“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
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.”
