The Last Empress

objects. I had soon lost interest in them, but Guang-hsu never tired of their sounds and tried to figure out what made the clocks 'sing.'

One afternoon Li Lien-ying came to me, a terrified look on his face. 'His Young Majesty has destroyed the grand clocks!'

'Which ones?' I asked.

'The Emperor Hsien Feng Clock and the Tung Chih Clock!'

I went to check and found that the clocks had been taken apart, the tiny pieces scattered over the table like chewed-up chicken bones.

'I trust that you have a plan to put the clocks back together,' I said to Guang-hsu.

'What if I can't?' Guang-hsu asked, holding a small screwdriver in his hand.

'I will give you credit for trying,' I encouraged.

'Would you be mad if your favorite bird clock no longer sings?'

'Well, I can't say I would be happy, but a clock expert must learn to put the broken parts together too.'

15

Yung Lu stood before me in his purple satin court robe. My heart's ice began to melt in the spring sun. Like ghost lovers, our meeting places had been in our dreams. At dawn we would slip back into our human skin, but the dreams continued. In my costumes and makeup, I would imagine my head against his chest and my hands feeling his warmth. I walked the steps of a gracious empress, yet I felt the passion of a village girl.

I had no one to share my thoughts of Yung Lu after An-te-hai's death. When I turned forty, I accepted the fact that Yung Lu and I would not consummate our passion. We lived under the eyes of our nation. Newspapers and magazines made their living selling gossip about us.

There was nowhere Yung Lu and I could be with each other without exposing ourselves. The money offered for information about my private life tempted eunuchs, maids and the lowest-ranking servants to lurk, to pry, to tell tales.

Yet moments like this reminded me of how impossible it was to deny my love. My emotions found a home in Yung Lu's presence. The look in his eyes rescued me from fear and prevented me from falling into self-destructive thoughts. Whatever misery I was experiencing, he assured me that he was with me. At audiences and court I relied on his judgment and support. He was my harshest and most honest critic, guiding me to see all sides of whatever issue was before me. But once I had made a decision, he saw to it that my orders were carried out.

'What is it?' I asked.

'I…' His expression was of a reluctant executioner. He gathered his breath and pushed the words out of his chest. 'I… am going to get married.'

I resisted the feelings that assaulted me. Making a tremendous effort, I pressed back my tears.

'You don't need my permission,' I managed to say.

'That is not why I am here.' His voice was low but clear.

'Why are you here, then?' I turned to look at him, angry and terrified.

'I request your permission to move away,' he said quietly.

'What does that have to do with-' I stopped, because I understood.

'My family will go with me,' he added. 'Where are you going?' I heard myself ask.

'Sinkiang.' Sinkiang was in the far northwest, a Moslem state, a remote desert region, as far from the capital as could be.

I didn't mean to break down, but I began to lose control. 'Do you really think that I can survive without you?'

He stood in silence.

'You know who I am. You know what I am made of, and you know the reason I show up every morning for audiences.'

'Your Majesty, please…'

'I want… to be informed that you are safe so that I will be able to rest.'

'Nothing has changed.'

'But you are leaving!'

'I will write letters. I promise…'

'How? Sinkiang is impossible to reach.'

'It will not be easy, Your Majesty. But… it will be good for you if I leave,' he insisted.

'Convince me.'

He glanced around the room. Although the eunuchs and maids had made themselves unseen, they were not gone. We could hear their movements in the courtyard.

'Moslems have led uprisings, Your Majesty. The province is full of unrest. Our troops now have it under control, but just barely. In the most recent crisis, large groups of rebels have been gathering along the border of Gansu province.'

'Why do you have to go to the frontier yourself? Isn't the capital more important?'

He did not answer.

'Nuharoo and I can't do without you.'

'My men are already scheduled to depart, Your Majesty.'

'Self-imposed exile, that's what it is!'

He stared straight at me.

'You don't care that I have lost my son…' I shut my eyes, trying to press back the tears. My mind knew that he was doing the right thing.

'As I said, it will be good for the future,' he murmured.

'You will not have my permission.' I turned away from him.

I heard the sound of Yung Lu's knees hitting the floor. I wasn't able to look back at him.

'I'll get the court to support me, then.'

'What if I reject the court's decision?'

He got up and marched toward the door.

'Never mind, Yung Lu!' My tears ran down my cheeks. 'I… I will grant you permission.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty.'

I sat down on my chair. My handkerchief was brown and black with smeared makeup.

'Why does it have to be Sinkiang?' I asked. 'It is a harsh land of sickness and death. It is a place ruled by religious fanatics. Where will you get a doctor if you become ill? Where will you get help if you lose a battle to the Moslems? Where will you station your reserve troops? Who is in charge of your supply lines? How will you possibly keep me informed?'

She was a Manchu but had the Han name of Willow. She treated her eunuchs and maids as if they were her own family. That alone told me she was not of the royal bloodline. A royal would treat her eunuchs and maids as slaves. She was Yung Lu's young bride. Mrs. Yung Lu-my tongue was yet to get used to Willow-was in her late twenties. The age difference caused whispers; Yung Lu was old enough to be her father. But Willow kept smiling and her lips remained sealed. For her wedding she wore a light blue silk gown embroidered with water hibiscuses. Like her name, she had a slender figure and moved gracefully.

I was glad Nuharoo made an excuse not to attend the wedding. Her dominance would have distracted me from observing the celebration, especially the newlyweds.

When Yung Lu introduced his bride to me, she couldn't have been any sweeter. She took a bold look at me, which surprised me. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Many years later, after we became friends and after her husband's death, Willow would tell me that she knew the truth all along-Yung Lu had never hid it from her, which made her an extraordinary character in my eyes. She was the daughter of a warlord friend of Yung Lu's, the leader of a Mongol tribe. Yung Lu's exploits had repeatedly been the topic at the family's table when she was growing up. Whenever Yung Lu visited her father, young Willow