With his uncle Prince Ch’un as a guide, Tung Chih entered the hall for the first time as the Emperor of China. In unison, the crowd fell on their knees and kowtowed.
An-te-hai, who was in his green pine-tree-patterned robe, walked beside me. He was carrying my pipe-smoking was a new hobby that helped me relax. I remembered asking him a few days earlier what he most desired; I wanted to reward him. He shyly replied that he would like to get married and adopt children. He believed that his position and wealth would attract ladies of his choosing, and he would not totally miss out on his manhood.
I didn’t know whether I should encourage him. I understood his thwarted passion. If I hadn’t lived in the Forbidden City, I would have found myself a lover. Like him, I fantasized about intimacies and pleasures. I resented my widowhood and had been driven nearly mad by loneliness. Only the fear of being caught, and jeopardizing Tung Chih’s future, had halted me.
I sat down next to Nuharoo and behind my son. Holding my chin up, I received kowtows from members of the court, the government and the royal families led by Prince Kung. The prince looked handsome and youthful when standing next to the gray-haired and white-bearded senior officials. He had just turned twenty-eight.
I stole a glance at Nuharoo and was once more struck by her beauti-ful profile. She was in her new golden phoenix robe with matching hairpiece and earrings. She gracefully nodded and tilted her chin, smiling to everyone who came up to her. Her sensuous lips formed a muted sound: “Rise.”
I wasn’t enjoying this as much as Nuharoo was. My mind flew back to the lake in Wuhu where I swam as a young girl. I remembered the water’s smooth coolness and how utterly free I had felt chasing wild ducks. I was now the most powerful woman in China, yet my spirit was stuck with that empty coffin with my name and title carved in cold stone.
My sentiment was shared by another soul. I noticed Yung Lu observing me from a corner of the hall. Recently I had been too occupied with the shadow of Su Shun to allow my thoughts to drift to Yung Lu. Now, as I sat on my throne, I saw the expression on his face and sensed his desire. I felt guilty, yet I couldn’t stop myself from wanting his attention. My heart flirted with him while I sat straight-faced.
Prince Kung announced the end of the audience. The room paid its respects to Nuharoo and me as we rose from our seats. I felt Yung Lu’s eyes following me. I dared not look back.
That night when An-te-hai came to me, I pushed him away. I was frustrated and disgusted with myself.
An-te-hai hit his face with both hands until I ordered him to quit. His cheeks swelled like baked buns. He couldn’t bear my suffering, he said. And he insisted that he understood what I was going through. He thanked Heaven for making him a eunuch and said that his life was meant to share my immeasurable sorrow.
“It must not be too different, my lady,” he murmured. Then he said something unexpected. “There is a chance to please yourself, my lady. If I were you, I would hurry to make an excuse.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then I understood. I raised my hand and let it fall heavily on the eunuch’s face. “Scum!”
“You are welcome, my lady.” The eunuch stuck his neck up as if ready for another blow. “Hit me all you want, my lady. I’ll say what I have to. Tomorrow the official burial ceremony will begin. Empress Nuharoo has already declined to go. Emperor Tung Chih is also excused, for the weather is too cold. You will be the only one to represent the family and perform the farewell ceremony at the tomb site. The person to escort you will be Commander Yung Lu!” He paused, staring at me with his eyes glowing in excitement. “The journey to the tomb,” he whispered, “is long and lonely. But it can be made pleasant, my lady.”
I went to Nuharoo to confirm what An-te-hai had told me. I begged her to change her mind and go with me to the tomb. She refused, claiming she was busy with her new hobby, collecting European crystal. “Look how fascinating these crystal trees are.” She pointed to a roomful of glittering objects-shoulder-high glass trees, knee-high glass bushes with bells hung all over. Case after case and pot after pot were filled with glass flowers. From the ceiling silver-colored glass balls hung, replacing the Chinese lanterns. Nuharoo insisted that I pick one of the pieces to hang in my palace. I knew I wouldn’t hang it on my wall or in my garden. What I wanted was to have my fish and birds back. I wanted to have peacocks greet me every morning and pigeons flying around my roof with whistles and bells tied to their ankles. I had already begun the restoration of my garden, and An-te-hai had started training the new parrots. He had named them after their predecessors: Scholar, Poet, Tang Priest and Confucius. He paid a craftsman to carve a wooden owl, which he slyly named Su Shun.
I returned to my palace red-cheeked from walking in the snow. I had never felt so vulnerable. Something that should not happen, I desired to happen. I couldn’t put my feelings into perspective. I was afraid to face my own thoughts. All night long I had tried to push the odd images out of my head. I was on top of a cliff. One step and I would fall, and my son would be forced to award me a rope. My heart looked forward to what might happen on the way to the tomb, but my head dragged me back to my son.
My thoughts made the trip a long one. I was filled with anxiety and desperation. Yung Lu kept himself out of my sight even when we stopped at the mansions of provincial governors for the night. He sent his soldiers to attend to me, and asked to be excused when I requested his presence.
I was hurt. If we knew that we liked each other and were forbidden from ever pursuing a relationship, it would be easier on both of us to acknowledge our feelings. We might be able to turn the situation to some good or at least relax our guard. I understood that speaking of such emotions would be hard, but sharing pain was all we could achieve.
I was frustrated that I had not been given a chance to express my gratitude and admiration for him. After all, he had saved my life. I resented his distance and felt it strange that he so diminished his role in my rescue. He made it clear to me that if it had been Nuharoo in the jute sack, he would have behaved no differently. After his promotion, he returned a ruyi I had sent him. He said that he didn’t deserve it and led me to think that I was making a fool of myself. He hinted that there had once been a moment of attraction between us, but it had been short-lived on his part.
Sitting inside the palanquin, I had too much time to attend to my thoughts. I felt that I was two different characters. One was sane. This mind believed that there was a price to pay for being where I was, and that I should suffer my widowhood secretly until I died. This character tried to convince me that being the ruler of China should bring its own satisfaction. The other, insane character disagreed. She felt utterly trapped. She regarded me as the most deprived woman in China, poorer than a peasant.
I couldn’t agree or disagree with either side of myself. I didn’t believe I had the right to dishonor Emperor Hsien Feng, yet I didn’t think it was fair that I had to spend the rest of my life in isolation and loneliness. I warned myself again and again with historical examples of widowed Imperial concubines whose trysts had ended in severe punishment. I envisioned their dismemberment every night. But Yung Lu stayed in my mind.
I tried to tame my feelings in any way I could. From An-te-hai and Li Lien-ying I learned that Yung Lu had no romantic attachments even though matchmakers had been banging on his door. I thought I could do better and convinced myself that playing the role of matchmaker would release me from my pain. I needed to be able to face him with a steady heartbeat, because Tung Chih’s survival depended on harmony between us.