Empress Orchid (33 page)

I examined Prince Yee’s record particularly. He was the only relative to whom Hsien Feng had entrusted power. Su Shun must have whispered into the Emperor’s ear, but why? Prince Yee’s Imperial blood, I thought. Su Shun needed Yee to mask his evil intentions.

The next day, the regents, whom Nuharoo called the “Gang of Eight,” visited the two of us. It was plain that Su Shun held the keys to the gang’s thinking. At the reception, business was avoided. It seemed that Tung Chih’s schooling and care were enough responsibility for us. The gang proposed to lift our burden by sparing us from the court’s affairs, to which Nuharoo foolishly expressed appreciation.

Su Shun was the last to arrive. He said that he had been extremely busy with events on the frontier. I asked if he had heard anything from Prince Kung. He replied in the negative. He was lying. An-te-hai had re-
ported that Prince Kung had sent four urgent documents for approval, none of which received attention.

I confronted Su Shun regarding the documents. He first denied having ever received them. Upon my suggestion that we summon Prince Kung, he admitted that the documents had been misplaced somewhere in his office. He asked me not to bother with matters I had nothing to do with. He emphasized that my interest in the court’s business was “an act of disrespect to the deceased Emperor.”

I reminded Su Shun that no edicts would be valid without the two seals Nuharoo and I possessed. Whether Prince Kung’s requests were granted, denied or held, Nuharoo and I must be informed. I hinted to Su Shun that I was aware of what he had been doing: promoting and demoting provincial governors on his own.

As the days passed, the tension between Su Shun and me grew so intense that we had to avoid each other. I understood only too clearly that this was no way to run the nation. Su Shun had created and spread every rumor he could to paint an evil portrait of me. To isolate me, he tried to win over Nuharoo, and I could see it working. I was frustrated, because I couldn’t convince Nuharoo of Su Shun’s intentions.

Around this time, I noticed that I had been shedding hair. One day An-te-hai picked up some from the floor after the hairdresser had gone, and I became alarmed. Was this a symptom of some disease?

I hadn’t trimmed my hair since entering the Forbidden City, and it was knee-length now. Every morning the hairdresser came, and no matter how hard he brushed, my hair had never fallen out. Now his brush filled with bunches of it, as if he were carding wool. I never considered myself vain, but if this continued, I told myself, I would be bald before long.

An-te-hai suggested that I change hairdressers, and he recommended a talented young eunuch he’d heard about, Li Lien-ying. Li’s original name was Fourteen—his parents had so many children, they gave up on more traditional names. The name Li Lien-ying, meaning “a fine lotus leaf,” was given to him by a Buddhist after he was castrated. Buddhists believed that the lotus leaf was the seat of Kuan Ying, the goddess of mercy, who was originally a man but took the form of a woman. Kuan Ying was a favorite of mine, so I was inclined to like Li Lien-ying from the start.

I ended up keeping him. Like An-te-hai, Li was cheerful and kept his misery to himself. Unlike An-te-hai, he was scrawny and not hand-
some. He had a squash-shaped face, bumpy skin, goldfish eyes, a flat nose and sloped mouth. At first I couldn’t tell whether he was smiling or frowning. Despite his unlovely appearance, his sweetness won my heart.

An-te-hai loved to watch Li Lien-ying do my hair. Li knew an incredible number of styles: the goose tail, the tipping bird, the wheeling snake, the climbing vine. When he brushed, his hands were at once firm and gentle. Amazingly enough, I never found hair on the floor after he was through. He had worked wonders. I told An-te-hai I would take him on as an apprentice. An-te-hai taught him proper manners, and Li Lien-ying proved to be a fast learner.

Many years later, Li confessed that he had fooled me. “I hid Your Majesty’s lost hair inside my sleeves,” he said. He did not feel guilty, though; it was for my own good that he’d been deceitful. He thought that my hair loss was due to the stresses of my life and believed that I would heal in time. He was right. He was too young then to understand the risk he took in lying to me. “You could have been beheaded if I found out,” I said. He nodded and smiled. As it turned out, Li Lien-ying became my lifelong favorite after An-te-hai, and he served me for forty-some years.

A MESSAGE CAME from Prince Kung asking for permission to be in Jehol for the mourning ceremony. According to tradition, Prince Kung had to make an official request and the throne had to approve it. Although Kung was Tung Chih’s uncle, he was by rank a subordinate. The boy had become Emperor, and Prince Kung was his minister. To my astonishment, Prince Kung’s request was denied.

Household law forbade Hsien Feng’s widows to meet any male relative during the mourning period. Obviously Su Shun was behind this. He must have feared that his own power would be threatened.

Nuharoo and I were practically imprisoned in our quarters. I was not even allowed to take Tung Chih to visit the hot spring. Whenever I did step out, Chief Eunuch Shim followed. I felt that Prince Kung needed to know how things were going.

But Prince Kung simply withdrew his request. He had no choice but to do so. If he insisted on coming, Su Shun had the right to punish him for disobeying the Emperor’s will.

Nevertheless, I was disappointed that Prince Kung gave in so easily. I wouldn’t know until later that he sought another path. Like me, he viewed Su Shun as a danger. His feelings were shared and supported by many—clansmen, Imperial loyalists, reformers, scholars and students—who would rather see power in the hands of the liberal-minded Prince Kung than Su Shun.

• • •

Tung Chih expressed little interest when I told him stories of his ancestors. He couldn’t wait to finish a lesson so that he could be with Nuharoo, which made me jealous. I was becoming a tougher mother after his father’s death. Tung Chih couldn’t read a map of China, couldn’t even remember the names of most provinces. He was already a ruler, but his biggest interests were eating sugar-coated berries and fooling around. He had no idea what the real world was like and didn’t care to learn. Why should he when he was constantly made to feel that he was on top of the universe?

To the public, I promoted my five-year-old son as a genius who would lead the nation out of troubled waters. I had to do so in order to survive. The more people trusted the Emperor, the more stable the society. Hope was our currency. Behind closed doors, however, I pushed Tung Chih to live up to his role. He needed to rule on his own as soon as possible because Su Shun’s power would only continue to grow.

I tried to teach him how to conduct an audience, how to listen, what kinds of questions to ask, and most important, how to make decisions based on collective opinions, criticisms and ideas.

“You must learn from your advisors and ministers,” I warned, “because you are not—”

“Who I think I am.” Tung Chih cut at me. “In your eyes, I’m as good as a wet fart.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or slap his face. I did neither.

“Why do you never say ‘Yes, Your Majesty’ like everyone else?” my son asked.

I noticed that he had stopped calling me Mother. When he had to address me, he called me
Huang-ah-pa,
a formal name meaning “Imperial Mother.” But he called Nuharoo Mother, in a voice that was full of warmth and affection.

If Tung Chih had accepted my rules, I would have swallowed the insult, because all I desired was for him to be a fit ruler. He could interpret my intentions any way he wanted. My feelings would not be hurt even if he hated me at the beginning. I believed that he would thank me in the future.

But I underestimated the power of the environment. It was as if he were a piece of clay that had been molded and baked before I could touch it. Tung Chih scored poorly on his exams, and he had trouble concentrating. When his tutor shut him inside the library, he sent his eunuchs to Nuharoo, who came to his rescue. The tutor was punished
instead of the student. When I protested, Nuharoo reminded me of my lower status.

An-te-hai was the one who pointed out that what was going on had nothing to do with being a parent. “You are dealing with the Emperor of China, not your child, my lady,” he said. “It is the entire culture of the Forbidden City that you are up against.”

I hated the idea of tricking my son. But when honesty failed, what choice did I have left?

When Tung Chih brought me his unfinished homework, I no longer criticized him. In an even voice I told him that as long as he felt that he had done his best, it would be fine with me. He was relieved and felt less compelled to lie. Gradually Tung Chih became willing to spend time with me. I played “audience,” “court room” and “battles” with him. Carefully, quietly, I tried to influence him. The moment he detected my true motives, he ran away.

“There are people who try to make the Son of Heaven a fool,” Tung Chih once said in the middle of a game.

Nuharoo and the master tutor Chih Ming wanted Tung Chih to learn the exclusive “Emperor’s language.” They also designed the lessons so that Tung Chih would focus on Chinese rhetoric and ancient Tang poetry and Sung verses, “so he can speak elegantly.” When I opposed the idea and wanted to add science, math and basic military strategy, they were upset.

“It is considered prestigious to own a language,” Master Chih Ming explained with passion. “Only an emperor can afford it, and that is the point.”

“Why do you want to deprive our child?” Nuharoo asked me. “Hasn’t Tung Chih, as the Son of Heaven, been deprived enough?”

“It is a waste of time to learn a language that he can’t use to communicate,” I argued. “Tung Chih must be presented immediately with the truth about China! I am not concerned about how well he dresses, eats or says
Zhen
instead of
I.
” I suggested that Prince Kung’s letters and the drafts of treaties be Tung Chih’s texts. “The foreign troops will not leave China on their own accord. Tung Chih has to drive them out.”

“It is a terrible idea to do that to a child.” Nuharoo shook her head, making all the ornamental bells on her hair ring. “Tung Chih will be so frightened that he will never want to rule.”

“That’s why we are here to support him,” I said. “We work with him, so that he will learn the art of war by fighting the war.”

Nuharoo gave me a hard stare. “Yehonala, you are not asking me to
disobey the rules and to ignore our ancestors’ teachings, are you?”

I was heartbroken when I saw how my son was being taught to misread reality. He couldn’t distinguish fact from fantasy. The false notions packed into his little brain made him vulnerable. He believed that he could tell the sky when to rain and the sun when to shine.

Against Master Chih Ming’s advice, Nuharoo’s repeated interference and Tung Chih’s own inclination, I forced my way with my son, which drove him farther from me. I believed that this was of the utmost importance. In our “court” games Tung Chih played the Emperor and I his wicked minister. I mimicked Su Shun without using his name. I even took up Su Shun’s northern accent. I wanted to teach Tung Chih not to be intimidated by the enemy.

When the lessons were over, there was never a thank-you or a goodbye. When I opened my arms and said “I love you, son,” he brushed me away.

The ceremony marking Tung Chih’s official ascent to the throne began when Hsien Feng’s body was placed in its coffin. A decree was issued within the court to proclaim the new era, and Tung Chih was expected to issue a decree in honor of his mothers. As usual we received a lot of useless tributes and gifts.

I was aware that Su Shun had drafted this honor. But I was forbidden to learn what was written until the decree was announced. I was tense and nervous, but there was nothing I could do.

When the decree was announced, Nuharoo was honored as “the Empress of Great Benevolence Tzu An” and I as “the Empress of Holy Kindness Tzu Hsi.” To anyone who knew the subtleties of Chinese, the difference was obvious: “great benevolence” was more powerful than “holy kindness.” We may have both been honored as empresses of the same rank, but the message to the nation was that my position was not equal to Nuharoo’s.

The emphasis on her prestige over mine pleased Nuharoo. Although she had been the appointed Empress during Hsien Feng’s reign, that didn’t guarantee that she would hold the same title when the era changed. After all, I was the mother of the heir. The liability of my new title was that the nation was led to believe that Tung Chih considered Nuharoo above me—Su Shun got his way.

More alarming to me was that Su Shun had issued a decree again without obtaining both Nuharoo’s and my signature seals. Nuharoo didn’t want to raise the issue since she had what she desired. But to me
this was a violation of principle—Su Shun was failing to properly execute Emperor Hsien Feng’s will. I had every right to challenge the decree. However, if I fought, it would give Su Shun a chance to damage my relationship with Nuharoo.

I contemplated the situation and decided to stay where I was.

After the announcement of the honor, Nuharoo and I were to be treated equally. I moved from my quarters to the west wing of the Hall of Fantastic Haze, called the Western Chamber of Warmth, which prompted the ministers to call me the Empress of the Western Chamber. Nuharoo moved to the Eastern Chamber of Warmth, and thus she was known as the Empress of the Eastern Chamber.

On September 2, 1861, the first official decree was formally published. It announced the new era to the nation and the boy Emperor’s coming. The decree included the new Emperor’s honors to his mothers. The nation was given a ten-day holiday to celebrate.

As the country learned about Nuharoo and me, Su Shun convened the Board of Regents for an audience of his own. He demanded that from now on Nuharoo and I must stamp the decrees that he drafted, without question.

This time Su Shun also offended Nuharoo. An argument flared while Tung Chih and the entire court were present.

“Females stay out of the court’s business; that is the Imperial tradition.” Su Shun emphasized that it was for the country’s benefit that his administration bypass us. He created the impression that Nuharoo and I were responsible for slowing down the court’s procedures and that I, especially, was a troublemaker.

“If we are not to take part in the court’s business,” Nuharoo said to the audience, “then why did His Majesty Emperor Hsien Feng bother to place the seals in our hands?”

Before Su Shun got a chance to respond, I echoed Nuharoo. “Emperor Hsien Feng’s purpose was more than clear. The two grand seals represent a balanced judgment. His Majesty wanted us to work side by side. The seals are to prevent autocracy and”—I raised my voice, speaking as clearly as I could—“to avoid the possible tyranny of any single regent. The eight of you are wise men, so I don’t have to remind you of those terrible lessons of the past. I am sure none of you wants to model yourself after Ao Pai, who went down in history as a villain because he allowed his desire for power to corrupt his soul.” I glanced at Su Shun before concluding, “Empress Nuharoo and I have decided that
as long as we live, we will honor our commitment to our husband.”

Before the last word came out of my mouth, Su Shun stood up. His olive complexion had flushed a deep red. His eyes revealed great anger. “Originally I didn’t want to expose my private conversations with His Late Majesty, but you have left me with no choice, Lady Yehonala.” Su Shun walked toward his men and spoke loudly. “Emperor Hsien Feng had already seen through Lady Yehonala’s wickedness when he was alive. Several times he spoke with me about taking her with him. If she hadn’t taken advantage of His Majesty’s illness and manipulated him into changing his mind, we would be able to do our job today.”

“His Majesty should have insisted!” The Gang of Eight nodded.

I was so furious I couldn’t speak. I tried hard to hold in my tears.

Su Shun continued, his chest heaving. “One of the ancient sages of China foretold that China would be destroyed by a woman. I hope we do not hasten the day.”

Terrified by the expression on Su Shun’s face, Tung Chih jumped up from the throne. He threw himself first at Nuharoo and then at me.

“What’s wrong?” Tung Chih asked when he noticed that my arm was trembling. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, my son,” I said. “I am fine.”

But Tung Chih started to cry. I rubbed his back to calm him. I didn’t want to give my son and the court the impression that I was weak.

“Allow me to share my thoughts with you, gentlemen,” I said, composing myself. “Before forming your judgment—”

“Stop!” Su Shun interrupted me and turned to the court. “Lady Yehonala has just violated a house rule.”

I realized where Su Shun was heading. He was using a family rule against me. “Rule one hundred and seventy-four reads: ‘A lower-rank Imperial wife will be punished if she speaks without the permission of the higher-ranking wife.’” Glancing at Nuharoo, who stared blankly, Su Shun went on. “I am afraid that I must perform my duty.” He snapped his fingers. “Guards!”

Led by Chief Eunuch Shim, several guards rushed in.

“Seize the Empress of Holy Kindness and take her away for punishment!”

“Nuharoo, my elder sister!” I cried, hoping that she would come forward. All she had to do was to say that I had her permission to speak.

But Nuharoo was confused. She stared as if she didn’t understand what was happening.

The guards grabbed my arms and began to drag me away.

“Heaven above,” Su Shun said, beseeching in Peking-opera style, “help us get rid of an evil fox who has confirmed our ancestors’ worst predictions.”

“Nuharoo!” I struggled to push the guards away. “Tell them I had your permission to speak. Tell them I am the Empress and they can’t treat me like this. Please, Nuharoo!”

Su Shun walked up to Nuharoo, who was frozen in place. He bent down and whispered in her ear. His hands drew circles in the air. His broad frame blocked her view of me. I was sure what he was saying: the faster I was hanged, the better her life would be. He was describing a life for her without rivals. A life where only her words ruled. Nuharoo was too frightened to think. I knew she didn’t trust Su Shun, but she might not be able to resist his vision of her future.

The guards dragged me through the hallway. Everyone seemed caught up in the moment. If there were questions, nobody asked. I was lost in the crack of time, and I knew I would vanish before people could come to their senses.