I got up, went to the garden and was greeted by the peacocks. An-te-hai was busy feeding the parrot, Confucius. The bird tried out a new phrase it had just learned: “Congratulations, my lady!” I was delighted. The orchids around the yard were still in bloom. The flower’s long slender stems bent elegantly. The leaves stood like dancers holding up their sleeves. White and blue petals stretched outward as if kissing the sunlight. The orchids’ black velvety hearts reminded me of Snow’s eyes.
An-te-hai told me that Doctor Sun Pao-tien had suggested that I keep the news of my pregnancy to myself until the third month. I took his advice. Whenever possible, I indulged myself in the garden. The sweet hours made me miss my family. I ached with the desire to share this news with my mother.
Despite my “secret,” before long the Imperial wives and concubines in every palace learned about my pregnancy. I was showered with flowers, jade carvings and good-wish paper cutouts. Every concubine made an effort to visit me. The ones who were unwell sent their eunuchs with more gifts.
In my room the presents piled up to the ceiling. But behind the smiling faces lay envy and jealousy. Swollen eyes were evidence of crying and sleepless nights. I knew exactly how the rest of the concubines felt. I remembered my own reaction toward Lady Yun’s pregnancy. I hadn’t wished Lady Yun bad luck, but I hadn’t wished her well either. I had been quietly relieved when Nuharoo told me that Lady Yun had given birth to a daughter instead of a son.
I was not looking forward to what was coming. I feared that numerous traps would be set for me. It was only natural that the concubines should hate me.
As my belly began to swell, my fear increased. I now ate little in order to narrow the risk of being poisoned. I dreamt of Snow’s hairless body floating in the well. An-te-hai warned me to be careful every time I drank a bowl of soup or took a walk in the garden. He believed that my rivals had directed their eunuchs to lay loose rocks or dig holes in my path to make me stumble. When I pointed out that he was overreacting, An-te-hai told me a story about a jealous concubine who instructed her eunuch to break a tile on her rival’s roof so that it would slip down and hit the rival on the head, and it did!
Before I got into my palanquin, An-te-hai always checked to see whether there was a needle hidden inside my cushion. He was convinced that my rivals would do anything to shock me into a miscarriage.
I understood the cause of such viciousness, but I wouldn’t be able to forgive anyone who tried to destroy my child. If I delivered safely, my status would be elevated at the expense of the others. My name would go into the Imperial record books. If the child should be a male, I would rise to the rank of Empress, sharing the title with Nuharoo.
The night was deep, and His Majesty and I lay side by side. He had been cheerful since learning of my pregnancy. We had been spending our nights at the Palace of Concentrated Beauty, north of the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing. I slept better in my palace because no one came to wake us with urgent business. His Majesty had been living in both palaces, depending on how late his work kept him. An-te-hai’s warnings troubled me and I asked His Majesty to increase the night guards at my gate. “Just in case,” I said. “I would feel safer.”
His Majesty sighed. “Orchid, you are ruining a dream of mine.”
I was startled by this and asked him to explain.
“My dreams of building a prosperous China have been repeatedly crushed. Increasingly, I cannot help but doubt my abilities as a ruler. But my power encounters no resistance in the Forbidden City. The concubines and eunuchs are my faithful citizens. There is no confusion here. I expect you to love me and to love one another. I especially desire serenity between you and Nuharoo. The Forbidden City is poetry in its purest form. It is my spiritual garden where I can lie among my flowers and rest.”
But is it possible to love here? The atmosphere in this garden had long been poisoned.
“That wonderful evening when you and Nuharoo walked together in the garden,” His Majesty said in a dreamy tone. “I remember the day clearly. You carried the light of the setting sun. You were both dressed in spring robes. You had been picking flowers. With armfuls of peonies you walked toward me, smiling and chatting as sweetly as sisters. It made me forget my troubles. All I wanted to do was to kiss the flowers in your hands…”
I wished I could tell him that I was never part of it. His picture of beauty and harmony did not exist. He had woven Nuharoo and me into his fantasy. Nuharoo and I might have loved each other and been friends if our survival hadn’t depended on his affection.
“Nowadays when I see something beautiful I want to freeze it.” Rising from his pillow, His Majesty turned to me and asked, “You and Nuharoo cared for each other before-why not now? Why do you have to ruin it?”
In the third month of my pregnancy the court astrologers were ordered to perform pa kua. Wooden, metal and golden sticks were thrown on the marble floor. A bucket containing the blood of several animals was brought in. Water and colored sand were spread onto the walls to create paintings. In their long, star-patterned black robes, the astrologers squatted on their heels. With their noses almost touching the floor they studied the sticks and interpreted the ghostly images on the walls. Finally they pronounced that the child I carried possessed the proper balance of gold, wood, water, fire and soil.
The ritual continued. Unlike fortunetellers in the countryside, the Imperial astrologers avoided expressing their true views. I noticed that everything said was aimed at pleasing Emperor Hsien Feng, who would issue rewards. Trying to look busy, the astrologers danced around the stained walls all day long. In the evening they sat and rolled their eyeballs in circles. I found excuses and left. To punish me, the astrologers passed on a dire prediction to the Grand Empress: if I didn’t lie absolutely still after sunset, with both of my legs raised, I would lose the child. I was tied to my bed, and stools were placed under my feet. I was upset but could do nothing. My mother-in-law was a strong believer in pa kua astrology.
“My lady,” An-te-hai asked, noticing that I was in a sour mood, “since you have time, would you like to learn a bit about pa kua? You can find out whether your child is a mountain type or an ocean type.”
As always, An-te-hai sensed just what it was I needed. He brought in an expert, “the most reputable in Peking,” my eunuch said. “He got past the gates because I disguised him as a garbage man.”
With the three of us shut up in my chamber, the man, who had one eye, read the sand paintings that he drew on a tray. What he said confused me and I tried hard to comprehend. “Pa kua will not work once it is explained,” he said. “The philosophy is in the senses.” An-te-hai was impatient and asked the man to “cut the fat.” The expert was turned into a village fortuneteller. He told me that there was a very good chance that my child would be a boy.
I lost interest in learning more about pa kua after that. The prediction set my heart racing. I managed to sit still and ordered the man to continue.
“I see the child has everything perfect except too much metal, which means he will be stubborn.” The man flipped the rocks and sticks he had spread out on the tray. “The boy’s best quality is that he is likely to pursue his dreams.” At this point the man paused. He raised his chin toward the ceiling and his eyebrows twitched. He squeezed his nose and blinked. Yellowish crust flaked from his empty eye socket. He stopped talking.