tragic death. When Hsien Feng described it to me in his own words, it sounded flat and even false. He had no memory of a farewell scene with his mother. “No eunuch stood outside holding the white silk rope to hurry her on her way.” His Majesty’s tone was plain and undisturbed. “My mother put me to sleep, and by the time I woke they said she was dead. I never saw her again.”
To Emperor Hsien Feng the tragedy was a way of life, while to me it was a sad opera. The child Hsien Feng must have suffered grievously, and he continued to suffer as a man. But he would not allow himself to truly feel this; perhaps he no longer could.
The Emperor once told me that the Forbidden City was nothing more than a burning straw hut in a vast wilderness.
The palanquin bearers climbed the hills slowly. Behind us, eunuchs carried a cow, a goat and a deer tied up with ropes. The path was steep. Sometimes we had to get out of the chairs and walk. After we arrived at the ancestral site, the eunuchs set up an altar and laid out incense, food and wine. Emperor Hsien Feng bowed to the sky and spoke the same monologue he had delivered many times before.
Kneeling beside him, I knocked my forehead on the ground and prayed that his father would show mercy. Not long before, Hsien Feng wanted to use An-te-hai’s pigeons to send messages to his father in Heaven. He had his eunuchs replace the whistle pipes with notes to his father, which he had carefully composed himself. Naturally nothing came of it.
I hoped that the Emperor would be able to redirect his energy in more practical ways. Returning from the temple, he told me that he would like to visit his brother Prince Kung at the prince’s residence, the Garden of Discerning, about two miles down the path. It almost made me think that his father’s spirit was at work. I asked if I could continue on with him. When he said yes, I was excited. I had seen Prince Kung but had never spoken with him.
Hsien Feng’s palanquin was as large as a room. Its sides were made of satin the color of the sun. Inside we were bathed in soft yellow light. I turned to His Majesty.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
I smiled. “I wonder what’s on the Son of Heaven’s mind.”
“I’ll show you what’s on my mind,” he said as his hands groped between my thighs.
“Not here, Your Majesty.” I pushed him away.
“Nobody stops the Son of Heaven.”
“The bearers will know.”
“So what?”
“A rumor will be born and walk off on its own legs. Tomorrow morning Her Majesty the Grand Empress will spit when mentioning my name at her breakfast table.”
“Didn’t she do the same with my father?”
“No, Your Majesty, I am not going to do it with you.”
“I’ll make you.”
“Wait until we get to the palace, please?”
He pulled me to him. I struggled and tried to get away.
“You don’t want me, Orchid? Think about it. I am offering you my seeds.”
“Are you talking about those cooked seeds? The seeds that you told me won’t sprout?”
The palanquin rocked and swayed. I tried to keep still but it was impossible: the Emperor of China was not used to restraining himself. The head bearer and Chief Eunuch Shim began to talk. It seemed that the head bearer was concerned for His Majesty’s safety and wanted to stop and check. Shim knew exactly what was going on. The bearer and the eunuch argued.
One of my shoes fell off. It tumbled from the compartment and Chief Eunuch Shim picked it up. He held my shoe in front of the head bearer, who finally understood. The argument ceased. It was at this moment that Emperor Hsien Feng reached his climax. The whole palanquin shook. Shim delicately slipped the shoe back on my foot.
I was happy that our escapade lifted the Emperor from his depression. He complimented me on my pleasantness. But all was not what it seemed with me. On the surface I was pleasant, strong and self-assured, but behind my mask I felt isolated, tense and, in some vague but very real way, dissatisfied. Fear was always with me and I thought of my rivals constantly. How much longer would it be, I wondered, before another took my place? Their jealousy-pickled faces hung before me like winter fog.
I was sure that my rivals had sent spies to watch over me. The “eye” might be one of the Emperor’s own attendants. If so, he would certainly report on our activities in the palanquin. A little scandal might be made to go a long way. To the three thousand females in the Forbidden City, I was the thief who had stolen the only stallion. I was the one who had robbed them of their only chance of motherhood and happiness.
The disappearance of my cat, Snow, had been a warning. An-te-hai had found her in a well not far from my palace. Her beautiful white hair had all been pulled out. No one came forward to name the killer, nor did anyone express sympathy. In a strange coincidence, soon afterward three operas were performed on the Grand Changyi Stage. Was that an expression of victory? A celebration of revenge? I was the only concubine who was not invited to attend. I sat alone in my garden and listened to the music float over my wall.
An-te-hai had also reported another bit of gossip. A fortuneteller had visited the palace and predicted that something terrible would happen to me before the end of winter: I would be strangled to death in my sleep by the hands of a ghost. Whenever we passed one another, the expressions on the other ladies’ faces told me their thoughts. Their eyes asked, “When?”
Although I meant no harm, I was in a position to do harm. I was left with the choice of either ruining others’ lives or letting them ruin my own.
I knew exactly what was wanted from me. But would I voluntarily withdraw from His Majesty’s affection? Before I bribed Chief Eunuch Shim, my bed had been cold for months. I refused to willingly crawl beneath those sheets again.
At audiences, I discovered that the best solutions often existed between the words of those who reported the troubles. They had spent time with the subject and were able to come up with suggestions. What bothered me was that the ministers often held their true opinions back. They trusted the Son of Heaven to see things “through a god’s eye.”
It amazed me that Emperor Hsien Feng believed that he
The Emperor fell apart. When truth and understanding were kept from him, his moods swung all the more violently. One minute he would be definitive about defeating the barbarians and order the deportation of a foreign ambassador; the next minute he would despair and agree to sign a treaty that would only lead China into deeper economic disaster. In public I tried to maintain the illusion of my husband’s power. But I could not fool myself. Beneath my golden dress, I was Orchid from Wuhu. I knew that crops were helpless when locusts invaded.
When audiences went smoothly, Emperor Hsien Feng would tell me that I had helped him restore his magic powers. All I did was listen to people like Su Shun and Prince Kung. If I had been a man and been able to set foot outside the palace, I would have gone to the frontier and come back with my own strategies.
Outside our palanquin we could see nothing but barren hills. Letting down the curtain, His Majesty rested on his pillow and continued speaking about his life. “The Taiping rebels caused destruction everywhere. I have no one but my brother to count on. If Prince Kung can’t do it, nobody can, and that I know for sure. In the past I humiliated him knowingly and unknowingly; now I take every opportunity to mend our relationship. My father didn’t keep his promise, and I am guilty for him. I granted Prince Kung the highest title the day I was crowned Emperor.
“Then I granted him the best place to live outside the Forbidden City, as you will soon see for yourself.” He nodded. “I offered him a fortune in taels and he used it to remodel the palace. I neglected my other brothers and cousins. The Garden of Discerning is not a bit less beautiful than any of the palaces inside the Forbidden City.”
I was not unfamiliar with what Emperor Hsien Feng had done for his brother. To make Prince Kung feel
