promising. I would perform an Imperial ceremony of sacrifice-a duty that belonged to Emperor Hsien Feng.
“I think you should go and perform in His Majesty’s name, my lady,” An-te-hai said, closing my ornament boxes. He sat down and faced me. “The sacrifice will add to His Majesty’s piety and serve him well in Heaven.”
“Are you sure that this is what His Majesty desires?”
“Positive,” the eunuch replied. “Not only His Majesty but also the Grand Empress.”
An-te-hai explained that the dates on which the Imperial ancestors had to be honored were numerous and the royal family was behind schedule. “His Majesty rarely has the energy to attend the ceremonies.”
“Have the Grand Empress and the other concubines done so?”
“They have, but they have no interest in doing it every year. Emperor Hsien Feng is afraid of upsetting his ancestors, so he has asked Chief Shim to send Nuharoo and Lady Yun. But they have refused his request with excuses of poor health.”
“Why didn’t Chief Shim send me?”
“Well, he doesn’t want to give you any opportunity to please His Majesty.”
“I have tried my best to please him!”
“Well, it is your right to perform the ceremony for your husband.”
“Prepare my palanquin first thing tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Wait, An-te-hai. How will the Emperor learn of my act?”
“The eunuch in charge of the temple will take down your name. It is his duty to inform His Majesty every time someone pays respect to his ancestors on his behalf.”
I had no knowledge of how to honor the Imperial ancestors. According to An-te-hai, all I had to do was to throw myself on the ground and bow toward various portraits and stone statues. It didn’t sound challenging.
Next dawn I rode in the palanquin with An-te-hai walking beside me. We went through the Lodge of Fresh Fragrance and then the Gate of Spiritual Valor. Within an hour, we arrived at the Temple of Eternal Peace. In front of me was a spacious building with hundreds of birds nesting under its eaves.
I was received by a young monk who was also a eunuch. He was red-cheeked and had a mole between his eyebrows. An-te-hai announced my name and title, and the monk brought out a large record book. He took up a brush pen, dipped it in ink and wrote my name in block style in the book.
I was guided into the temple. After we passed a few arched doorways the monk said that he had some business to take care of and disappeared behind a row of columns. An-te-hai followed him.
I looked around. The giant hall, several stories high, was filled with gold-colored statues. Everything was painted in shades of gold. There were temples inside the temple. The small temples matched the design of the main one.
A senior monk appeared from a side arch. He had a snow-white beard that nearly reached his knees. Without speaking, he gave me a bottle filled with incense sticks. I followed him to a series of altars.
I lit the incense, got down on my knees and bowed to the various statues. I had no idea which ancestor I was worshiping. Moving through the temple, I repeated the act over and over. After paying homage to a dozen ancestors, I was tired. The monk sat in the corner with his eyes closed. He chanted with one hand tapping his chanting instrument, a
It was very warm in the temple. Since no one was watching, I allowed my bows to become less deep. Gradually the bows were replaced by nods. My eyes made sure that the monk didn’t discover my mischief. I kept looking at him until the sound of his
“There was a prince who during his worship discovered that the Chinese god’s clay horse had been sweating.” The monk suddenly spoke as if he had been watching me all along. “The prince concluded that the god must be working hard riding his horse, patrolling the palaces. From then on Kuan Kong became a key figure for worshipers in the Forbidden City.”
“Why does each god sit in his own booth?” I asked.
“Because they deserve attention for who they are,” the monk replied. “For example, the venerable Tsongkapa was the founding father of Yellow Sect Buddhism. He is the one who sits on a golden chair against that wall with a hundred small copies of himself. Beneath his feet is a Buddhist sutra in Manchu.”
My eyes went to the deep end of the hall where a large vertical silk painting was on display. It was a portrait of Emperor Chien Lung in a Buddhist robe. I asked the monk if Chien Lung, my grandfather-in-law, had been a believer. The monk informed me that not only was he a devoted Buddhist, he was also an adept in the Mee Tsung religion, which originally was a branch of Buddhism. “His Majesty spoke Tibetan and read sutras in the Tibetan language as well,” the monk said, and went back to tapping his
I was exhausted. Now I understood why the other concubines wouldn’t come.
The monk rose from his chanting mat and said that it was time to move on. I followed him to an altar in an open court. He led me to kneel in front of a block of marble and started chanting again.
It was noon and the sun beat directly on my back. I prayed for the ceremony to be over.
According to An-te-hai, this should have been the last act. The monk was beside me on his knees, and his beard was touching the ground. After three deep bows he got up. He opened a manuscript of recorded deeds and began to read, in Mandarin, the names of ancestors followed by descriptions of their lives. The descriptions were almost uniform, all praise and no criticism. Words like “virtue” and “honor” were in every paragraph. The monk told me to knock my forehead on the ground five times for every new name. I followed his instructions.
The names on the monk’s list seemed endless and my forehead was becoming raw. The strength to continue came only from my understanding that the end was near.
But I was wrong.
The monk continued his reading. My nose was a few inches from his feet, and I could see their calluses. My forehead must be bleeding by now, I thought. I bit my lip. Finally he was done with his list, but then he said that I had to repeat the same ceremony in the Manchu language.
I prayed that An-te-hai would rescue me. Where was he?
The monk had begun in Manchu. He droned on, and I could understand nothing except for the names of the emperors. Unconsciousness was about to claim me when I saw An-te-hai. He rushed toward me and helped me rise.
“I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t know that this monk would keep reading until his victim passed out. I thought my brothers were joking when they told me about him.”
“May we leave now?” I asked.
“I am afraid not, my lady. Your good deed will not be recorded unless it is completed properly.”
“I shall not survive this!”
“Don’t worry,” An-te-hai whispered. “I have just offered a handsome bribe. He assured me that the rest of the ceremony will take little time.”
Stone gods lined the edge of the site, an open space with one wall to the west. A fifty-foot flagpole stood to the southeast. On top of the pole was a bird feeder. Birds were said to deliver the Emperor’s messages to the spirits. There was a strange object hanging on the wall. As I walked closer I was able to tell that it was a dust- colored cotton bag.
“The bag belonged to the dynasty’s founding father, King Nurhachi,” the senior monk explained. “Inside are the bones of the king’s father and grandfather. Nurhachi carried them back to the tribe to be buried after the two men were slaughtered by the enemy.”
The monk clapped his hands. Two women whose faces were caked with mud appeared. “The witches of the Shaman tribes,” the monk introduced. The women’s robes were thick with patterns of black spiders. Their hats were covered in fish scales made of copper. Dangling over their heads, ears and necks were beads made from fruit pits. Bells were tied to their limbs. Drums of different sizes hung from their necks and waists. They each had a three-foot-long brown “tail” made of braided leather strips hanging from their behinds. As they started to dance they encircled me. Their mouths smelled of garlic. They sang by imitating animal sounds.
