Empress Orchid

  I couldn’t agree or disagree with either side of myself. I didn’t believe I had the right to dishonor Emperor Hsien Feng, yet I didn’t think it was fair that I had to spend the rest of my life in isolation and loneliness. I warned myself again and again with historical examples of widowed Imperial concubines whose trysts had ended in severe punishment. I envisioned their dismemberment every night. But Yung Lu stayed in my mind.

  I tried to tame my feelings in any way I could. From An-te-hai and Li Lien-ying I learned that Yung Lu had no romantic attachments even though matchmakers had been banging on his door. I thought I could do better and convinced myself that playing the role of matchmaker would release me from my pain. I needed to be able to face him with a steady heartbeat, because Tung Chih’s survival depended on harmony between us.

  I summoned Prince Ch’un and Yung Lu to my tent. My brother-in-law arrived a little early, and I asked him about his baby boy and my sister Rong’s health. He broke down in tears and told me that my infant nephew had died. He blamed his wife and said that the baby had died of malnutrition. I couldn’t believe it, but then realized that it might be true. My sister had odd ideas about food. She didn’t believe in feeding her child “until he became a fat-bellied Buddha”; therefore she never allowed the baby to eat his fill. No one knew it was due to Rong’s mental illness until two of her other sons also died in infancy.

  Prince Ch’un begged me to do something to stop Rong, since she was pregnant again. I promised I would help and told him to have some yam wine. In the middle of our conversation Yung Lu arrived. He was in uniform and his boots were covered with dirt. He sat down quietly and took a bowl of yam wine. I observed him as I went on speaking with Prince Ch’un.

  Our talk led from children to our parents, from Emperor Hsien Feng to Prince Kung. We talked about how well things had turned out, about our luck in triumphing over Su Shun. I wanted to discuss the tasks ahead, the unsettling situation of the Taipings, the treaties and negotiations with foreign powers, but Prince Ch’un grew bored and yawned.

  Yung Lu and I sat face to face. I watched him drink five bowls of yam wine. By then his face was deep red, but he would not talk with me.

  “Yung Lu is attractive even in the eyes of men,” An-te-hai said that night as he gently tucked in my blankets. “I admire your willpower, my lady. But I am puzzled by your actions. What good does it do when you sound as if you don’t care for him at all?”

  “I enjoy his presence, and that is all I can afford,” I said. I stared at the ceiling of the tent, knowing that a hard night lay before me.

  “I don’t understand,” the eunuch said.

  I sighed. “Tell me, An-te-hai, is the saying generally true that if one keeps grinding an iron bar, the bar will be turned into a needle?”

  “I don’t know what people’s hearts are made of, my lady, so I would say that I am not sure.”

  “I am trying to convince myself that there are interesting things in the world to live for besides … trying to obtain the impossible.”

  “The result will be like chasing death.”

  “Yes, like a moth that can’t resist the flame. The question is, can it do otherwise?”

  “Love is poisonous in this sense. But one can’t do without love.” His voice was firm and self-assured. “It is an involuntary devotion.”

  “I am afraid that this is not my only glance into the endlessly changing river of suffering.”

  “Yet your heart refuses to protect itself.”

  “Can one be protected from love?”

  “The truth is that you can’t stop caring for Yung Lu.”

  “There must be different ways to love.”

  “He has you in his heart as well, my lady.”

  “Heaven pity him.”

  “Have you ways to comfort yourself?” An-te-hai asked.

  “I am thinking about inviting myself to be his matchmaker.”

  The eunuch looked shocked. “You are crazy, my lady.”

  “There is no other way.”

  “What about your heart, my lady? Do you want to bleed to death? If I could get rich by collecting your tears from the floor, my wealth would surpass Tseng Kuo-fan’s!”

  “My desire will quit once he’s taken. I’ll force myself. By helping him I shall help myself.”

  An-te-hai lowered his head. “You need him too much to …”

  “I shall …” I couldn’t find a phrase to end my sentence.

  “Have you ever thought of what to do if he comes, let’s say tonight, at midnight, for example?” the eunuch said after a moment of silence.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Knowing what your heart wants, my lady, knowing that it is safe, that we are not inside the Forbidden City, I might give in to temptation—that is to say, I might invite him here.”

  “No! You will not.”

  “If I can control myself, my lady. If I don’t love you enough.”

  “Promise me, An-te-hai. Promise that you will not do that!”

  “Hit me, then. Because it is my desire to see you smile again. You may think me crazy, but I must express myself. I want your love to take place as badly as I want to restore my manhood. I could not possibly let such a chance pass by.”

  I paced back and forth inside the tent. I knew An-te-hai was right and that I needed to do something before the situation overtook me. It was not hard to see what my passion for Yung Lu would lead to—the defeat of my dream for Tung Chih.

  I called Li Lien-ying. “Get hold of entertainers from a local teahouse,” I said.

  “Yes, my lady, right away.”

  “The midnight dancers.” An-te-hai said, making sure his disciple understood what I meant.

  Li Lien-ying kowtowed. “I know a good place about a quarter of a mile away, the Peach Village.”

  “Send three of their best girls to Yung Lu immediately,” I said, and then added, “Say that they are gifts from me.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The eunuch left.

  I lifted the curtain and watched Li Lien-ying vanish into the night. I felt an unbearable heaviness crushing down on me. My stomach felt as if it was filling up with stone. There was nothing left of the girl who had come to Peking in the dull light of a summer morning ten years before. She was naïve, trusting and curious. She was full of youth and warm emotions, and ready to try life. The years inside the Forbidden City had formed a shell over her and the shell had hardened. Historians would describe her as cruel and heartless. Her iron will was said to have carried her through one crisis after another.

  When I turned back, An-te-hai was looking at me with a bewildered expression on his face.

  “I am just like everyone else,” I said. “There was no place left where I could take refuge.”

  “You did the impossible, my lady.”

  There was no wind the next day. The sun’s rays filtered through thin clouds. I rode in the palanquin and my thoughts were calmer. I believed that I could now think of Yung Lu in a different way. I felt less stifled. My heart accepted what had been done and rose gradually from the ruins. For the first time in a very long while I felt a surge of hope. I would become a woman who had experienced the worst and so had nothing else to fear.

  My heart, however, stubbornly cherished the old, as became clear when I heard the sound of hooves next to my chair. Instantly, my mind touched the familiar madness, crippling my will.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty!” It was his voice.

  Excitement and pleasure paralyzed me. My hand went as if on its own to lift the curtain. His face was in the frame. He was in his magnificent ceremonial uniform and sat tall on his horse.

  “I enjoyed your gifts,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of you.” He looked darker. His lips were dry and his eyes unsmiling.

  I was determined to conquer my emotion, so I said, “I’m glad.”

  “Do you expect me to say that I understand your sacrifice and am grateful?”

  I wanted to say no, but my lips would not m
ove.

  “You are cruel,” he said.

  I knew that if I relented, even a little bit, it wouldn’t be long before I lost control.

  “Time for you to go back to your duty.” I let down the curtain.

  With the fading sound of his horse’s hooves, I wept.

  Nuharoo’s words came to me, “Pain does good things. It prepares us for peace.”

  • • •

  We were at Hsien Feng’s tomb the next dawn. I waited three hours until the moment arrived to move the coffin into place. I was served porridge for breakfast. Then three monks swung their incense burners and walked in circles around me. The thick smoke choked me. Drums and music played and the wind distorted the sound. The landscape was bare and vast.

  The bearers pushed the coffin with their shoulders inch by inch toward the tomb. I sat on my knees and prayed for Hsien Feng’s spirit to gain peace in his next life. Two hundred Taoist monks, two hundred Tibetan lamas and two hundred Buddhists chanted. Their voices were strangely harmonious. I remained in a kneeling position before the altar until the others had completed their final farewells to Emperor Hsien Feng. I knew I should not resent An-te-hai, who was beside me telling me step by step what to do, but I still wished he would shut up.

  I was to be the last one and would be alone with His Majesty before the tomb closed permanently.

  The head architect reminded the ministers to keep their timing exact. The calculations demanded that the tomb be shut at noon, when the sun cast no shadow. “Otherwise, vital heavenly energy will begin to seep out.”

  I waited my turn while watching people going in and out of the tomb. My knees started to feel sore and I missed Tung Chih terribly. I wondered what he was doing and if Nuharoo’s mood had changed. She was beside herself the day she found out that all her roses were dead—the barbarians had dug out the root balls in their search for “buried treasure.” The bones of her favorite parrot, Master Oh-me-to-fu, were also found in the garden. The bird was the only creature of its kind that could chant the Buddhist drill Oh-me-to-fu.

  My thoughts went to Rong. I was not sure that talking with her would help her cope with the death of her son. Rong frightened too easily, and I wouldn’t blame her for thinking that the Forbidden City was a terrible place to raise children. I could only pray that the new pregnancy would provide her with hope.

  An-te-hai had been acting oddly today. He carried a big cotton sack with him. When I asked what was inside, he said it was his overcoat. I couldn’t understand why he insisted on bringing an overcoat when nothing but blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon.

  People leaving the tomb surrounded me. They lined up to pay their respects to me, bowing and kowtowing. Each took minutes to complete the forehead-knocks on the ground. A couple of senior ministers were nearly blind and had difficulty walking. They wouldn’t accept my pardon and insisted on performing the entire protocol. No one asked if I was tired or hungry.

  The temperature began to rise. My hands and body felt warm. Everyone seemed to have had enough and was eager to go back. Yet etiquette could not be ignored. The line of people before me continued to grow. It stretched from the entrance gate to the stone pavilion. I looked from the corner of my eye and saw that the bearers were sharing a joke and the guards looked bored. The horses kicked their hooves. The desert wind sent eerie whistles from afar. By the time the sun was above our heads, many ministers relaxed their manners and loosened their collar buttons. They sat on the ground waiting for the tomb to be shut.

  Finally the court’s chief astrologer announced that all was ready. I was ushered toward the tomb while An-te-hai went ahead to check before I entered.

  The astrologer told me that I had to proceed by myself, according to custom. “His Majesty is ready to have his last earthly moment with you.”

  I suddenly became afraid and wished that Yung Lu were with me.

  “Can … someone come with me?” I asked. “Can An-te-hai stay?”

  “No, I am afraid not, Your Majesty.” The chief astrologer bowed.

  An-te-hai came out and reported that all was ready inside.

  My legs trembled, but I forced myself to move.

  “Your Majesty,” I heard the architect call, “please come out before noon.”

  The tunnel seemed long and narrow. It felt different from the place Nuharoo and I had seen the last time we were here together. I could hear the echoes of my own steps. Maybe it was the new furnishings and tapestries. A large gold table clock came into view. I wondered why His Majesty needed a clock. I knew little about life after death, but from what I was looking at now, I was convinced there must be a need for many things.

  As I looked around, a tapestry caught my eye. It depicted an empty hut set in a mountainous landscape. A beautiful woman reclined with her qin. Peach blossoms in full bloom were visible through the round window behind her. The vitality of spring contrasted with the young woman’s melancholy. She was obviously waiting for her husband or lover. Her exposed feet were suggestive of her longing for him. To my amazement, her feet were bound.

  The light from the oil jar produced a sweet scent and orange rays. It added warmth to the red furniture. There were layers of comforters, blankets, sheets and pillows on top of a table by the corner. It was inviting, like a bedroom. I saw the familiar table and chair Hsien Feng had used. The tall chair back was carved with lilies. I remembered I once hung my dress on it while spending the night with him.

  My eyes landed on the empty coffin with my name on it. It was set right next to Hsien Feng’s, as if I were already dead and buried inside —the way Su Shun had wanted, the way His Majesty almost ordered, the way my life might have been. This would be my resting place forever, away from sunshine, away from spring, away from Tung Chih and Yung Lu.

  I was supposed to shed tears. It was expected of an empress. It was why I was left alone. But I had no tears. If I had had any, they would have been for myself. For my life was not much different from being buried alive. My heart was forbidden from celebrating its springs. It had died last night when I sent the whores to Yung Lu. The girl named Orchid from Wuhu wouldn’t have done anything like that.

  I was not as brave as I would like myself to be. It was what An-te-hai seemed to understand. I was an ordinary woman and I loved Yung Lu.

  I didn’t know how long I had been in the tomb. I had no desire to leave and reenter the light. I wouldn’t find the life I yearned for outside. The laughter I once knew wasn’t there. I couldn’t even look Yung Lu in the eye. What was the point of going on?

  At noon the door to the outside world would shut permanently. Interestingly my fear was gone now. There was a strange kind of peace here, cozy and warm like a mother’s womb. It brought me relief to think that all my troubles would be at an end if I stayed here. I would no longer struggle in my dreams and wake up only to hear An-te-hai report that I had cried. I wouldn’t have to degrade myself by relying on a eunuch for comfort. I could say goodbye to Yung Lu right here in the tomb and be done with the pain and agony. I could turn tragedy into comedy. There would be nothing anyone could do to make me suffer again. The comic part would be that I would be honored for voluntarily accompanying Emperor Hsien Feng to the next world. History would praise my virtue, and a temple would be built so that future generations of concubines could worship me.

  I stared at the door and the watermelon-shaped pit and the stone ball, ready to roll.

  My coffin was covered with white lilacs. I went to see if it was open. It was not, and I couldn’t get it to open. Why had they locked it? The panels were not carved to my taste. The movements of the phoenixes were dull, the pattern too busy, the color too loud. If I were the artist, I would have added elegance and spirit to it. I would make the birds fly and the flowers bloom.

  I noticed something that didn’t belong. It was An-te-hai’s overcoat. He had laid it here. My thoughts were interrupted by this earthly object. Why did An-te-hai leave it behind?

  I heard hurried steps and then a man
’s quick breathing.

  I couldn’t be sure if the sound was from my imagination.

  “Your Majesty,” Yung Lu’s voice called, “it’s noon!”

  Unable to stop fast enough, he skidded into me, pushing me onto An-te-hai’s overcoat.

  We stared at each other and then his lips were on mine.

  “This is my coffin,” I managed to say.

  “That is why I have dared …” The heat from his mouth hit my neck. “It can’t be a sin to borrow a moment from your next life.” His hands went to my robe, but it was too tightly buttoned.

  My limbs became weak and I felt myself begin to swoon. I could hear the pigeons in the sky sending down the music of their wind pipes.

  “It’s noon,” I heard myself say.

  “And we are in your tomb,” he said, burying his face in my chest.

  “Take me.” I wrapped my arms around him.

  He pushed himself away, breathing heavily. “No, Orchid.”

  “Why? Why not?”

  He wouldn’t explain but kept refusing me.

  I begged him. I said I had never desired any other man. I needed his pity and his mercy. I wanted him to have me.

  “Oh, Orchid, my Orchid,” he kept murmuring.

  A loud noise came from the mouth of the tunnel. It was the sound of the stone gate.

  “The architect has ordered it shut!” Yung Lu jumped to his feet and lunged toward the entrance, pulling me with him.

  I was overwhelmed by the fear of going out. My mind swirled with memories of the life I had led. The constant struggle to keep up appearances, the pretenses, the smiles that had been met with tears. The long sleepless nights, the loneliness that cloaked my spirit and turned me into a true ghost.

  Yung Lu dragged me with all his might. “Come on, Orchid!”

  “Why do you do this? You don’t need me.”

  “Tung Chih needs you. The dynasty needs you. And I …” Suddenly, as if broken, he stopped. “I look forward to working with you, Your Majesty, for the rest of my life. But if you insist on staying, I shall be here with you.”