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 co
uldn’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:
He came through luxuriant redwood
Bamboo groves set among hills
A temple half hidden in the green clouds
Its entrance was a ruin
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.
Twenty-one
A COPY OF A DECREE written by Su Shun to Prince Kung in the name of Tung Chih was sent to me. The decree forbade Prince Kung to come to Jehol and was issued without Nuharoo’s and my seals. On the surface, Prince Kung had been given the most honorable task—to guard the capital—but what the edict effectively accomplished was to prevent contact between him and us.
I went to Nuharoo and told her that we must get in touch with Prince Kung. There were decisions we couldn’t make without first consulting him. Our lives were at stake, since Su Shun now ignored us openly. To prove my point, I read Nuharoo the second item in the decree, an order transferring several generals who were loyal to Su Shun from Peking to Jehol. “Does this tell you what is on Su Shun’s mind?” I asked her.
Nuharoo nodded. Her spy had reported to her that Prince Kung had sent messengers to Jehol, but none of them had reached us.
The same morning my sister Rong brought me new information. Prince Ch’un had received an order from the court, issued by Su Shun: he was no longer allowed to travel freely between Jehol and Peking. This was why he was not here with his wife. Prince Ch’un was under Su Shun’s close watch. Our only connection to Prince Kung had been cut off.
An-te-hai’s “ears” in Peking reported that Prince Kung had been actively working to assemble a counterforce. Three days before, he had organized a meeting under the guise of a mourning ceremony for Em-peror Hsien Feng. In addition to the leadership of the royal clansmen, Prince Kung had invited important military commanders such as General Sheng Pao, the Mongol warrior Seng-ko-lin-chin, and General Tseng Kuo-fan, who was now also the viceroy of Anhwei province. Prince Kung had also invited the foreign ambassadors of England, France, Germany, Russia, Italy and Japan. Robert Hart had initiated the idea of the meeting. For some time, Hart had been advising Prince Kung on financial matters; he had now stepped into the role of Kung’s unofficial political advisor.
“I think we should wait,” Nuharoo said to me. “We should allow Su Shun’s evil to expose itself. We need time to prove to our citizens that Su Shun doesn’t deserve our respect. On the other hand, we should not forget that it was Emperor Hsien Feng who appointed Su Shun. The situation might backfire if we act without the support of the court.”
I tried to make Nuharoo see that this last decree severely limited Prince Kung’s chances of survival. If Prince Kung ignored Su Shun and came to Jehol, he would be accused of disobeying the decree, and Su Shun would arrest him the moment he stepped through the gate. But if Kung remained in Peking, Su Shun would gain the time he needed to take the entire court into his hands. It was only obvious and natural that he would find an excuse to prosecute us.
“You are crazy, Lady Yehonala.” Nuharoo said. “Su Shun has no legitimate reason to prosecute us.”
“He can create one. If he is capable of issuing decrees on his own, he will not hesitate when the time comes to remove us. Then he will go after Prince Kung.”
Nuharoo stood. “I must go to Hsien Feng’s coffin and pray. His Majesty should be told about this so that his spirits will help us in Heaven.”
The night guard beat his drum three times. It was three o’clock in the morning. The darkness was still deep. Lying in bed, I thought about what Nuharoo had said. Indeed, Su Shun was our husband’s choice. Hsien Feng had trusted him. Was I wrong to doubt Su Shun? Would it help if I expressed my willingness to work with him regardless of our differences? After all, we were both Manchus. Weren’t we trying to hold up the same sky?
I was unable to convince myself. Nuharoo and I were Tung Chih’s acting regents, appointed by Emperor Hsien Feng. But Su Shun regarded us as nothing but figureheads. We had no say over the edicts and decrees. A few days before, he had even refused to revise a draft that we had given our permission to issue after a few small changes. Orders and requests from us in the voice of Tung Chih made their way through the court hierarchy and came back without a response, while Su Shun’s words were carried immediately into action.
Nuharoo suggested that we make one last offer to work things out with Su Shun. I agreed.
The next morning, dressed in our official robes, Nuharoo and I summoned Su Shun for an audience in the name of the young Emperor. We went to the hall where Hsien Feng’s coffin sat behind a panel. As we waited, Tung Chih climbed on top of the coffin and lay on his stomach.
I watched my son as he knocked on the coffin. He whispered to his father about his new friend, the red-eyed rabbit. He invited his father to come out and see it. “I will hold the lid up for you.”
“Explain why the decree to Prince Kung was sent without our seals,” Nuharoo demanded when Su Shun appeared.
Su Shun stood arrogantly in his full-length brown satin robe with gold stripes on the bottom. He was wearing a hat decorated with a red button and a flamboyant peacock feather. He took off the hat and held it in his hands. His head was shaved and his braid oiled. His chin was tilted so high that he was practically facing the ceiling. He looked at us with half-opened eyes. “The court has the right to issue documents of an urgent nature without your seals.”
“But this violates our agreement,” I said, trying to control my anger.
“As His Young Majesty’s regents,” Nuharoo followed, “we object to the content of the last decree. Prince Kung has a right to come to Jehol to mourn his brother.”
“We would like to see Prince Kung get his wish,” I pressed.
“Fine!” Su Shun stamped his foot. “If you want my job, it is yours. I refuse to work until you learn not to take my kindness for granted!”
He made a sloppy bow and walked out. In the courtyard the rest of his board members, whom we had not invited, received him.
The documents piled up, creating walls in my room. All requested immediate attention. Nuharoo regretted that we had challenged Su Shu
n.
I tried not to panic. I reviewed the documents as I had when working for Emperor Hsien Feng. I had to prove to Su Shun that I was equal to the job. I needed to earn the respect, not of Su Shun, but of the court.
As soon as I began to work, I realized that the task was more than I could handle. Su Shun had set me up.
Many of the cases were impossible to solve. Under the circumstances, it would be irresponsible to issue a judgment; only injustice and unnecessary pain would come of it. I lacked necessary information and was prevented from gathering it. In one case, a regional governor was accused of embezzlement and more than a dozen homicides. I needed to gather evidence and ordered an investigation, but I received no reports. Weeks later, I discovered that my order had never been acted on.
I called Su Shun and demanded an explanation.
He denied any responsibility and said that he wasn’t the one in charge. He referred me to the justice ministry. When I questioned the head minister, he said he had never received the order.
Letters from all over the country had begun to complain about the slow workings of the court. It was clear that Su Shun had planted the seed in people’s minds that I was the one holding everything back. The rumors spread like a contagious disease. I wasn’t sure how bad things had become until one day I received an open letter from a small-town mayor questioning my background and credentials. There was no way the man would ever dare to send such a letter unless he was backed by someone like Su Shun.
As I paced back and forth in my document-cluttered room, An-te-hai returned from taking Tung Chih for a visit to my sister. He was so nervous that he stuttered. “The t-town of Jehol has been g-go-gossiping about a ghost story. The folks b-believe that you are the incarnation of an evil concubine who is here to destroy the empire. Talk of supporting Su Shun’s action against you is everywhere.”