Green Phoenix

by Poon, Alice;

  He had had a chance to study the layout of the Forbidden City while helping in the planning of the Imperial Palace in Mukden, and one fine day soon after the occupation of Beijing was compete, he rode out to take a tour of this architectural wonder. Its vastness alone he found overwhelming. His memory informed him that from the Meridian Gate to the south to the Gate of Divine Might in the north was a distance of over three thousand feet, while the east-west span was about three-quarters of the north-south axis. He saw that the layout was exactly as it was on the drawings he had once studied. Behind the double-winged Meridian Gate stood the imposing Gate of Supreme Harmony, the sentinel gate guarding the Outer Court to the south.

  The central stone-slab path traversing the palaces was entirely composed of elaborate and symbolic bas-relief carvings leading from the Meridian Gate right up to the Gate of Divine Might, forming the Imperial Way. This north-south pathway included a single-slab ramp carved with nine dragons that connected the Outer Court with the Inner Court. By decree, the Imperial Way was for the exclusive use by the Emperor’s Imperial carriage or litter and his entourage.

  Having passed through the Gate of Supreme Harmony, Dorgon was unable to resist the temptation and trotted audaciously along the central regal pathway. He dismounted from his horse and ascended the three tiers of white marble steps to inspect the three main Halls of the Outer Court. All these Halls had multi-inclined, yellow glazed-tile roofs and scarlet walls and pillars. Standing majestically on the glistening white terrace, these Halls represented the apex of power and prestige. The oblong Hall of Supreme Harmony, which had witnessed countless coronations and Imperial weddings was perched in front, the square-shaped, pyramidal-roofed Hall of Central Harmony snuggled in the middle, and the rectangular Hall of Preserving Harmony where the imperial examinations were held, lay at the back. He couldn’t help marveling at the fastidious craftsmanship of the exterior sculpted eaves. The plush interiors awed him just as much, especially the cerulean painted glass ceilings and the glittering golden-brick flooring. He wondered how much labor, time and artistic skill had gone into the embellishment process.

  In the Inner Court, he found on the central axis the three most luxuriant Palaces. Greeting him first was the ornate double-eaved Palace of Heavenly Purity, roosting on a single-tiered white marble platform. This was where the Emperor would reside and hold Court. Next appeared the demure Hall of Union, where the Imperial seals were kept. The Palace of Earthly Tranquility, which served as the Empress’s abode, lounged at the back. All these Palaces were finished to an opulent standard.

  Looking out from the balustrade-fenced marble platform, he saw six dainty Palaces symmetrically lining the east and west wings. He knew these were lodgings for Consorts, Princes and Princesses. Further north at a distance, nestled between the Inner Court and the Gate of Divine Might, a vista that looked like a silk kerchief embroidered in emerald, violet and pink caught his wandering eyes. That was the Imperial Garden, manicured to perfection with rare plants.

  Though he did not like to admit it, he knew that no matter how closely the Mukden Palaces resembled the Forbidden City, it was at best a bland replica with no glorious past to boast of. And the Forbidden City’s history could be traced back to the Kublai Khan era of the Mongol Dynasty, four hundred years before. Bumbutai had once told him of it.

  “At that time, the Mongolian Imperial clan created a miniature steppe within a tightly guarded walled compound in the middle of the city. It was thus that the ruling clan and families could preserve their culture of communal living in gers, away from the prying eyes of the Han Chinese. That is where the name ‘Forbidden City’ comes from.”

  She had shared the tidbits gleefully.

  “In the Mongolian culture, as you know, the gers are the women’s property and domain. They can move or dispose of the gers as and when they like, or as the circumstances dictate, because the men are always engaged in hunting or fighting wars.”

  When the Chinese expelled the Mongols with the start of the Ming dynasty, the capital was first placed in the city of Nanjing, far to the south. But the draw of Beijing was strong, and before long, the Ming rulers moved their capital back there, replacing the the gers with the web of Palaces now laid out before him.

  While strolling on foot around the Inner Court Palaces, many of which had been defaced by the plundering rebels, he was overwhelmed by a taunting thought. In terms of power and prestige, no one in the Manchu leadership surpassed him now. He was the de facto ruler. The boy Fulin, who had been given the imperial title of Shunzhi, was only a puppet and would remain as such for some time to come. Yet it was also clear that he, the all-powerful Regent, was not the true master of these Halls and Palaces, and never would be. For better or for worse, he was bound to the bargain he had made with Bumbutai. But then, who would dare stop him if he chose to build a residence that resembled the Palace of Heavenly Purity, both in exterior design and interior trimmings?

  Thus musing, he laid eyes on the spacious Palace of Earthly Tranquility, the very name of which evoked the spirit of Mother Earth. An idea dawned on him. With Shamanism being the predominant religion for the Manchus, what could be more fitting than to set up a Shamanist Temple within this Nature-inspired Palace? This would be the best way for the victorious Manchus to etch their cultural imprint on China. At that thought, he almost wanted to jump to action at once, but checked his impulse. His immediate task was to get the Hall of Supreme Harmony quickly repaired so that the new Qing Emperor could be formally received into the Forbidden City.

  Having finished inspecting the walled-in maze of regal buildings, he rode out to the West Park beside the Forbidden City. Almost immediately he found himself within the embrace of a scented forest of pine sprinkled with crystal-clear lakes fringed by willows. Elegant terraces and dainty pavilions randomly dotted the immense Park.

  Splendid as this Park was, it was too artificial for his taste. What he really fancied was a sprawling piece of virgin land that could be used for hunting, and he had a good idea where he wanted it set up. At the end of the tour, he felt much pleased that he had earlier assigned the West quadrant, which lay just beyond this landscape of delight, to the White Bannermen as a reward for their loyalty to him and to his brothers.

  Unlike Hong Taiji, Dorgon was not a willing listener to Bumbutai’s advice, especially now that she was going to become his wife. She had been trying to dissuade him from forcing Manchu customs on the Hans, but he would always find a way to avoid being drawn into dscussion with her.

  Bumbutai was not surprised by such a reaction, as she had always known about his chauvinistic attachment to Manchu traditions and culture, not least from his doting wife Little Jade, who was her younger half-sister. By arrangement between Hong Taiji and Manggusi, Little Jade had been given to Dorgon in marriage around the time Bumbutai gave birth to her first child.She could still remember vividly how much her heart ached when news of this had broken.

  Little Jade had loved Dorgon at first sight and had been trying to win his heart all these years, knowing, not without a tinge of jealousy, that she could never compete with Bumbutai in this domain. In order to win his approval of her, she had even given up her belief in Buddhism and taken up Shamanism.

  Every day, seated in front of her bronze mirror for hours, she would docilely let her maid dress her hair meticulously in the classic Manchu hairstyle – two knots of hair piled up on top of the head – and decorate it with the same pair of pearl hairpins that Dorgon had given her at their wedding. She would always choose to wear Manchu-styled wide-sleeved robes with bright-colored silk appliqué and decorated apron, and high-heeled Manchu shoes.

  Each evening, she would have Dorgon’s favorite dishes set out in her lounge and wait patiently for him to appear. Nine out of ten times, though, she would end up eating alone. Knowing one of his favorite pastimes was falcon hunting, she went so far as to take falconry lessons even though she had a natural dislike for stre
nuous activities. To her great disappointment, her eager efforts to please usually met with nothing but a stone-cold face.

  Sumalagu fed Bumbutai regular reports of such gossip, gathered from maids in Dorgon’s household, saying on one occasion: “Your half-sister is a piteous soul. She’ll die of heartbreak one day.”

  Five months after the decisive Battle of Shanhai Pass was won, one cool autumn day the Qing Imperial procession marched through the citadel gates of Shanhai Pass and started out on the journey west towards the Meridian Gate of the Forbidden City in the center of Beijing. Leading the procession were Jirgalang and the Manchu Eight Banner cavalry. Next in line was the Imperial carriage drawn by four stallions draped in golden satin, in which sat a nervous Shunzhi Emperor, in the company of his regally-attired mother, now Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang. The carriage was followed by the Mongolian Eight Banner cavalry and the Chinese Eight Banner infantry in horse-drawn wagons. Manchu clansmen and Court ministers trailed behind in ceremonial carriages.

  Waiting at the Meridian Gate was Dorgon in full shining armor atop his brawny black stallion, surrounded by Ming generals and court officials who had defected, also on horseback. On the approach of the Imperial carriage, the receiving company, with the exception of Dorgon, promptly dismounted to make obeisance to the new Emperor. The Imperial cortege then rumbled along the Imperial Way towards the Hall of Supreme Harmony, with the rest of the cavalcade clanging along on the right and left flanks.

  Upon entering the Hall, the Emperor’s eunuch helped the six-year-old boy to be seated on the golden dragon Throne Seat in the middle of the raised dais of white marble, while Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang – Bumbutai – stepped up and seated herself on his right on a winged chair with the back sculpted in the shape of a phoenix. A Ming Minister of Protocol knelt in front of the dais, holding the Imperial Jade Seal that had belonged to the Chongzhen Emperor. After bowing three times, he raised the Seal above his head in an offering gesture. The eunuch took it from him and handed it to the Qing Emperor.

  Then he read out an Imperial edict which declared that the primary purpose of the new Qing dynasty’s assumption of sovereignty was to avenge the Chongzhen Emperor, quell rebellions and restore peace and order. The edict had been carefully worded by Scholar Fan on Dorgon’s orders, with Bumbutai’s advice. She had said to him: “The last thing we want is to have the Hans see us as alien usurpers of the Ming throne. We must back our claim with noble motives.”

  When the ceremony concluded, the Shunzhi Emperor and the Empress Dowager retired to Wuying Hall, which had been turned into temporary living quarters for them, as the Inner Court Palaces were still being restored to their original state.

  On a bright day of the tenth month, the young Emperor led a Shamanist ritual in the Square in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony to give offerings to the Heavens and to seek blessings for the new Dynasty. The new reign would carry the official name of “Qing” and the new Emperor would be titled Shunzhi of the Aisin Gioro clan. Beijing was declared as the Empire’s capital, and Mukden as its secondary capital. When the ritual ended, the clansmen, Banner Chiefs and Court ministers filed into the Hall, where the formal Regent appointment ceremony was to take place.

  The child Emperor, with a custom-made gold-rimmed red velvet Imperial crown sitting on his head and dressed in an Imperial golden robe embroidered with dragons, received the full Court’s tribute of obeisance and good wishes.

  At the Emperor’s bidding, his eunuch then read out an Imperial edict bestowing on Dorgon the official title of “Uncle Prince Regent” and on Jirgalang the official title of “Prince Regent.” The Shunzhi Emperor, on his mother’s prompt, climbed down from his Dragon Throne and stood in front of the audience. He was trembling. The eunuch handed him a sheathed sword with a gem-studded hilt and scabbard, a symbol of regency power, and invited Uncle Prince Regent to come forward.

  Dorgon knelt with one knee on the ground and the other half-bent and accepted the sword with a smirk on his face. Shunzhi’s eyes darted away instinctively to avoid his uncle’s baleful glare. Dorgon then spoke..

  “I will serve the Qing Empire and Your Imperial Highness with all my heart,” he made his declaration, the disdain in his voice plain for all to hear. “To this I swear.”

  Then Jirgalang’s name was announced, and he came forward to receive the same type of sword, kneeling with both his knees on the ground in deference and taking the same oath.

  Three days later, Dorgon issued an Imperial edict in the capacity of Uncle Prince Regent, changing Jirgalang’s title from “Prince Regent” to “Assistant Uncle Prince Regent”. If Jirgalang was in any way displeased with this, he did not let it show. Since being elected a co-Regent, Dorgon had been behaving as though he was the sole Regent. He had thirsted for absolute power for too long to care about anything now. His turn had at long last come to impose his own will. Jirgalang had always understood that Dorgon would never be content with anything less than absolute power. Soon after the Manchu Army’s victorious entry into Beijing, on Dorgon’s hint, Jirgalang had already voluntarily ceded all his power over state affairs to him. Dorgon now had both the government and the military in his clutches.

  The following spring, the Chinese general Wu Sangui had successfully chased the rebel Li Zicheng out of his redoubt in Xi’an. Li’s army was shrinking by the day and those remaining were fast losing their faith in him. Some of them formed a group which secretly decided to surrender to Wu’s army and to take the concubine Chen Yuanyuan to him as proof of good faith. One night, after Li fell asleep, they took Yuanyuan, put her on a horse and rode with her to Wu’s camp. Each rider held up a white flag as they approached.

  When Wu saw his beloved woman, he was beside himself with joy and immediately ordered his deputies to reward the surrendering rebels with a feast and silver bars. Yuanyuan fell to her knees in a wail, wrapping her arms around Wu’s legs: “My master, I thought I would never see you again!” Aware of her own wretched condition, she clambered up and on impulse, tried to grab a dagger from one of the soldiers. Wu sprang forward to stop her just in time. She struggled and cried: “Please let me end my miserable life. I am not worthy of you.” It was only when Wu held her tightly in his embrace that she let the dagger drop from her hand.

  After the initial thrill of reunion started to wane, Wu had second thoughts about taking her back as his concubine. He gazed at her for a while, searching in her pale face for traces of their happier past. In the end, he gave in to his instinct. The image of vulgar peasants violating her proved to be beyond his capacity to endure.

  Yuanyuan on her part had never harbored unrealistic expectations, knowing it would be hard for any man to look past her stigmatized condition. After a long and painful silence, she begged Wu to allow her to retire to a Taoist nunnery where she could spend the rest of her life in reclusion. He didn’t even pretend to dissuade her. For Yuanyuan, Wu was the love of her life, and his all-too-eager acquiescence to her request cut her heart to pieces. But she knew tears would only make her look pathetic. So, with a deep sigh, she walked out of the camp in a steady gait and her head held up high, never looking back. She forced herself to picture a new life in the Temple of the Three Sages, in the city of Kunming.

  Several months later, Li Zicheng was stabbed to death in his sleep by one of his deputies, and the rebel army disintegrated.

  As soon as Xi’an was taken, the Qing army began forging their way into the region of Jiangnan, south of the Lower Yangtze River, where the Ming loyalists had made a home base with their capital in Nanjing. Bloody battles were fought in many regions, with a particularly hideous slaughter in the town of Yangzhou in Jiangsu Province.

  In the fifth month of the second year of Shunzhi’s reign, the Manchu forces laid siege to Yangzhou for seven days. The Ming loyalists were led by a man named Shi Kefa who had been trying with all his might to defend what was left of the old empire. Before the siege, Dorgon had written to Shi plea
ding for his surrender, to which Shi had written an eloquent reply in a tone that was neither arrogant nor self-humbling, rejecting the proposal. But to Dorgon’s egocentric self, the letter was an impertinent and insulting rebuff.

  On the 24th day, with Yangzhou running out of ammunition and food supplies, the Qing army led by Prince Dodo began a heavy bombardment of the walls with cannons. With no rescue forces in sight, the town finally fell in the evening. Shi Kefa botched an attempt to slit his own throat and begged his foster son to kill him instead. But to his chagrin, the youngster cowered and fled. Shi was captured and later executed because he flatly rejected all entreaties for his defection. Dodo, who was angry at the heavy casualties in his army incurred by Shi’s recalcitrance, ordered a massacre of all the residents of Yangzhou.

  Inside the town, houses with thatched roofs were targeted by archers who shot balls of burning straw at them. Slow-moving old people were choked by the dense smoke and burned to death. Those who managed to escape the fires were trampled under horse hoofs or cut down by the machete-wielding Qing soldiers. Defenseless women and children were rounded up like animals, tied together with ropes and bludgeoned to death. Cobble-stoned streets were turned into rivers of blood and charred corpses piled up everywhere, spilling into the canals. The wail of agonized screams from those still alive rent through the whole town, sending ghoulish echoes up to heaven and down to hell.

  The massacre went on for ten days and it was said that a total of 800,000 people were killed. On the surface, it was Dodo who willed the slaughter to take place. But in reality, it was Dorgon, anxious to assert rule over southern China, who had given the order. He had told Dodo: “There are still so many Jiangnan towns resisting our rule. It will take forever to subdue southern China. Let us make Yangzhou an example with a message for all to see.”