But before I left the Forbidden City, I walked down towards the western side gate and turned into the little haunted alley. I hadn’t been in there for a long time, but down the years I had always kept my secret store of silver under the stone there, just in case I should ever have need of it. Indeed, I’d added to it from time to time.
“Good evening, my lady,” I said to the ghost, just in case she should be there. Then I prized up the stone and removed the little cache of silver coins. But before putting the stone back, I placed a single coin under it.
“Thank you for protecting my fortune, honored lady,” I said. “I have left you a coin just in case you should ever have need of it.”
Then I went on my way. And I think she was pleased, for had she thought it was not enough, I’m sure she would have let me know.
◦
In the years that followed, one might have said that the arrangements Cixi made for the succession collapsed. At the time of what we now call the revolution, the little boy king was removed from the throne and Dr. Sun Yat-sen was elected president. But that didn’t last long, either. Then General Yuan took over and tried to found a new dynasty. But no one wanted that, and soon the republic dissolved into scores of little territories under the control of local warlords.
That was when I remembered Cixi’s words to me about history. “Nothing is new.” China’s history is long. The pattern takes new forms, but in essence it is always the same. A dynasty slowly degenerates. Outsiders encroach. Insiders rebel. The Mandate of Heaven is withdrawn. The dynasty falls. A period of chaos and warlords follows. Finally order is restored by a new dynasty, usually from inside. The old empire rises again for a few more centuries.
She might not have been pleased by the course of events, but she would have hardly been surprised.
◦
For me personally, there still remained one small piece of business to attend to. It was for this business I needed those books from the emperor’s palace.
For shortly before the Boxer Rebellion I had made the acquaintance of a rather strange Englishman, a Chinese scholar, who would do anything for books, if they were rare and valuable. And I needed him to do something for me.
His name was Edmund Backhouse.
When I asked him to visit me and showed him the books I’d taken, he was very pleased.
“I should very much like them for my collection,” he said. “What do you want for them?”
“No money,” I said. “A service.” And I told him what I needed. “Do you think you can do it?” I asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said. I think he was quite amused by the challenge. “Where do I find him?”
The Temple of Prosperity was an old monastery dating back to the Ming dynasty, just outside the walls of the Forbidden City. It was really the nicest place you could end your days if you were a palace person. You could come and go as you liked, but you had comfortable quarters and the monks looked after you. The other residents were former eunuchs like yourself, so everyone felt comfortable in one another’s company. But you had to be rich to get in there.
They lived a very dignified life, I must say. I’d have been glad to go there myself, if I didn’t have another life.
“He’s in the Temple of Prosperity,” I told Backhouse. “But that’s all I know. You’ll have to do the rest. I suppose you could say you’re compiling a history or something like that, and ask if he’d talk to you.”
“I often do that sort of thing,” he replied.
“Well, good luck, then,” I said. “When you’ve something to tell me, come here after dark, and make sure you’re not followed.”
—
I had to wait only ten days before Backhouse arrived at my house one night.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d have come sooner, but he was such a mine of information that I visited seven times before I did the deed. Then I said my final goodbye and gave him a present as thanks, and we parted as friends. With a bit of luck he may not even realize what’s missing for a while.”
“You’ve got them, then?”
“Of course.” He produced a jar.
And I found myself looking at the tiny sexual organs of the boy who became Mr. Liu.
“It took me a while to discover where he kept them, but it just came out naturally when he was discussing the whole procedure he went through. They were on a shelf behind a little votive Buddha.”
“Here are the books,” I said. “Can you take them now? And after this, we’d better not meet for a while.”
—
It took a couple of days for Mr. Liu to discover his terrible loss. Naturally, he supposed it must be someone in the monastery, and he tried to think of anyone who might be his enemy there. It turned out there were quite a few. It’s always like that in monasteries, I think.
It was only gradually that his thoughts turned to Backhouse. But why would Backhouse want to do such a thing? That was what Backhouse himself asked the police when they came to see him.
“You’re most welcome to search my little house,” he said. “But I don’t think my stealing Mr. Liu’s balls, especially when we had such cordial and interesting conversations, makes much sense.” And although the police did look around his rooms, it was pretty clear that they couldn’t see why he’d have done such a thing, either.
Meanwhile, I waited. I waited three months. I suppose he went from one person he’d bullied or cheated after another, but even so, I was surprised he took so long to come to me.
But there he was, one afternoon, speaking to a servant at the street door, asking to
