"There is no need," he said. "I have enough to support my family. My wife understands that if I were charged with treason and found guilty, my life would be forfeited. She only wants me to make sure that our children escape with their lives."
"Has the matter been taken care of?" I wiped my face with a handkerchief.
"Yes, arrangements have been made."
My eunuch came and announced softly, "My lady, the Emperor is waiting."
"Farewell."
Li Hung-chang rose. He took a step back and got down on his knees and kowtowed.
Custom did not allow me to accompany him to the gate, but I decided to ignore it for once.
The door curtain was lifted and we went out to the courtyard. The eunuchs were still doing their morning cleaning. They rushed to get themselves out of sight. Those who crossed our path apologized.
The sky was beginning to brighten. The glazed wing roofs were bathed in golden light. Unlike the Summer Palace, where the air carried the scent of jasmine, Forbidden City mornings were cold and windy.
I heard the sound of my own footsteps, the wooden platform shoes hitting the stone walk. Li Hung-chang and I walked side by side. Behind us, sixteen eunuchs carried my room-sized ceremonial palanquin.
Two weeks later, Prince Kung, who was sixty-five, was called out of retirement. Emperor Guang-hsu issued the decree at my urging. Kung was reluctant at first. For ten years he had nursed grievances against those who had removed him from leadership, including his two half-brothers. I pleaded with him, saying that the death of Prince Ch'un should put the unpleasant past to rest. The twenty-four-year-old Emperor needed him.
Guang-hsu and I met with Prince Kung in his chrysanthemum garden, where the ground was covered with star-shaped purple flowers. Prince Kung picked up a leaf. He laid it flat on his palm and hit it with his other palm, creating a sound like a firecracker.
"The balance of power in Asia has been decisively altered since the Japanese took our fortified harbor at Weihaiwei." Prince Kung's voice had softened over the years, but his passion, perspective and wit remained. "Past misdeeds have bred present impotence. In the world's view, the war is essentially over and China has been defeated."
"But our spirit hasn't!" Guang-hsu's face turned red and his chest swelled. "I refuse to call it a defeat. Our admirals, officers and soldiers committed suicide to show the world that China is not surrendering!"
Prince Kung smiled bitterly. "Our admirals committed suicide to redeem themselves and save their families from death and the confiscation of their estates. You stripped their titles and ranks but allowed them to remain in the field. You told them that they would be beheaded if they lost a battle. Their deaths were not their choice but yours!"
"Your uncle is right," I said. "I am sure the Emperor has also realized that our nation's patriotism hasn't stopped Japan from occupying the Liaotung Peninsula. We understand that Japan is aiming at Port Arthur's sister fortress and taking over all of Korea."
Guang-hsu fell back into his chair. As if having difficulty breathing, he inhaled deeply.
Kung continued to pick up leaves and slap them, making annoying sounds with his palms.
I was glad that Prince Kung addressed the issue of the suicides, for I had argued with Guang-hsu many times over his death orders. I had desperately tried to convince him that devotion couldn't be forced. There would be no loyalty if mercy and kindness were not first assured. But I had to end the conversation because Guang-hsu could not comprehend this-he had been raised to take devotion and loyalty for granted. The first thing he had learned about mankind was his tutor's display of sincerity and dedication. I gave in when Guang-hsu complained that I was interfering with his autonomy.
"Mother, are you all right?" Guang-hsu said gently. I had told him that I had been feeling tired and weak.
Then he said, "I have thrown out the petitions demanding Li Hung-chang's punishment."
I knew by doing this my son meant to please me. But I didn't want to talk about it. Especially not in front of Prince Kung. So I changed the subject. "Have we tried any other option on the Japan front?"
"We have tried through various intermediaries, including the American diplomats," Prince Kung replied. "We tried to reach an accommodation with Japan, but Tokyo has been refusing."
"I don't see any point in wasting time negotiating," Guang-hsu said. As if trying to hold in his emotions, he looked away. "I don't negotiate with savages!" he said through clenched teeth.
"What do you want me to do, then?" Prince Kung was irritated.
"I need your help with defensive preparations," the Emperor said.
"I am not sure I can help," said Prince Kung. "You are wrong to think that I can do better than Li Hung-chang."
I turned to both of them. "Should we not think about walking with both legs? Continuing to seek negotiations with Japan and at the same time preparing our defense?"
Guang-hsu followed Prince Kung's advice and offered to commission foreigners to do the defensive work. A German army engineer who in 1881 had supervised the fortification of Port Arthur was named the chief of China's armies. Guang-hsu hoped that under the leadership of a Western general, he would be able to turn around the situation with Japan.
Both Prince Ts'eng and Prince Ch'un Junior insisted that hiring a past enemy was itself an act of betrayal.
Guang-hsu bore the pressure until the last minute. Then he changed his mind and canceled the commission.
"Had it been done," the disappointed Prince Kung complained later, "China would have been safe and Japan would have eventually paid us an indemnity."
I did not realize it then, but the moment the Emperor changed his mind, his uncle became disheartened. So disheartened that, over the days and weeks to come, Prince Kung would gradually withdraw. I suspected that his pride had been injured but that he would eventually get over it and continue his fight for the dynasty. But Prince Kung's heart retreated to his chrysanthemum garden and he would never come out again.
By the end of January 1895 Guang-hsu realized that he had no other option but to negotiate with Japan. To his further humiliation, Japan refused to discuss the treaty with anyone except the disgraced Li Hung-chang.
On February 13, Guang-hsu relieved Li of his duties as viceroy of Chihli and instructed him to lead the Chinese diplomatic effort. Once again, I was to receive Li Hung-chang in the name of the Emperor.
Li did not want to come to Peking. He begged to be excused from his duty. Believing that the Emperor and the Ironhats would sooner or later make him a scapegoat, he had no confidence that he would survive. He pointed out that things had changed. We had lost our bargaining chip. There was no way to bring Japan to the negotiating table.
"Any man who represents China and signs the treaty will have to sign away parts of China," Li predicted. "It will be a thankless task, and the nation will blame him no matter what the reason for the outcome."
I pleaded with him to think it over, and sent him a personal invitation to have dinner with me.
Li responded, saying in his message that he was not fit for the honor and his advanced age and ill health made travel difficult.
"I wish that I weren't the Empress of China," I wrote back to Li. "The Japanese are on their way to Peking, and I can't bear to even begin to imagine how they will violate the Imperial ancestral grounds."
Perhaps it was my urgent tone, perhaps it was his sense of noblesse oblige-whatever the reason-Li Hung-chang honored me with his presence, and he was quickly appointed as China's chief negotiator. He arrived at Shimonoseki, Japan, on March 19, 1895. About a month later, the negotiations took a startling turn: while leaving one of the sessions with Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi, Li was shot in the face by a Japanese extremist.
"I was almost glad the incident took place," Li replied when I wrote asking after his condition. "The bullet grazed my left cheek. It gained me what I could never get at the negotiating table-the world's sympathy."