Empress Orchid

“And Su Shun rescued you?”

“Yes, he was the one who ordered my release.”

“And he recruited you and has been promoting you?”

“Yes, from lieutenant to commander in chief of the Imperial Guards.”

“In how many years?”

“Five years, Your Majesty.”

“Impressive.”

“I am terribly grateful and I will always owe the grand councilor my loyalty.”

“You should,” I said. “But keep in mind that it was Emperor Hsien Feng who allowed Su Shun his power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

I thought for a moment and decided to reveal a bit of information An-te-hai had discovered, which was that the leader of the Imperial Academy was Su Shun’s enemy.

Yung Lu was surprised. I expected a response, a question, but none came.

“Su Shun cleverly accomplished an end to a personal grudge,” I added. “He eliminated his rival through the hand of Emperor Hsien Feng, and did so in the name of doing you justice.”

Yung Lu remained quiet. Seeing that I was waiting, he said, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am at a loss for words.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” I put down my tea. “I was just wondering if you knew.”

“Yes, in fact… a little.” He lowered his eyes.

“Doesn’t such cleverness say something about Su Shun the man?”

Not daring to reveal himself too freely or doubt my motivation, Yung Lu raised his eyes to examine me. In this look I saw a true Bannerman.

I turned to Nuharoo. The beads sat still on her lap, and her fingers had stopped moving. I did not know whether she was engaged with the spirit of Buddha or had dozed off.

I sighed. The Emperor was too weak, Su Shun was too cunning, and Prince Kung was too far away, while we needed a man close by.

“Time will test Su Shun,” I said. “What we are concerned with here is your loyalty. Who will have it, Su Shun or His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng?”

Yung Lu threw himself on the ground and kowtowed. “Of course His Majesty. He will have my everlasting devotion-there is no question about that in my mind.”

“And us? His Majesty’s wives and child?”

Yung Lu straightened his back. Our eyes met. As when ink wash hits rice paper, the moment created a permanent picture in my memory. Somehow he was betrayed by his expression, which told me that he was, in that instant, judging, weighing, evaluating. I sensed that he wanted to know if I was worthy of his commitment.

Holding his look, I answered him in silence that I would do the same for him in exchange for his honesty and friendship. I wouldn’t have done it if I had had any warning of what was to happen. I was too confident that I had control over my own will and emotions, and that I would be nothing less than Emperor Hsien Feng’s faithful concubine.

In retrospect, I was denying a truth. I refused to admit that I desired more than bodily protection from Yung Lu the moment we met. My soul craved to stir and be stirred. When I touched the edge of his sword, my “right mind” fled.

The eunuch returned with fresh tea. Yung Lu poured the mug down his throat as if he had just walked the desert. But it was not enough to overcome his nervousness. His look reminded me of a man who had just made up his mind to jump off a cliff. His eyes widened and his uneasiness grew thick. When he raised his eyes again, I realized that we were both descendants of the Manchus’ toughest Bannermen. We were capable of surviving battles, external as well as internal. We were meant to survive because of our minds’ ability to reason, our ability to live with frustration in order to maintain our virtue. We wore smiling masks while dying inside.

I was doomed when I realized that my talent was not to rule but to feel. Such a talent enriched my life, but at the same time destroyed every moment of peace I had gained. I felt helpless toward what was being done to me. I was the fish on the golden plate, tied with the red ribbon. Yet no one would bring me back to the lake where I belonged.

Trying to keep up appearances exhausted me.

Yung Lu sensed it. The color of his face changed. It reminded me of the city’s rose-colored walls.

“The audience is over,” I said weakly.

Yung Lu bowed, turned and marched out.

Seventeen

IN MAY OF 1858, Prince Kung brought the news that our soldiers had been bombarded while still in their barracks. The French and English forces had assaulted the four Taku forts at the mouth of the Peiho. Horrified at the collapse of our sea defenses, Emperor Hsien Feng declared martial law. He sent Kuei Liang, Prince Kung’s father-in-law, now the grand secretary and the court’s highest-ranking Manchu official, to negotiate peace.

By the next morning Kuei Liang was seeking an emergency audience. He had rushed back the night before from the city of Tientsin. The Emperor was again ill, and he sent Nuharoo and me to sit in for him. His Majesty promised that as soon as he gathered enough strength he would join us.

When Nuharoo and I entered the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing, the court was already waiting. More than three hundred ministers and officials were present. Nuharoo and I were dressed in golden court robes. We settled in our seats, shoulder to shoulder, behind the throne.

Minutes later Emperor Hsien Feng arrived. He dragged himself onto the platform and landed breathlessly on the throne. He looked so frail that a breeze might have caused him to fall. His robe was loosely buttoned. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard had sprouted like weeds.

Kuei Liang was summoned to come forward. His appearance shocked me. His usual placid and benevolent expression was replaced by extreme nervousness. He seemed to have aged a great deal. His back was hunched and I could barely see his face. Prince Kung had come with him. The dark shadows under their eyes told me that neither had slept.

Kuei Liang began his report. In the past I recalled his countenance as one full of intelligence. Now his words were inarticulate, his hands palsied, his eyes dimmed. He said that he had been received with little respect from the foreign negotiators. They used the Arrow incident, in which Chinese pirates were caught sailing under a British flag, as an excuse to shun him. No evidence had been provided to substantiate their claims. It all could have been a conspiracy against China.

Emperor Hsien Feng listened grave-faced.

“In the name of teaching us a lesson,” Kuei Liang continued, “the British launched an assault on Canton, and the entire province was brought down. With twenty-six gunboats between them, the British and French, accompanied by Americans-‘impartial observers,’ they said-and by Russians who joined for the spoils, have defied Your Majesty.”

I didn’t have a full view of my husband’s face, but I could imagine his expression. “It is against the terms of the previous treaty for them to sail upriver toward Peking,” Emperor Hsien Feng stated flatly.

“The winners make the rules, I am afraid, Your Majesty.” Kuei Liang shook his head. “They needed no more excuse after attacking the Taku forts. They are now only a hundred miles from the Forbidden City!”

The court was stunned.

Kuei Liang broke down as he offered more details. As I listened, an image pushed itself in front of my eyes. It was from the time I witnessed a village boy torturing a sparrow. The boy was my neighbor. He had found the sparrow in a sewage pit. The little creature looked like it was just learning to fly and had fallen and broken its wing. When the boy picked the bird up, the feathers dripped with dirty water. He placed the bird on a steppingstone in front of his house and called us to come and watch. I saw the tiny heart pumping inside the bird’s body. The boy flipped the sparrow back and forth, pulling its legs and wings. He kept doing it until the bird stopped moving.

“You failed me, Kuei Liang!” Hsien Feng’s shout woke me. “I had put my faith in your success!”