When I had introduced Rong to Prince Ch’un, I never imagined that they would turn out to be my protective god and goddess. Rong told me the danger was not over and that I should be careful. I knew Su Shun would not put down his weapons and become a Buddha. This fight to destroy me had just begun.
Three days went by quietly. On the morning of the fourth day, Doctor Sun Pao-tien predicted that Hsien Feng would not see the next dawn. Su Shun issued an urgent summons in the Emperor’s name: a final audience was to be held late that afternoon, when the court should expect to hear His Majesty’s last wishes.
I didn’t know that I was excluded until I went to visit Nuharoo at noon. She was not in. Her eunuch said that she had been picked up by a palanquin sent by Su Shun. I turned to An-te-hai and told him to find out what was going on. An-te-hai got a message from Chow Tee. The final Imperial audience had begun, and Su Shun had just announced that my absence was due to poor health.
I panicked. In a matter of hours my husband would breathe his last, and the chance for me to act would be gone forever.
I ran to Tung Chih’s study. My son was playing chess with a eunuch and obstinately refused to come with me. I pulled the board away, sending the pieces flying across the room. I dragged him all the way to the Hall of Fantastic Haze while I explained the situation. I told him to ask his father to name him the successor.
Tung Chih was frightened. He begged to be sent back to his chess game. I told him that he had to speak to his father, that it was the only way he could save his future. Tung Chih couldn’t comprehend. He screamed and fought me. In my struggle to keep hold of my son, my necklace broke and the pearls and beads scattered down the hallway.
Guards blocked our entrance to the hall, although they seemed to be in awe of Tung Chih.
“I must see His Majesty,” I said loudly.
Chief Eunuch Shim appeared. “His Majesty doesn’t desire to call his concubines now,” he said. “When he does, I will let you know.”
“I am sure His Majesty will want to see his son for the last time.”
Chief Eunuch Shim shook his head. “I have Grand Councilor Su Shun’s orders to lock you up if you insist on intruding, Lady Yehonala.”
“Tung Chih has the right to bid farewell to his father!” I yelled, hoping that Emperor Hsien Feng would hear me.
“I am sorry. Meeting with Tung Chih would only disturb His Majesty.”
Desperate, I tried to push Shim aside.
He stood like a wall. “You will have to kill me to make me renounce my duty.”
I got down on my knees and pleaded. “Would you at least allow Tung Chih to watch his father from a distance?” I pressed my son forward.
“No, Lady Yehonala.” He signaled the guards, who pinned me to the floor.
Something must have clicked inside Tung Chih’s little head. Maybe he didn’t like the way I was being treated. When Shim went up to him wearing a false smile and requesting that he go back to his playroom, my son answered, for the first time using the language reserved for an emperor, “Zhen wishes to be left alone to see what’s going on here.”
The word Zhen fixed Chief Eunuch Shim to the spot.
Tung Chih took advantage of the moment and ran inside the hall.
Hsien Feng’s giant black dragon bed was in the center of the throne’s platform. Led by Su Shun and his cabinet members, the court ministers and officials surrounded the pale figure under the coverlet. My husband looked as if he had already died. He lay still, with all signs of vitality gone.
Nuharoo was on her knees by the bed, dressed in a beige robe. She was sobbing silently.
Everyone else was also on his or her knees. Time seemed to be frozen.
There was nothing glorious about the heavenly departure. The Emperor had visibly shrunk. His features had collapsed, with his eyes and mouth pulled toward the ears. His dying didn’t feel real to me. The night when he had first summoned me was as vivid as yesterday. I remembered the time when he had teased me boldly in front of the Grand Empress. I remembered his naughty but charming expression. I remembered the sound of the bamboo chips dropping onto the tray and his fingers touching mine when he passed me the ruyi. The memories saddened me, and I had to remind myself of why I was here.
From the whispering of the ministers I learned that Hsien Feng had briefly stopped breathing several times today, only to revive with a cavernous rumble deep in his chest. Two pillows supported the Son of Heaven. His eyes were open, but they hardly moved. The court was waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t seem capable.
Although Tung Chih was the natural heir apparent, it was not specified in Ch’ing Dynasty law that the throne be passed by the right of primogeniture. The Emperor’s last words would be the only thing that counted. There would be an official box that contained His Majesty’s living will. Still, his words would override whatever he had written. Many people believed that the finality of death changed a person’s perception, and therefore his wishes in the box might not be his true ones. What worried me was what Su Shun might do. With his wickedness, he could manipulate Emperor Hsien Feng to say what he did not mean to say.
A few hours passed. The waiting continued. Food was set out in the courtyard. Hundreds of people sat on their heels, scooping up rice from bowls, staring into space. Tung Chih was bored and irritated. I knew that he had been doing his best to be obedient. Finally he had had enough. When I told him he must stay, he threw a tantrum. He kicked the bowls out of people’s hands.
I grabbed Tung Chih. “One more act of destruction and I’ll have you shut in a bee house!”
Tung Chih quieted down.
Night came. All was in darkness except for the Hall of Fantastic Haze. It was lit as brightly as a stage.
The court gathered again. A number of the Emperor’s seals were brought out of their chambers and laid out on a long table. They were beautifully carved and mounted. The room was so quiet I could hear the sound of the sizzling candles.
The grand secretary and scholar Kuei Liang, Prince Kung’s father-in-law, was in a gray robe. He had arrived from Peking that morning and was expected to go back as soon as he recorded His Majesty’s last words. Kuei Liang’s white beard hung down his chest. He was on his knees holding a giant brush pen. Every once in a while he dipped his brush in the ink to keep it moist. In front of him was a stack of rice paper. Chow Tee, standing next to him, picked up an ink stick, which was as thick as a child’s arm, and rubbed the stick against the stone.
Su Shun’s eyes were on the seals. I wondered what was on his mind. In China all Imperial documents, from His Majesty’s on down, were valid only if stamped with an official seal on top of a personal signature. A seal meant lawful authority. The most important could render all other documents worthless. That Tung Chih hadn’t received his father’s promise to own these seals filled me with despair.
Was Hsien Feng already on his way to Heaven? Had he forgotten his son? Was Su Shun here to see Tung Chih’s end? Su Shun paced slowly beside the table where the seals were lined up. He looked like he was already their owner. He picked up each seal and ran his fingers over the stone surfaces.
“There are many ways to alter one’s destiny,” Su Shun said, tilting his chin upward like a sage. “His Majesty must be walking through the dark halls of his soul. I imagine him following a red wall, taking slow steps. He is not dying in actuality. He is going through a rebirth. It is not a frame of dry bones his spirits are after but the purple light of immortality.”
Hsien Feng’s body suddenly contracted. The movement lasted a few seconds and then stopped. I heard Nuharoo’s wail and saw her reach into her robe for a string of beads.
According to superstition, this could be the moment the spirits of the dying entered the stage of mental reflection.