Empress Orchid (11 page)

The sun shifted. The flat rock was now in shade. The garden was warm and comfortable. I noticed my reflection in the water. My cheeks were the color of a peach flower, and my hair reflected the light.

I tried to block my mind from traveling further. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by picturing my future. But I knew that I envied the pair of moths and the turtles. My youth told me that I couldn’t extinguish my desire, just as I couldn’t force the sun not to shine or the wind not to blow.

Afternoon came. A rickety cart dragged by a donkey appeared in my view. It was a rusty water cart. An old man with a whip walked behind it. There was a little yellow flag on top of the giant wooden cask. The old man was coming to fill the water jars in my palace. According to
An-te-hai, the water cart was over fifty years old. It had served since Emperor Chien Lung. To procure the best spring water, the Emperor had ordered experts to come to Peking to study and compare the quality of water samples gathered from springs across the country. The Emperor had personally conducted the measuring and weighing of the water, and he had analyzed the mineral content of each sample.

The water from Jade Mountain Spring was given the highest rating. From then on, the spring was set aside for the exclusive use of residents of the Forbidden City. The gates of Peking closed by ten at night, and nothing was allowed to pass through except the water cart with the little yellow flag. The donkey traveled in the center of the boulevard. It was said that even a prince on a horse had to make way for the donkey.

I watched the water man finish his task and then disappear behind the gate. I listened to the fading sound of the donkey’s steps. I felt sucked back into the darkness. Misery settled in like wetness from the rainy season.

The next time I opened the silkworm box, I found the moths gone. In their place were hundreds of brownish dots all over the straw.

“The babies! The moths’ babies!” I cried like a crazy woman.

Another week passed and there was no news. No one visited me either. The silence around my palace grew enormous. When Snow came to my arms I was moved to tears. As the day went on, I fed the cat, bathed and played with her until I was bored. I read books and copied more poems from ancient times. I began to paint too. The paintings reflected my mood. They were always of a single tree in the landscape, or one blossom in a vast field of snow.

Finally, on the fifty-eighth day after my arrival in the Forbidden City, Emperor Hsien Feng summoned me. I could hardly believe my ears when An-te-hai brought me His Majesty’s invitation, asking me to join him at an opera.

I studied the invitation. Hsien Feng’s signature and stamp were grand and beautiful. I kept the card under my pillow and touched it over and over before I went to sleep. The next morning I got up before dawn. I sat through the makeup and dressing ritual feeling alive and excited. I imagined myself being appreciated by His Majesty. By sunrise everything was set. I prayed that my beauty would bring me luck.

An-te-hai told me that Emperor Hsien Feng would send a palanquin. I waited, burning with anxiety. An-te-hai described where I would be going and whom I would be meeting. He pointed out that
theatrical performances had been a favorite royal pastime for generations. They had been most popular during the early Ch’ing Dynasty, in the 1600s. Grand stages were built in royal villas. In the Summer Palace alone, where I would be going today, there were four stages. The grandest one was three stories high. It was called the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage.

According to An-te-hai, performances were held each Lunar New Year’s Day and on the birthdays of the Emperor and Empress. The performances were never less than extravaganzas, usually lasting from early morning till late into the night. The Emperor invited princes and high officials, and it was considered a great honor to be asked. On the eightieth birthday of Emperor Chien Lung, ten operas were performed. The most popular performance was
The Monkey King.
The character of Monkey had been adapted from a classic Ming Dynasty novel. The Emperor loved the opera so much that he exhausted every variation of the story. It was the longest opera ever produced, lasting ten days. The presentation of an imaginary Heaven mirroring humanity’s earthbound existence cast a spell over the audience, not broken until the very end. Even then, it was said that some desired the troupe to immediately repeat certain scenes.

I asked An-te-hai if those in the royal family were truly knowledgeable or merely enthusiastic fans.

“Most of them, I would say, have been false experts,” he replied, “except Emperor Kang Hsi, Hsien Feng’s great-great-grandfather. According to the book of records, Kang Hsi oversaw scripts and musical scores, and Chien Lung supervised the writing of quite a few librettos. Most people, however, come for the food and the privilege of sitting with His Majesty. Of course it is always important to demonstrate a cultured sensibility. It is fashionable to exhibit one’s taste in a culture of delicacy.”

“Would anyone dare to show off his knowledge with the Emperor present?” I asked.

“There is always one who doesn’t understand that others will consider him a ringdove doing a somersault—showing his fancy behind.”

An-te-hai told a story to give me an example. It took place in the Forbidden City during the reign of Emperor Yung Cheng. The Emperor was enjoying a performance, a story about a small-town governor who overcame his weakness and set his spoiled son straight by punishing him. The actor who played the governor was so accomplished that the Emperor granted him a private audience after the per-
formance. The man was rewarded with taels and gifts, and His Majesty was lavish with his praise. The actor got carried away and asked if His Majesty knew the real name of the governor in history.

“‘How dare you ask questions!’” An-te-hai mimicked the Emperor, his right hand giving a flourish to an imaginary dragon robe. “‘Have you forgotten who you are? If I allow myself to be challenged by a beggar like you, how would I run the country?’” An edict was issued and the actor was dragged out and beaten to death in his costume.

The story made me see the true face of the splendid Forbidden City. I doubted that the execution of the foolish actor benefited the image of His Majesty. Such punishment achieved nothing but terror, and terror only increased the distance between the Emperor and the hearts of his people. Terror would bring him the greatest loss in the end. Who would stay with you down the road if all you were known for was instilling fear?

In retrospect, the story must have influenced my actions in a rather minor incident that occurred during my reign, an incident of which I was particularly proud. I was seated in the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage celebrating my sixtieth birthday. The opera was called
The Yu-Tang Hall.
The renowned actor Mr. Chen Yi-chew was playing the character Miss Shoo. He was singing,
Coming to the judge’s hall I look up / On both sides stand executioners carrying arm’s-length knives / I am like a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth …
But at the word “sheep” Chen suddenly stopped. He realized that my birth sign was a sheep, and that if he went on to finish his line, others might think that he was cursing me. Chen tried to swallow the word, but it was too late—everybody had already heard it, for it was a famous opera and the lyrics were well known. The poor man attempted to rescue himself by manipulating the syllable “sheep.” He dragged his voice and held the tail sound until he completely exhausted his breath. The orchestra was confused and the drummers beat their instruments to cover the flaw. Then Chen Yi-chew proved himself to be a veteran of the stage—he came up with a line on the spot, which replaced “a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth” with “a fish ending up in the fisherman’s net.”

Before the court had a chance to report that an “accident” had taken place and the actor must be punished, I praised Chen for his brilliance. Of course nobody mentioned the changing of the lyrics. In memory of my kindness, the artist decided to keep the new line forever in his text. In today’s
Yu-Tang Hall
you will find “a fish ending up in the fisherman’s net” instead of “a sheep finding herself in a lion’s mouth.”

• • •

As we continued to wait for His Majesty’s palanquin, I asked An-te-hai what type of opera was popular in the Forbidden City.

“The Peking opera.” An-te-hai’s eyes brightened. “Its main melodies have been drawn from the
Kun
and
Yiyang
operas. Each emperor or empress has had his or her favorite. Opera styles evolve over time, but the librettos remain mostly
Kun.
”

I asked him what the royal family’s favorite operas were and hoped that there would be one I knew.

“
Romance of the Spring and Autumn.
” An-te-hai counted with his fingers. “
The Beauty from Shang Dynasty, Literature of Peacetime, A Boy Wonder Who Wins the Imperial Examination, The Battle of Iron Bannermen
…” He named close to thirty operas.

I asked An-te-hai which one might be performed today. His guess was
The Battle of Iron Bannermen.
“It is Emperor Hsien Feng’s favorite,” he explained. “His Majesty doesn’t care much for classics. He thinks they’re boring. He prefers those that contain lots of martial-arts and acrobatic skills.”

“Does the Grand Empress enjoy the same?”

“Oh, no. Her Majesty favors stylized voices and star actors. She takes opera lessons herself and is considered an expert. There is a possibility that Emperor Hsien Feng will be in the mood to please his mother. I have heard that Nuharoo has worked him toward thoughts of piety. His Majesty might order the troupe to play the Grand Empress’s favorite,
Happy Time for Ten Thousand Years.
”

An-te-hai’s mention of Nuharoo with Emperor Hsien Feng stirred my thoughts and roused my jealousy. I didn’t like myself to be small-hearted, but I couldn’t help my feelings. I wondered how other concubines were coping with their envy. Had they shared the bed with Hsien Feng yet?

“Tell me about your dreams, An-te-hai.” I sat down. I had a sudden realization that the road to salvation was inaccessible. Despair seeped through me. I felt I had been pushed into a sealed room where my breathing became difficult. It was not true that I would be happy once my stomach was full. I couldn’t escape who I was, a woman who sensed that she lived to love. Being an Imperial wife offered me everything but that.

The eunuch threw himself on the floor and begged for forgiveness. “You are upset, my lady, I can tell. Have I said something wrong? Punish me, for anger will ruin Your Majesty’s health.”

The feeling of an underdog came over me. My frustration turned into sadness. Where would I go from here?
But I still want to try to grow
tomatoes in August, although it is too late,
a voice inside my head sang.

“You have said nothing wrong,” I said to An-te-hai. “Now let’s hear your dreams.”

After he made sure that I was not upset with him, the eunuch began. “I have two dreams, my lady. But the chance of realizing them is like catching a live fish in boiling water.”

“Describe the dreams.”

“My first dream is to get my member back.”

“Member?”

“I know exactly who owns my penis and where he stores it,” An-te-hai said. As he spoke, he turned into a young man I had never seen. His eyes were full of light and his cheeks flushed. There was a strangeness to his voice. It was charged with hope and determination.

“The man who butchered me has collected a lot of penises. He keeps them in jars of preservative and hides them away. He is waiting for us to find success so he can sell the penises back to us for a fortune. I want to be buried in one piece when I die, my lady. All eunuchs do. If I don’t get buried in one piece, I will come back handicapped in the next life.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“What about your other dream?”

“My other dream is to honor my parents. I want to show them that I have succeeded. My parents have fourteen children. Eight of them died of hunger. My grandmother, who raised me, never had a full meal in her life. I don’t know if I will ever see her again … She is very sick and I miss her terribly.” An-te-hai made an effort to smile while trying to hold back his tears. “You see, my lady, I am a squirrel with a dragon’s ambition.”

“That’s what I like about you, An-te-hai. I wish my brother Kuei Hsiang had your kind of ambition.”

“I am flattered, my lady.”

“I suppose you know my dream by now,” I said.

“A little, my lady. I dare to admit that.”

“It seems as unreachable as yours, doesn’t it?”

“Patience and faith, my lady.”

“But Emperor Hsien Feng hasn’t called me to his bed. And I am beyond pain and shame.” I didn’t bother to wipe my tears, which were streaming down my cheeks. “I have made my way into the Forbidden City, but it feels like there’s never been a greater distance between my bed and His Majesty’s. I don’t know what to do.”

“You are getting thinner each day, my lady. It hurts me to see you pushing your dinner away.”

“An-te-hai, tell me, what do you see me turning into?”

“Isn’t it a blossoming peony, my lady?”

“It was. But I am withering, and soon spring will vanish and the peony will be dead.”

“There is another way to look at it, my lady.”

“Show me.”

“Well, to me, you are no dead flower but rather a camel.”

“Camel?”

“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘A dead camel is bigger than a live horse’?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you still have a better chance than the smaller people.”

“But the truth is that I have nothing.”

“You have me.” On his knees, he came near. He raised his eyes and stared at me.

“You? What can you do?”

“I can find out which concubines have shared the bed with His Majesty and how they got there.”

THE FIRST THING that caught my eye at the Grand Changyi Magnificent-Sound Stage was not Emperor Hsien Feng, or his guests, or the fabulous opera sets and actors in costume. It was the diadem on Nuharoo’s head, which was made of pearls, coral and kingfisher feathers in the pattern of the character
shou,
longevity. I had to look away in order to keep the smile on my face.

I was ushered through a heavily guarded gate and hallway and then entered the open theater, which was in a courtyard. The seats were already filled. The audience dressed magnificently. Eunuchs and ladies in waiting walked up and down the aisles carrying teapots, cups and food trays. The opera had begun, gongs and chimes rang out, but the crowd had not quieted down. Later I would learn that it was customary for the audience to continue talking during the performance. I found this distracting, but it was the Imperial tradition.

I looked around. Emperor Hsien Feng was sitting next to Nuharoo in the center of the first row. Both he and Nuharoo were in Imperial yellow silk robes embroidered with dragon and phoenix motifs. His diadem was crowned by a large Manchurian pearl, and it had a silver inlay of trapped ribbons and tassels. His chin strap was made of sable.

Hsien Feng watched the performance with great interest. Nuharoo sat elegantly, but her attention was not on the stage. She glanced around without turning her neck. On her right side sat our mother-in-law, the Grand Empress. She was in a vermilion silk robe embroidered with blue and purple butterflies. The Grand Empress’s makeup was
more dramatic than that of the actors onstage. Her eyebrows were painted so dark and thick that they looked like two pieces of charcoal. Her jaws rocked from side to side as she chewed nuts. Her painted red mouth reminded me of a spoiled persimmon. Like a broom, her eyes swept back and forth over the audience. Behind her were the Imperial daughters-in-law, Ladies Yun, Li, Mei and Hui. All gorgeously dressed, they sat stone-faced. In the back and on the sides sat the royal princes, their families and other guests.

Chief Eunuch Shim came to greet me. I apologized for being late, even though it was not my fault—the palanquin had failed to arrive on time. He told me that as long as I made it to my seat without disturbing my husband and mother-in-law, I would be all right. “His Majesty never truly demands his concubines’ presence,” Shim said. It made me realize with crushing disappointment that I was only there out of formality.

Chief Eunuch Shim helped me into my seat between Lady Li and Lady Mei. I apologized for distracting them, and they politely returned my bows, saying nothing.

We turned our attention to the opera. It was called
The Three Battles Between the Monkey King and the White Fox.
I was struck by the talent of the actors, who Lady Mei told me were eunuchs. I was especially taken by the White Fox. “Her” voice was unique and beautiful and “her” dancing so sensuous that I forgot that she was a he. To attain this level of skill and flexibility the actors must have started their training when they were young children.

The performance was reaching its moment of action. The monkeys displayed their acrobatic skills. Spinning and somersaulting, the Monkey King executed a flip over the smaller monkeys’ shoulders. At the end he threw himself high into the air and then landed smoothly on a tree branch, a prop made of painted wood.

The crowd cheered.

The Monkey King hopped onto a cloud, a board hung from the ceiling by ropes. A large white cloth, which represented the heavenly waterfall, was thrown up, the cloud was lifted, and the actor made his exit.

“
Shang! Tip him! Shang!
” Emperor Hsien Feng clapped and yelled.

The crowd followed, shouting, “Shang! Shang!! Shang!!!”

Hsien Feng’s head rocked like a merchant’s drum. With each beat of the gong he kicked his feet, laughing. “Excellent!” he shouted, pointing at the actors. “You’ve got balls! Great balls!”

Plates of nuts and seasonal dishes were passed by the Grand Em-
press. Not having eaten since the previous evening, I helped myself to berry buns, dates, sweet beans and nuts. I seemed to be the only lady who truly enjoyed the opera besides the Grand Empress. The rest of the ladies looked bored. Nuharoo struggled to appear interested. Lady Li yawned and Lady Mei chatted with Lady Hui.

As if to rouse her daughters-in-law, the Grand Empress handed out paper fans.

We got up and bowed in Her Majesty’s direction and then sat back down and opened our fans.

It was time for the action scene. The monkeys were led by their king on all fours as they circled their enemy, the dying White Fox, who sang to the audience:

The audience clapped at the singing, and Lady Yun got up. I assumed she needed to go to the chamber pot. But something about her movement caught my eye. She was twisting her bottom, and her belly seemed slightly swollen.

She’s pregnant! Nuharoo, Li, Mei, Hui and the others all uttered the same phrase.

After a hard stare, Nuharoo turned away. She picked up her fan and rocked her wrist ferociously. The rest of the Imperial wives did the same.

My mood turned dark. Nuharoo’s diadem and Lady Yun’s belly were like two burning rods stuck in my skin.

Emperor Hsien Feng did not even bother to say hello to me. He got up and left at intermission. I watched him exit, followed by eunuchs and ladies in waiting carrying washbasins, spittoons, fans, cracker dishes, soup pots and trays.

Chief Eunuch Shim told us that our husband would be back shortly. We waited, but His Majesty did not return. The crowd turned its attention back to the opera. My mind was like a pot boiling with dead thoughts. I sat till the end, my ears buzzing with the sound of drums.

The Grand Empress was pleased with the performance. “This is much better than the original
Monkey King
!” she said to the troupe leader. “The old version put me to sleep. But this one made me laugh and cry.” She praised the acting and told Shim to loosen his money belt.

Her Majesty asked to meet with the leading actors, the young men who played the Monkey King and the White Fox. The actors came from backstage with their makeup still on. Their faces looked like they had been dipped in soy sauce.

The Grand Empress ignored the Monkey King and talked to the White Fox effusively. “I love your voice.” She produced a bag of taels and placed it in his hands. “It makes me drunk with happiness.” She held his hand and wouldn’t let go. “A true songbird. My songbird!” She stared at the actor with the eyes of a young lover, murmuring, “Beautiful boy! Lovely creature!”

The actor was only average-looking, in my opinion, although I greatly admired his singing and dancing. His White Fox possessed the essence of feminine beauty. I had never seen a man playing a woman so poetically. It was amazing what art could do, for the Grand Empress was known as a eunuch-hater.

The Grand Empress turned to us. “How did you enjoy the opera?”

We got the hint: it was time to offer our share. The Imperial wives and concubines, myself included, reached into the small string bags we all carried.

The actors kowtowed and retreated.

Her Majesty rose from her seat, and we understood that it was time to depart.

We got down on our knees and said, “Until next time, we wish you a peaceful season!”

Our mother-in-law marched out without a nod.

“The Imperial palanquins walking!” Chief Eunuch Shim called, and the bearers came with our chairs.

We bowed to Nuharoo and then to each other in silence.

The curtain of my palanquin was put down. I fought hard with my bitterness and was ashamed of my weakness. It did no good when I told myself that it had been my choice to enter the Forbidden City, and that I had no right to complain or feel miserable.

An-te-hai’s image appeared in the mirror as I was taking off my makeup. He asked if I needed my dresser to help me undress. Before I could reply, he said that he could assist me if I didn’t mind.

I let him.

An-te-hai picked up a comb and carefully began to loosen the ornaments in my hair.

“My lady, would you care to go to the east garden tomorrow?” he asked. “I have discovered some interesting plants …”

I stopped him because I could feel my anger looking for an outlet.

An-te-hai closed his mouth. His fingers worked steadily through my hair. He pulled out a jade flower and then took off my diamond necklace. He set the pieces on the dressing table one after another.

Unable to bear my feelings, I started to weep.

“The knowing mind is powerful enough to rescue one from disaster,” An-te-hai said quietly as if to himself.

The dam inside me broke and the angry water surged. “But for me, knowing is hurting.”

“Hurting is the beginning of healing, my lady.”

“Go ahead and deepen my wound, An-te-hai. The truth is that I have failed utterly.”

“No lady in this place can make things happen without paying a price.”

“Nuharoo did, and so did Lady Yun!”

“But it is not the whole truth, my lady. Your perspective needs adjusting.”

“What perspective are you talking about? My life has been uprooted by a tornado, I have been thrown into the air, and now I’m crashing. What can I do but give up?”

An-te-hai stared at me in the mirror. “Nothing, my lady, nothing is more terrible than giving up.”

“How will I go on, then?”

“By studying the way the tornado runs its course.” He picked up a brush and resumed combing my hair.

“What course?”

“A tornado is at its strongest around the edges.” The eunuch held up my hair with one hand and brushed it in a quick motion with the other. “The wind has the strength to lift cows and carriages and fling them back to earth. But the center of the tornado is quiet …” He stopped, and his eyes traced the length of my hair. “Beautiful hair, my lady. It is silky black, which promises strong health. This is hope in its most basic sense.”

“What about the tornado?”

“Oh, the tornado, yes, the quiet center. It is relatively still. This is
where you should be, my lady. You must avoid certain paths where you know opportunities are few, and concentrate on creating new paths where no one has walked and where thorns are seemingly thick.”

“You have been thinking well, An-te-hai,” I said.

“Thank you, my lady. I have thought of a way for you to create a real-life opera, with yourself as the leading lady.”

“Let me hear it, An-te-hai.”

Like an advisor offering his strategy to a general, An-te-hai revealed his plan. It was simple but seemed promising. I would perform an Imperial ceremony of sacrifice—a duty that belonged to Emperor Hsien Feng.

“I think you should go and perform in His Majesty’s name, my lady,” An-te-hai said, closing my ornament boxes. He sat down and faced me. “The sacrifice will add to His Majesty’s piety and serve him well in Heaven.”

“Are you sure that this is what His Majesty desires?”

“Positive,” the eunuch replied. “Not only His Majesty but also the Grand Empress.”

An-te-hai explained that the dates on which the Imperial ancestors had to be honored were numerous and the royal family was behind schedule. “His Majesty rarely has the energy to attend the ceremonies.”

“Have the Grand Empress and the other concubines done so?”

“They have, but they have no interest in doing it every year. Emperor Hsien Feng is afraid of upsetting his ancestors, so he has asked Chief Shim to send Nuharoo and Lady Yun. But they have refused his request with excuses of poor health.”

“Why didn’t Chief Shim send me?”

“Well, he doesn’t want to give you any opportunity to please His Majesty.”

“I have tried my best to please him!”

“Well, it is your right to perform the ceremony for your husband.”

“Prepare my palanquin first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Wait, An-te-hai. How will the Emperor learn of my act?”

“The eunuch in charge of the temple will take down your name. It is his duty to inform His Majesty every time someone pays respect to his ancestors on his behalf.”

I had no knowledge of how to honor the Imperial ancestors. According to An-te-hai, all I had to do was to throw myself on the ground and
bow toward various portraits and stone statues. It didn’t sound challenging.

Next dawn I rode in the palanquin with An-te-hai walking beside me. We went through the Lodge of Fresh Fragrance and then the Gate of Spiritual Valor. Within an hour, we arrived at the Temple of Eternal Peace. In front of me was a spacious building with hundreds of birds nesting under its eaves.

I was received by a young monk who was also a eunuch. He was red-cheeked and had a mole between his eyebrows. An-te-hai announced my name and title, and the monk brought out a large record book. He took up a brush pen, dipped it in ink and wrote my name in block style in the book.

I was guided into the temple. After we passed a few arched doorways the monk said that he had some business to take care of and disappeared behind a row of columns. An-te-hai followed him.

I looked around. The giant hall, several stories high, was filled with gold-colored statues. Everything was painted in shades of gold. There were temples inside the temple. The small temples matched the design of the main one.

A senior monk appeared from a side arch. He had a snow-white beard that nearly reached his knees. Without speaking, he gave me a bottle filled with incense sticks. I followed him to a series of altars.

I lit the incense, got down on my knees and bowed to the various statues. I had no idea which ancestor I was worshiping. Moving through the temple, I repeated the act over and over. After paying homage to a dozen ancestors, I was tired. The monk sat in the corner with his eyes closed. He chanted with one hand tapping his chanting instrument, a
mooyu,
or wooden fish. His other hand fumbled with a string of prayer beads. His toneless chant reminded me of the professional mourner we had hired in the village for funerals.