was loosely buttoned. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard had sprouted like weeds.
Kuei Liang was summoned to come forward. His appearance shocked me. His usual placid and benevolent expression was replaced by extreme nervousness. He seemed to have aged a great deal. His back was hunched and I could barely see his face. Prince Kung had come with him. The dark shadows under their eyes told me that neither had slept.
Kuei Liang began his report. In the past I recalled his countenance as one full of intelligence. Now his words were inarticulate, his hands palsied, his eyes dimmed. He said that he had been received with little respect from the foreign negotiators. They used the Arrow incident, in which Chinese pirates were caught sailing under a British flag, as an excuse to shun him. No evidence had been provided to substantiate their claims. It all could have been a conspiracy against China.
Emperor Hsien Feng listened grave-faced.
“In the name of teaching us a lesson,” Kuei Liang continued, “the British launched an assault on Canton, and the entire province
was brought down. With twenty-six gunboats between them, the British and French, accompanied by Americans—‘impartial observers,’ they said—and by Russians who joined for the spoils, have defied Your Majesty.”
I didn’t have a full view of my husband’s face, but I could imagine his expression. “It is against the terms of the previous treaty for them to sail upriver toward Peking,” Emperor Hsien Feng stated flatly.
“The winners make the rules, I am afraid, Your Majesty.” Kuei Liang shook his head. “They needed no more excuse after attacking the Taku forts. They are now only a hundred miles from the Forbidden City!”
The court was stunned.
Kuei Liang broke down as he offered more details. As I listened, an image pushed itself in front of my eyes. It was from the time I witnessed a village boy torturing a sparrow. The boy was my neighbor. He had found the sparrow in a sewage pit. The little creature looked like it was just learning to fly and had fallen and broken its wing. When the boy picked the bird up, the feathers dripped with dirty water. He placed the bird on a steppingstone in front of his house and called us to come and watch. I saw the tiny heart pumping inside the bird’s body. The boy flipped the sparrow back and forth, pulling its legs and wings. He kept doing it until the bird stopped moving.
“You failed me, Kuei Liang!” Hsien Feng’s shout woke me. “I had put my faith in your success!”
“Your Majesty, I pathetically presented my death warrant to the Russian and American envoys,” Kuei Liang cried. “I said that if I yielded one more point, my life would be forfeited. I told them that my predecessor, the viceroy of Canton, was ordered by Emperor Hsien Feng to commit suicide because he had failed in his mission. I said the Emperor had ordered me to come to a reasonable and mutually advantageous peace and that I had promised him that I would agree to nothing that will be detrimental to China. But they sneered and laughed at me, Your Majesty.” The old man collapsed on his knees, sobbing in shame. “I … I … deserve to die.”