I summoned Prince Ch’un and Yung Lu to my tent. My brother-in-law arrived a little early, and I asked him about his baby boy and my sister Rong’s health. He broke down in tears and told me that my infant nephew had died. He blamed his wife and said that the baby had died of malnutrition. I couldn’t believe it, but then realized that it might be true. My sister had odd ideas about food. She didn’t believe in feeding her child “until he became a fat-bellied Buddha”; therefore she never allowed the baby to eat his fill. No one knew it was due to Rong’s mental illness until two of her other sons also died in infancy.
Prince Ch’un begged me to do something to stop Rong, since she was pregnant again. I promised I would help and told him to have some yam wine. In the middle of our conversation Yung Lu arrived. He was in uniform and his boots were covered with dirt. He sat down quietly and took a bowl of yam wine. I observed him as I went on speaking with Prince Ch’un.
Our talk led from children to our parents, from Emperor Hsien Feng to Prince Kung. We talked about how well things had turned out, about our luck in triumphing over Su Shun. I wanted to discuss the tasks ahead, the unsettling situation of the Taipings, the treaties and negotiations with foreign powers, but Prince Ch’un grew bored and yawned.
Yung Lu and I sat face to face. I watched him drink five bowls of yam wine. By then his face was deep red, but he would not talk with me.
“Yung Lu is attractive even in the eyes of men,” An-te-hai said that night as he gently tucked in my blankets. “I admire your willpower, my lady. But I am puzzled by your actions. What good does it do when you sound as if you don’t care for him at all?”
“I enjoy his presence, and that is all I can afford,” I said. I stared at the ceiling of the tent, knowing that a hard night lay before me.
“I don’t understand,” the eunuch said.
I sighed. “Tell me, An-te-hai, is the saying generally true that if one keeps grinding an iron bar, the bar will be turned into a needle?”
“I don’t know what people’s hearts are made of, my lady, so I would say that I am not sure.”
“I am trying to convince myself that there are interesting things in the world to live for besides… trying to obtain the impossible.”
“The result will be like chasing death.”
“Yes, like a moth that can’t resist the flame. The question is, can it do otherwise?”
“Love is poisonous in this sense. But one can’t do without love.” His voice was firm and self-assured. “It is an involuntary devotion.”
“I am afraid that this is not my only glance into the endlessly changing river of suffering.”
“Yet your heart refuses to protect itself.”
“Can one be protected from love?”
“The truth is that you can’t stop caring for Yung Lu.”
“There must be different ways to love.”
“He has you in his heart as well, my lady.”
“Heaven pity him.”
“Have you ways to comfort yourself?” An-te-hai asked.
“I am thinking about inviting myself to be his matchmaker.”
The eunuch looked shocked. “You are crazy, my lady.”
“There is no other way.”
“What about your heart, my lady? Do you want to bleed to death? If I could get rich by collecting your tears from the floor, my wealth would surpass Tseng Kuo-fan’s!”
“My desire will quit once he’s taken. I’ll force myself. By helping him I shall help myself.”
An-te-hai lowered his head. “You need him too much to…”
“I shall…” I couldn’t find a phrase to end my sentence.
“Have you ever thought of what to do if he comes, let’s say tonight, at midnight, for example?” the eunuch said after a moment of silence.
“What are you saying?”
“Knowing what your heart wants, my lady, knowing that it is safe, that we are not inside the Forbidden City, I might give in to temptation-that is to say, I might invite him here.”
“No! You will not.”
“If I can control myself, my lady. If I don’t love you enough.”
“Promise me, An-te-hai. Promise that you will not do that!”
“Hit me, then. Because it is my desire to see you smile again. You may think me crazy, but I must express myself. I want your love to take place as badly as I want to restore my manhood. I could not possibly let such a chance pass by.”
I paced back and forth inside the tent. I knew An-te-hai was right and that I needed to do something before the situation overtook me. It was not hard to see what my passion for Yung Lu would lead to-the defeat of my dream for Tung Chih.
I called Li Lien-ying. “Get hold of entertainers from a local teahouse,” I said.
“Yes, my lady, right away.”
“The midnight dancers.” An-te-hai said, making sure his disciple understood what I meant.
Li Lien-ying kowtowed. “I know a good place about a quarter of a mile away, the Peach Village.”
“Send three of their best girls to Yung Lu immediately,” I said, and then added, “Say that they are gifts from me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The eunuch left.
I lifted the curtain and watched Li Lien-ying vanish into the night. I felt an unbearable heaviness crushing down on me. My stomach felt as if it was filling up with stone. There was nothing left of the girl who had come to Peking in the dull light of a summer morning ten years before. She was naïve, trusting and curious. She was full of youth and warm emotions, and ready to try life. The years inside the Forbidden City had formed a shell over her and the shell had hardened. Historians would describe her as cruel and heartless. Her iron will was said to have carried her through one crisis after another.
When I turned back, An-te-hai was looking at me with a bewildered expression on his face.
“I am just like everyone else,” I said. “There was no place left where I could take refuge.”
“You did the impossible, my lady.”
There was no wind the next day. The sun’s rays filtered through thin clouds. I rode in the palanquin and my thoughts were calmer. I believed that I could now think of Yung Lu in a different way. I felt less stifled. My heart accepted what had been done and rose gradually from the ruins. For the first time in a very long while I felt a surge of hope. I would become a woman who had experienced the worst and so had nothing else to fear.
My heart, however, stubbornly cherished the old, as became clear when I heard the sound of hooves next to my chair. Instantly, my mind touched the familiar madness, crippling my will.
“Good morning, Your Majesty!” It was his voice.
Excitement and pleasure paralyzed me. My hand went as if on its own to lift the curtain. His face was in the frame. He was in his magnificent ceremonial uniform and sat tall on his horse.
“I enjoyed your gifts,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of you.” He looked darker. His lips were dry and his eyes unsmiling.
I was determined to conquer my emotion, so I said, “I’m glad.”
“Do you expect me to say that I understand your sacrifice and am grateful?”
I wanted to say no, but my lips would not move.
“You are cruel,” he said.
I knew that if I relented, even a little bit, it wouldn’t be long before I lost control.
“Time for you to go back to your duty.” I let down the curtain.
With the fading sound of his horse’s hooves, I wept.
Nuharoo’s words came to me, “Pain does good things. It prepares us for peace.”
We were at Hsien Feng’s tomb the next dawn. I waited three hours until the moment arrived to move the coffin into place. I was served porridge for breakfast. Then three monks swung their incense burners and walked in circles around me. The thick smoke choked me. Drums and music played and the wind distorted the sound. The landscape was bare and vast.