Empress Orchid (37 page)

I knew that I had to take the court by surprise. “I would like an update on the security arrangements regarding the trip. Su Shun?”

Reluctant but bound by formality, Su Shun replied, “The entire Imperial procession will be divided into two parts. The first section we named the Parade of Happiness. We have arranged for Emperor Tung Chih and the Empresses to take chairs in this section to celebrate Emperor Tung Chih’s becoming the new ruler. The security will be fifty thousand Bannermen led by Prince Yee. He will be followed by two other divisions. One has seven thousand men, transferred from the areas around Jehol, which will be responsible for His Majesty’s safety. The other division is made up of three thousand Imperial Guards led by Yung Lu. Their task will be performing the ceremonial parade. I myself will lead the procession with four thousand men.”

“Very well.” Nuharoo was impressed.

“Please go on with the second section,” I ordered.

“We named the second section the Parade of Sorrow,” Su Shun continued. “Emperor Hsien Feng’s coffin will be with this one. Ten thousand men and horses have been transferred from the provinces of the Amur River, Chihli, Shenking, and Hsian. Each provincial governor has been notified to receive the procession along the way. General Sheng Pao has been summoned to secure those areas we deem unsafe, such as Kiangsi and Miyun.”

I sensed a problem. How would Prince Kung’s men strike when Su Shun could easily hold Tung Chih and us as hostages? If something aroused Su Shun’s suspicion, he would have an opportunity to do us harm. How would I know whether such an “accident” was not already in the making?

My heart hammered in my chest when I spoke again. “The grand councilor’s arrangements sound excellent. I have only one concern. Will the Parade of Happiness be accompanied by colorful flags, firecrackers, dancers and loud music?”

“Yes.”

“And the Parade of Sorrow the opposite?”

“Correct.”

“The spirits of Emperor Hsien Feng will be disturbed by the trumpets, then,” I pointed out. “The happy tunes will overwhelm the sad as the two parades are so closely connected.”

“Indeed,” Prince Yee echoed, biting my bait. “Empress Yehonala’s concern makes good sense. We should separate the two parades. It would be an easy thing to do.” He turned to Su Shun, who was staring back at him as hard as he could. But it was too late. Prince Yee’s tongue would not be stopped. “I suggest that we have the Parade of Happiness go first and the Parade of Sorrow follow a few miles behind.”

“Taken.” I closed the lid before Su Shun had a chance to smell what I was cooking in my pot. “What a fine idea. However, Empress Nuharoo and I are not comfortable with our husband traveling alone. Two weeks is a long time for Emperor Hsien Feng to go without company.”

Wasting no opportunity to show off again, Prince Yee popped up with another suggestion. “I am sure any of us will be happy to accompany His Late Majesty. May I have the honor?”

“I want Su Shun,” Nuharoo said, and her tears came. “He is our husband’s most trusted man. With Su Shun by His Majesty’s side, the heavenly soul will rest in peace. Will you accept my humble request, Su Shun?”

“My honor, Your Majesty.” Su Shun was obviously displeased.

I could hardly contain my delight. Nuharoo didn’t know what she
had done. She had created the perfect situation for Prince Kung to benefit.

“Thank you, Prince Yee,” I said. “You certainly will be rewarded when we get to Peking.”

I didn’t expect to be given a chance to make the situation even better, but the opportunity presented itself. As if driven by the desire to please us further, or by greed, or simply by his shallow nature, Prince Yee added, “I don’t mean to flatter myself, Your Majesty. I shall deserve your reward because the trip is going to be tough on me. I have not only been put in charge of the inner court; I have great military responsibilities as well. I must confess that I am already exhausted.”

I picked up his words and rode with them. “Well, Prince Yee, Nuharoo and I believe that His Young Majesty Tung Chih will find another way. We certainly don’t want to wear you out. Why don’t you leave the military obligations to others and manage just the inner court?”

Prince Yee was not prepared for my quick reaction. “Of course,” he responded. “But do you have my replacement in mind as we speak?”

“There is nothing to worry about, Prince Yee.”

“But who will that be?”

I saw Su Shun stepping forward, and I decided to seal the moment. “Prince Ch’un will take over the military obligation,” I said, looking away from Su Shun. He seemed desperate to speak, and I was afraid he would get Nuharoo’s attention. “Prince Ch’un hasn’t been assigned a duty.” I held Nuharoo with my eyes. “He will be perfect for the job, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Lady Yehonala,” she said.

“Prince Ch’un!” I called.

“Here.” Prince Ch’un’s answer came from a corner of the room.

“Will this arrangement suit you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Prince Ch’un bowed.

Prince Yee’s expression changed to show regret for what he had done to himself.

To bolster him I said, “However, we would like Prince Yee to resume his full responsibility once we reach Peking. His Young Majesty can’t do without him.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Thank you!” Prince Yee was a happy man again.

I turned to Nuharoo. “I believe that is all for this audience?”

“Yes, we must thank Grand Councilor Su Shun for doing a fine job of planning.”

OCTOBER 10 was an auspicious day as Hsien Feng’s coffin was borne aloft on the shoulders of 124 bearers. At the departing ceremony, Nuharoo and I wore elaborate mourning robes hung with stone ornaments. Our head and shoulder pieces, belts and shoes weighed more than twenty-five pounds. Golden beads dangled in front of my eyes like a curtain, and my earrings were pieces of jade carved with the word
tien,
“in memory.” My ears stung and my back ached from all the weight. Because we had run out of coal we had not bathed for weeks. My scalp itched. The oil I used on my hair attracted dust that ended up beneath my fingernails from all my scratching. It was hard to look like an image of grace under such circumstances.

Nuharoo felt sorry for my low manners and purposely set herself as an example for me to follow. I admired her endurance when it came to her appearance. I was sure she sat upright even on the chamber pot. I surmised that she had carried the same stiffness to Hsien Feng’s bed. As far as lovemaking went, the Emperor was a man who welcomed creativity. Nuharoo had probably offered him the standard pose from
The Imperial Chamber Activity Menu
and expected him to deliver his seeds.

One could always count on Nuharoo’s makeup to be painted to the finest detail. She had two nail stylists, trained in grain carving, who could render entire landscapes and architectural paintings on her nails. One needed a magnifying glass to fully appreciate the artistry. Nuharoo knew exactly what she wanted. Inside her mourning robe she contin-
ued to wear the dress that she had made up her mind to die in. It was so dirty that the edge of its collar was gray with grease.

We walked through a forest of colorful umbrellas and pavilion-shaped silk tents. We inspected the cortege and burned incense. Finally we poured wine, inviting the coffin to be on its way. The procession set out down the wild passes from Jehol toward the Great Wall.

The coffin had been finished with forty-nine layers of paint. It was rose red with patterns of gold dragons on it. A division of ceremonial guards led the way. The coffin was suspended in the air on a giant red frame. In the middle of the frame was a matching pole with a nine-by-eighteen-foot flag emblazoned with a golden dragon breathing flames. There was also a pair of copper wind bells. Behind the dragon flag were one hundred flags with the images of powerful animals such as bears and tigers.

Following the flags were empty palanquins for the spirits. The chairs were of different sizes and shapes and were fabulously decorated. The seat covers were made of leopard skin. A large yellow umbrella draped with white flowers followed each chair.

Eunuchs in white silk gowns held trays with incense burners. Behind them followed two bands, one with brass instruments, the other with strings and flutes. When the bands started to play, white paper money was fired into the air, which rained down from the sky like snowflakes.

Nuharoo, Tung Chih and I walked past lamas, monks and painted ceremonial horses and sheep before climbing into our palanquins. The sound of Tibetan trumpets and beating drums was so loud that I couldn’t hear my own voice when speaking to Tung Chih. He didn’t want to sit alone, and I told him that he had to for the sake of formality. Tung Chih pouted and asked for his red-eyed rabbit. Happily, Li Lien-ying had it with him. I promised Tung Chih that Nuharoo or I would join him as soon as we were able to.

The procession divided into two parts at the foot of the Great Wall, with the Parade of Happiness leading the way and the Parade of Sorrow following several miles behind.

By afternoon the weather had changed. Rain began to fall and then became heavy. For the next five days our procession stretched into a longer and longer column. It toiled its way through mud lashed up by the persistent downpours. For the first time in her life Nuharoo lost control of her makeup. In frustration she blamed it on her mirror-on-legs maids, who were too tired to steady the mirror. I felt sorry for the maids. The window-sized glass was too big and heavy for them.

According to the scouts, the mountain gorges were swarming with bandits. My mind grew with worry about what the future might bring us in the next hour. Under cover of the rain anyone could strike.

Because the Imperial astrologer had all of the dates calculated, there was no thought of stopping, however wet the bearers became. The rain continued to pour. I imagined the hardship of the eunuchs who carried the wooden furniture. Unlike coffin bearers, who had been physically trained, the eunuchs were delicate houseplants. They were accustomed to life in the Forbidden City and many of them were still in their early teens.

I fell asleep in the palanquin and had a strange dream. I was entering the sea like a fish. Swimming, I went into a hole inside a cave buried deep in the seabed. Around the edges of the hole were thick thorns. My skin was badly scratched by the thorns, and the water around me became pink. I could hear the sound of passing boats above and feel the current swirling by. I flipped up and down in terrible pain trying to get away from the thorns.

It was dawn when Li Lien-ying woke me. “The rain has stopped, my lady, and the astrologer said that we can now safely rest.”

“Were we in water?” I asked.

He paused for a moment, then replied, “If you were a fish, my lady, you have survived.”

My chair was let down and I got out. My body felt like it had been beaten. “Where are we?”

“A village called Spring Ripples.”

“Where is Tung Chih?”

“His Young Majesty is with Empress Nuharoo.”

I went to find them. They had fallen behind by about half a mile. Nuharoo insisted on changing palanquin bearers. Instead of blaming the slippery roads, she blamed the bearers.

Nuharoo told me that she had also had a dream. It was the opposite of mine. In her dream she found herself in a peaceful kingdom, and her mirror was the size of a wall. The kingdom was hidden in the deepest recesses of a mountain. A Buddhist with a floor-length white beard had led her to this place. She was worshiped, and her subjects all walked with white pigeons on their heads.

After some fuss Tung Chih agreed to leave Nuharoo’s tent-sized palanquin and came to sit with me. “Only for a short while,” he said.

I tried not to let my son’s growing attachment to Nuharoo bother me. He was one of the few things left in my life that could bring me true
happiness. So much about me had changed since my entering the Imperial household. I no longer said “I feel good today” upon waking in the morning. The cheerful songs I used to hear inside my head had all been silenced. Fear lived in the backyard of my mind now.

I convinced myself that it was just part of life’s journey. Cheerfulness belonged to youth and one naturally lost it. Maturity was what I would gain. Like a tree, my roots would grow stronger as I aged. I looked forward to achieving peace and happiness in a more essential way.

But my spring continued to have no butterflies. The saddest thing was that I knew I was still capable of passion. If Tung Chih were close to me, the butterflies would return. I could disregard everything else, even my loneliness and my deep yearning for a man. I needed my son’s love to endure living. Tung Chih was near, within arm’s reach, yet we might as well have been an ocean apart. I would do anything to earn his affection. But he was determined not to give me a chance.

My son punished me for the principles I demanded that he live by. He had two kinds of expression when he looked at me. One was like a stranger’s, as if he didn’t know me and had no interest in knowing me. The other look was of disbelief. He couldn’t understand why I had to be the only one to challenge him. His look seemed to question my very existence. After we fought and struggled his expression would show a sneer.

In my son’s bright eyes I was diminished. My worship for this little creature reduced me to the dancing bone in the Imperial soup that had been cooked for two hundred years.

I once saw my son and Nuharoo playing. Tung Chih was studying the map of China. He loved it when Nuharoo failed to locate Canton. She begged him to let her quit. He granted her wish and offered her his arms. He was attracted by her weakness. Protecting her from me made him feel like a hero.

Yet I couldn’t unlove my son. I couldn’t escape my affection. The moment Tung Chih was born, I knew that I belonged to him. I lived for his well-being. There was nothing else but him.

If I had to suffer, I made up my mind to take it. I was prepared to do anything to help Tung Chih avoid the fate of his father. Hsien Feng might have been an emperor, but he was deprived of a basic understanding of his own life. He was not raised with the truth, and he died in confusion.

Looking out, I saw large, loaf-shaped stones surrounded by a thick carpet of wild brush. For mile after mile there was not one single roof. Our
lavish parade was for no one’s eyes but Heaven’s. I knew I shouldn’t resent it, but I couldn’t help myself. Sitting inside the palanquin, I was damp and achy. The bearers were exhausted, wet and filthy. The happy music only depressed me further.

Li Lien-ying walked back and forth between my chair and Nuharoo’s. He was in his purple cotton robe. Dye from his hat ran in rivulets down his face. Li Lien-ying had learned his trade as an Imperial servant and was by now almost as good as An-te-hai. I was worried about An-te-hai. Prince Ch’un had told me that he was in the Peking prison. To complete his deception, An-te-hai had spat at a guard, ensuring harsher punishment: he was put in a water chamber with feces floating around his neck. I prayed that he would hold on until I reached him. I couldn’t yet say that I would return to Peking with my head on my shoulders. But if I did, I would unlock An-te-hai’s chains myself.

The Parade of Happiness drifted out of its formation. It was hard to keep the tired horses and sheep in line. The bearers had stopped chanting their drills. All I could hear was the sound of steps mixed with heavy breathing. Tung Chih wanted to get out of the palanquin to play, and I wished that I could let him. I would like to see him run a mile with Li Lien-ying. But it was not safe. Several times I had noticed strange faces in our guards’ uniforms passing by. I wondered if they were Su Shun’s spies. Each day my bearers had been replaced by new men.

When I asked my brother-in-law Prince Ch’un about the changing of the bearers, he replied that it was normal. The bearers rotated positions so the blisters on their shoulders would have time to heal. I was not convinced.

To comfort me, Ch’un talked about Rong and their infant son. They were doing well and were a few miles behind. My sister hadn’t wanted to join me because she feared that something would befall my palanquin. “A big tree invites stronger wind” was the message she sent, and she suggested that I take heed.

We reached a temple located on the waist of a mountain. It was after dark and the drizzle had stopped. We were to go into the temple and pray at the altars and then spend the night. The moment Nuharoo, Tung Chih and I stepped out of our chairs, the bearers went off with the empty palanquins. I hurried and caught up with the last bearer and asked why they were not staying with us. He answered that they had been instructed not to store the palanquins near the temple.

“What if something goes wrong and we need to return to our palanquins and you are not available?” I asked.

The bearer threw himself on the ground and kowtowed like an
idiot. But he did not answer my question, and it was no use pressing him.

“Come back, Yehonala!” Nuharoo yelled. “I am sure that our scouts and spies have checked the safety of the temple.”

The temple seemed to be well prepared for our arrival. The old roof had been brushed clean and the inside thoroughly dusted. The head monk was a thick-lipped, gentle-looking fellow with fat cheeks. “The goddess of mercy, Kuan Ying, has been sweating,” he said, smiling. “I knew this was Heaven’s message telling me that Your Majesty would be passing. Although the temple is small, my humble welcome to you extends from Buddha’s hand to infinity.”

We were served hot gingerroot soup, soybeans and wheat buns for dinner. Tung Chih buried his face in the bowl. I was a starving wolf myself. I consumed all the food on my plate and asked for more. Nuharoo took her time. She checked each button on her robe, making sure she hadn’t lost any, and straightened the withered flowers on her headboard. She took small spoonfuls of soup until her hunger could no longer be denied. She picked up the bowl and drank like a peasant.

After the meal the head monk politely showed us to our room and left. We were excited to discover ceramic fire burners near the beds. We laid our damp robes on them to dry. The moment Tung Chih found that the basins were filled with water, Nuharoo cried with joy, then sighed. “I’ll just have to wash myself without the maids, I guess.” Eagerly she unshelled herself. It was the first time I had seen her naked. Her ivory-colored body was an exquisite work of Heaven. She had a slender frame with apple-like breasts and jade-smooth long legs. Her straight back curved into a sensuous round behind. It made me think that the shapeless fashions for Manchu women were a crime.

Like a deer standing by a cliff under the moonlight, Nuharoo stood by the basin. She slowly washed herself from head to toe. This had been for Hsien Feng’s eyes only, I thought.

In the middle of the night I awoke. Nuharoo and Tung Chih were sleeping soundly. My suspicions asserted themselves again. I recalled the head monk’s smile—it lacked sincerity. The other monks did not have the peaceful expressions I was used to seeing in Buddhists. The monks’ eyes darted away from the head monk and then quickly back as if awaiting a signal. During the meal I had asked the head monk about the local bandits. He said that he had never heard of such a thing. Was he telling the truth? Our scouts told us that bandits were known to be
in this area. The head monk must have spent many years living here—how could he not know?

The head monk changed the subject when I asked to be shown around the temple. He took us to the main hall so we could light incense for the gods and then took us right back to this room to sleep. When I asked him about the history of the carvings on the walls, he changed the subject again. His tongue also lacked a preacher’s polish when telling Tung Chih the story of the one-thousand-hand Buddha. He didn’t seem familiar with the basic styles of calligraphy, which I found hard to believe, for monks made their living copying sutras. I had asked him how many monks he housed in the temple, and he had said eight. Where would we get help if bandits should attack?