On a pleasant day Chiang Tai and I met at his shabby
The next day Chiang Tai began campaigning for me. While he told everyone about his appointment as Emperor Tung Chih’s master tutor, he also said how wise and capable I was for recognizing true talent. He stressed how sincere and eager I had been to recruit men like him to serve the new government. After that, it took only a few weeks for the political wind to become favorable.
The court counted the votes, and we won.
On November 30, a hundred days after Hsien Feng’s death, the title of Tung Chih’s reign was changed from Well-Omened Happiness to Return to Order. It was Chiang Tai who gave Tung Chih’s reign the new epithet. The word “order” would be seen and pronounced every time a countryman looked at his calendar.
In our announcement, which was drafted by me and polished by Chiang Tai, we emphasized that it was not the choice of Nuharoo and me to rule. As regents, we were committed to helping Tung Chih, but we looked forward with enthusiasm to the day of our retirement. We asked for the nation’s understanding, support and forgiveness.
The change generated great excitement. Everyone in the Forbidden City had been waiting to discard their mourning costumes. For the entire hundred-day period of mourning, no one had worn anything but white. Since men hadn’t been allowed to shave, they looked like grizzled hermits, with scraggly beards and hair sticking out of their noses and ears.
In the period of a week, the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing was cleaned to a glossy shine. A three-by-nine-foot redwood desk was placed in the middle of the hall, covered with a yellow silk tablecloth embroidered with spring flowers. Behind the desk sat a pair of upholstered golden chairs, which were for Nuharoo and me. In front of where we would be sitting was a translucent yellow silk screen hanging from the ceiling. It was a symbolic gesture saying that it was not we who ruled, but Tung Chih. Tung Chih’s throne was placed in the center, in front of us.
On the morning of the ascension ceremony most of the senior ministers were awarded the right to ride either in palanquins or on horses when entering the Forbidden City. Ministers and officials were dressed in gorgeous fur robes draped with jewels. Necklaces and the peacock-feathered hats sparkled with diamonds and precious stones.
At a quarter to ten, Tung Chih, Nuharoo and I left our palaces. We rode in our palanquins to the Palace of Supreme Harmony. The crisp sound of a whip announced our arrival. The courtyard, although filled with thousands of people, was quiet-only the steps of the bearers could be heard. The memory of my first entry into the Forbidden City rushed back to me and I had to hold back my tears.
With his uncle Prince Ch’un as a guide, Tung Chih entered the hall for the first time as the Emperor of China. In unison, the crowd fell on their knees and kowtowed.
An-te-hai, who was in his green pine-tree-patterned robe, walked beside me. He was carrying my pipe-smoking was a new hobby that helped me relax. I remembered asking him a few days earlier what he most desired; I wanted to reward him. He shyly replied that he would like to get married and adopt children. He believed that his position and wealth would attract ladies of his choosing, and he would not totally miss out on his manhood.
I didn’t know whether I should encourage him. I understood his thwarted passion. If I hadn’t lived in the Forbidden City, I would have found myself a lover. Like him, I fantasized about intimacies and pleasures. I resented my widowhood and had been driven nearly mad by loneliness. Only the fear of being caught, and jeopardizing Tung Chih’s future, had halted me.
I sat down next to Nuharoo and behind my son. Holding my chin up, I received kowtows from members of the court, the government and the royal families led by Prince Kung. The prince looked handsome and youthful when standing next to the gray-haired and white-bearded senior officials. He had just turned twenty-eight.
I stole a glance at Nuharoo and was once more struck by her beauti-ful profile. She was in her new golden phoenix robe with matching hairpiece and earrings. She gracefully nodded and tilted her chin, smiling to everyone who came up to her. Her sensuous lips formed a muted sound: “Rise.”
I wasn’t enjoying this as much as Nuharoo was. My mind flew back to the lake in Wuhu where I swam as a young girl. I remembered the water’s smooth coolness and how utterly free I had felt chasing wild ducks. I was now the most powerful woman in China, yet my spirit was stuck with that empty coffin with my name and title carved in cold stone.
My sentiment was shared by another soul. I noticed Yung Lu observing me from a corner of the hall. Recently I had been too occupied with the shadow of Su Shun to allow my thoughts to drift to Yung Lu. Now, as I sat on my throne, I saw the expression on his face and sensed his desire. I felt guilty, yet I couldn’t stop myself from wanting his attention. My heart flirted with him while I sat straight-faced.
Prince Kung announced the end of the audience. The room paid its respects to Nuharoo and me as we rose from our seats. I felt Yung Lu’s eyes following me. I dared not look back.
That night when An-te-hai came to me, I pushed him away. I was frustrated and disgusted with myself.
An-te-hai hit his face with both hands until I ordered him to quit. His cheeks swelled like baked buns. He couldn’t bear my suffering, he said. And he insisted that he understood what I was going through. He thanked Heaven for making him a eunuch and said that his life was meant to share my immeasurable sorrow.
“It must not be too different, my lady,” he murmured. Then he said something unexpected. “There is a chance to please yourself, my lady. If I were you, I would hurry to make an excuse.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then I understood. I raised my hand and let it fall heavily on the eunuch’s face. “Scum!”
“You are welcome, my lady.” The eunuch stuck his neck up as if ready for another blow. “Hit me all you want, my lady. I’ll say what I have to. Tomorrow the official burial ceremony will begin. Empress Nuharoo has already declined to go. Emperor Tung Chih is also excused, for the weather is too cold. You will be the only one to represent the family and perform the farewell ceremony at the tomb site. The person to escort you will be Commander Yung Lu!” He paused, staring at me with his eyes glowing in excitement. “The journey to the tomb,” he whispered, “is long and lonely. But it can be made pleasant, my lady.”
I went to Nuharoo to confirm what An-te-hai had told me. I begged her to change her mind and go with me to the tomb. She refused, claiming she was busy with her new hobby, collecting European crystal. “Look how fascinating these crystal trees are.” She pointed to a roomful of glittering objects-shoulder-high glass trees, knee- high glass bushes with bells hung all over. Case after case and pot after pot were filled with glass flowers. From the ceiling silver-colored glass balls hung, replacing the Chinese lanterns. Nuharoo insisted that I pick one of the pieces to hang in my palace. I knew I wouldn’t hang it on my wall or in my garden. What I wanted was to have my fish and birds back. I wanted to have peacocks greet me every morning and pigeons flying around my roof with whistles and bells tied to their ankles. I had already begun the restoration of my garden, and An-te-hai had started training the new parrots. He had named them after their predecessors: Scholar, Poet, Tang Priest and Confucius. He paid a craftsman to carve a wooden owl, which he slyly named Su Shun.
I returned to my palace red-cheeked from walking in the snow. I had never felt so vulnerable. Something that should not happen, I desired to happen. I couldn’t put my feelings into perspective. I was afraid to face my own thoughts. All night long I had tried to push the odd images out of my head. I was on top of a cliff. One step and I would fall, and my son would be forced to award me a rope. My heart looked forward to what might happen on the way to the tomb, but my head dragged me back to my son.
My thoughts made the trip a long one. I was filled with anxiety and desperation. Yung Lu kept himself out of my sight even when we stopped at the mansions of provincial governors for the night. He sent his soldiers to attend to me, and asked to be excused when I requested his presence.
I was hurt. If we knew that we liked each other and were forbidden from ever pursuing a relationship, it would be easier on both of us to acknowledge our feelings. We might be able to turn the situation to some good or at least relax our guard. I understood that speaking of such emotions would be hard, but sharing pain was all we could achieve.
I was frustrated that I had not been given a chance to express my gratitude and admiration for him. After all, he had saved my life. I resented his distance and felt it strange that he so diminished his role in my rescue. He made it clear to me that if it had been Nuharoo in the jute sack, he would have behaved no differently. After his promotion, he returned a
