Last Princess of Manchuria

by Lilian Lee

  On inspiration, she cleverly replied, "I'm from my mother's stomach!"

  Then she turned on her heel and sped away. She ran and ran; but where was she running? No matter how fast or far she ran, she was still in a foreign country. This wasn't her home, and it never could be. She tried to recall her home; but try as she might, she couldn't even remember her mother's face.

  Unbidden, tears began to fill her eyes, but she didn't feel sad, exactly. It was more of a vague and lonely emptiness.

  A rubber ball came flying over from the distant playing field and landed at her feet. A little boy came running after the ball, but before he was able to retrieve it, Yoshiko quickly snatched it up. Using every ounce of her strength, she nastily threw it even farther away. This was the hard side of her personality, seen only in flashes now; but as the years went by, it would show itself more frequently, and with more intensity.

  She ran on, home to her foster father, Kawashima, while all the time her classmates called mockingly after her:

  "Yoshiko! Yoshiko! Little Chinese Yoshiko!"

  Yoshiko didn't want to go back to school. The group-oriented regimentation of school life went completely against her nature. She switched schools countless times and went through a number of private tutors, but she was never satisfied. The only thing that remained constant was that Kawashima set her daily lessons. Day and night, he saw to it that she was inculcated with thoughts of Ching restoration and an independent Manchuria. In this way, step by step, Yoshiko grew up.

  A thousand miles away in China, life went on. In 1916, President Yuan Shih-kai died in somewhat mysterious circumstances. Some said he had died of illness; others said it was a cerebral hemorrhage triggered by shock; and still others said he had been assassinated. But in the end it didn't really matter to Kawashima and Prince Su. They had been mustering their forces to mount an operation that would have brought down Yuan and restored the Ching. With Yuan's death, they suddenly found themselves without an objective. It was as though somebody had stuck a pin into an overinflated balloon. Prince Su was despondent and slid into a depression.

  The following year, there was another failed attempt to restore the Ching dynasty. This time it started in the south. After only twelve days, it was soundly defeated; but in the aftermath of the affair, China's political situation was even more confused than before. Nothing had been settled, despite an official return to the Ching calendar.

  Kawashima and Prince Su had another ally, a Mongolian general named Babujab. He fought long and hard to realize their goals, but he met with political failure and a violent death. After several years of scattered skirmishes, Prince Su and Kawashima's money and ammunition were all spent. They had squandered their resources and achieved nothing. Discouraged as Kawashima was by these many setbacks, he still had a card up his sleeve.

  Yoshiko was now almost fifteen. This evening she was sitting by the window of their new house and gazing up at the starry sky. They had left Tokyo and taken lodgings near the Asama Hot Springs in Shinshu.

  The stars in the sky came in many colors. There were yellow ones, blue ones, silver ones, and red ones. They were like multicolored spangles sewn onto a black sash of night sky. Yoshiko sat there, just gazing at the stars, for a very long time.

  Gradually, a sense of desolation crept over her. She began to feel uneasy, but all she had to do was remember her mission, and she cheered up immediately. The mighty Ching dynasty will always have me! My homeland needs me, and I won't let it down! she thought to herself. Encouraged by these thoughts, she was filled with passion and a renewed sense of purpose. Kawashima's years of painstaking training had been well spent on this young woman. Yoshiko had by now become a shrewd and fearless young girl; and, although she was impulsive, she had guts and the ability to think for herself.

  Yoshiko had transferred midyear to Matsumoto Girls High School. Her attendance and scholarship were poor at best. She went to class only when she was in the mood. When she got bored, she simply slipped away. Neither threats nor cajolery could persuade her to change her ways.

  She had just sneaked out of class one day when Kawashima appeared at the school. She was passing the time of day with the school handyman, chatting and laughing merrily.

  "Yoshiko!" her foster father called to her.

  One look at the serious expression on his face told her that something was wrong. He put an arm around her thin shoulders. Although she was rather slight, her muscles were strong and firm.

  "Yoshiko," he said gravely. "I have more bad news for you. You must be strong. It's your father. He passed away on the twenty-seventh, in Port Arthur—diabetes."

  Kawashima's words filled Yoshiko's mind. More bad news, she thought. Only a month before, news of her mother's death had reached them. People said that her mother had been pregnant with her eleventh child. Wanting to devote all of her attention to looking after Prince Su, she had decided not to have the child. She had taken what she thought was a mild dose of poison to induce a miscarriage; but she had miscalculated the dosage and had accidentally killed herself.

  Now Yoshiko's father was gone, too.

  It was as though all of her family ties had been severed. She was completely on her own, alone in the world.

  "Don't be sad, Yoshiko," Kawashima was admonishing her.

  "Remember, we must carry on with your father's work. We must restore the Ching dynasty!"

  Yoshiko said nothing. She had just received a great blow, yet she betrayed no emotion. Dry-eyed, she set her jaw, her face as cold and unmoving as jade.

  Her unshakable composure was the result of Kawashima's strict upbringing. Yoshiko bore little resemblance to the "little trinket" who had been so prone to tears and tantrums. She had grown into a strong young woman who never shed tears. Her foster father regarded her solemnly.

  "We are all waiting for you to grow up," he said.

  Indeed, their work was still unfinished. Her father's grand dreams were still unfulfilled. Kawashima's ambitious schemes were still just extravagant talk. Yoshiko was to be the final gambit, but she was not yet ready to be played. She was like a blossom that had yet to burst into bloom, a thoroughbred that had never been run.

  Through everything, and against many odds, Yoshiko had never forgotten who she was, and she never forgot her position in her family. She had grown up in a world torn by revolution and political upheaval, had been separated from her family at an early age to be raised in Japan by an ambitious stranger. Any feelings of attachment she might have had for her family had all but been destroyed in the intervening years. Nonetheless, she remembered who she was—the fourteenth daughter of Prince Su, and a Manchu princess—and she knew what was required of her. She rushed back to Peking to attend her father's funeral, as was her duty.

  Prince Su's coffin was conducted from Port Arthur to Peking by a long cortege of pall-bearers, sutra chanters, mourners, and assistants carrying the paper replicas of money and other personal articles that the spirit of the deceased would need in the afterlife. The procession was so long that it took an entire day for it to travel from the gates of the prince's residence to the Port Arthur train station. The funeral rituals were second only to an emperor's in strictness and formality, and the pomp of the ceremony would have suited an emperor.

  After her father's funeral, Yoshiko returned to school in Japan; but she had even less taste for academic work than before. She took any opportunity she could find to take days off. When she had been absent from class for some time, her headmaster lost patience and threatened to expel her. But Yoshiko did not care in the least. She had fallen in love.

  4

  Yoshiko's was a wild and playful young love. She would put on a sailor suit and cap and go out riding with her sweetheart. She looked almost like a boy, except that her long hair fell well past her shoulders, and it blew in the wind as she galloped along.

  Her sweetheart's name was Toru Yamaga. He was a second lieutenant in the Fiftieth Infantry Company of Matsumoto, and a candidate for the military aca
demy. Adventurer, patriot, and radical, he was also a member of the shadowy group known as the Black Dragon Society. This organization of nationalistic militarists had ties to Japanese military intelligence and was committed to the goal of establishing Japanese control over East Asia.

  Its primary objective was Northeast China—Manchuria.

  Men of all descriptions regularly came to Naniwa Kawa-shima's house to attend meetings and carry on loud and bombastic political discussions deep into the night. Yamaga had been one of them, but his interest was soon distracted from international affairs by the beautiful young Yoshiko. As the pair found themselves inexorably drawn to one another, they became increasingly uninterested in politics.

  Yoshiko was now seventeen years old, and she had developed a unique kind of charm—an intriguing blend of femininity and aggressiveness. But she was still a child in many ways.

  The young couple often went riding together. Yoshiko rode well, but Yamaga was far more accomplished. With a swift and subtle movement, he would urge his horse to spring into a gallop, leaving Yoshiko far behind. Then, with just a tug on the reins, Yamaga could make his horse stop and rear up on its hind legs, so that man and horse both stood tall and gallant.

  He was a soldier, and he rode like one, with bravado. His horsemanship seemed to be one fancy, hair-raising maneuver after another. As he raced along, his body often rose far out of the saddle, so that he seemed to be flying through the air.

  Yoshiko did not like to be outdone, and today these stunts of Yamaga's bothered her even more than usual. Of course, she adored him, but she hated his being so much more skillful than she was. Determined to keep up with him, she made her body light and let herself rise out of the saddle as she galloped. Suddenly, she lost her balance and started to slip off the horse.

  Yamaga saw that Yoshiko was about to take a fall. He quickly spun his horse around, rushed back to her, and lifted her lightly back into her saddle. Yoshiko gave him a grateful smile.

  The two rode on companionably for the rest of the afternoon. It was only hours later that they realized how exhausted they were and turned for home.

  When they reached Yoshiko's house, they found that Kawashima had company. Today, as on many days, the house near Asama Hot Springs was filled with distinguished guests. The entryway was lined with rows of the boots and shoes Kawa-shima's guests had removed upon entering the house. The walls were hung with hats and overcoats, and a variety of walking sticks filled the umbrella stand.

  Who was inside Kawashima's meeting room and what they were conferring about were matters of complete indifference to Yoshiko. She could only stare at Yamaga—she looked right through the rest as if they weren't even there.

  Yamaga accompanied his sweetheart as far as the entryway.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, barely able to stand even the thought of parting.

  Yoshiko looked at him sternly.

  "You may not leave yet!" she said, assuming a commanding tone of voice. Then she spun around swiftly and ran to the kitchen. Intent on her errand, she was oblivious to the babble of voices that came from behind Kawashima's study door as she passed by.

  She soon returned to Yamaga, bearing a confection box. She opened the box, and Yamaga saw that it contained rice cakes. They were filled with sweetened azuki paste.

  "I made these myself," Yoshiko said, picking up one of the cakes. She took a bite and passed it to him.

  He scowled.

  "Not azuki paste again!" he said with annoyance.

  "I like it!"

  "It's too sweet! I like chestnut filling."

  Yoshiko shook her head but didn't say a word. She then took out the gob of rice cake she had been chewing and shoved it into his mouth, not taking her eyes off him until he had swallowed it all.

  "I don't like chestnut filling," she said firmly. "But next time I promise to make some just for you—if you have eaten every cake in this box by tomorrow."

  Yamaga glanced surreptitiously at the contents of the box. There were eight of them! And they were all several inches across! One look at Yoshiko told him he had better do as he was told, and he graciously took the box.

  Yoshiko brimmed with satisfaction. Ever since childhood, she had been a little dictator. This autocratic streak was complimented by a well-developed talent for wheedling. One of her greatest pleasures was keeping her loved ones wrapped around her little finger.

  "Next time," she said silkily, "I promise to use chestnut filling. And if I break my promise, I'll make it up to you by using only chestnut filling for the rest of my life!"

  She gave him a sidelong glance. He was almost ten years her senior, but he was putty in her hands.

  "I want to prove to you that I am a good woman."

  Yamaga laughed and quickly drew himself to attention.

  "You are the good woman of Second Lieutenant Yamaga of the Fiftieth Infantry Company of Matsumoto! My respects, miss!" he said, saluting her.

  Yoshiko seemed to reflect on this for a moment.

  "Matsumoto is such a tiny place. . . . Oh, never mind. Anyway, don't forget—you have to eat them all! You will be interrogated tomorrow!" Having said this, she turned to go inside; but after only a few steps, she looked back at him and admonished him sweetly:

  "See you tomorrow!"

  She watched him leap onto his horse and ride away, her eyes lingering lovingly on his receding form. He was like his horse— proud and strong—and he gave a lusty shout as he rode off.

  A contented smile spread over her face. She could almost have forgotten all of her lofty ambitions. Let the others go racing off to China! They could go without her! All that she wanted in the world was to be with her love, to care for him, and to have him care for her. Together they could travel far and fly high. She was no different from other women, after all. She could find her happiness in loving a man.

  "Yoshiko!"

  She did not hear.

  "Yoshiko!"

  The call from inside the house came again, dragging her spirit back to the present.

  The smile had not yet faded from her cheeks as she called out a response and made her way to the study. She slid open the wooden door.

  All eyes in the room were on her, and she gave a start. There were about a dozen men gathered in the study, all dashing and brave idealists, filled with the spirit of adventure. There was something very unnerving about having a dozen men staring at her so intently. She felt oddly out of place: Once again, she had stumbled into the world of men.

  Seated next to Naniwa Kawashima was a man with pure white hair and beard and a deceptively kind face. His name was Mitsuru Kashirayama, and he was the leader of the Black Dragon Society. He gave Yoshiko a thorough looking-over. With his air of quiet authority, he had a way of commanding attention without being threatening.

  Mitsuru Kashirayama and Naniwa Kawashima saw eye to eye when it came to the goal of realizing Japan's desire to conquer the Asian continent and the rationale behind it. In their view, the Chinese race had been completely corrupted by five thousand years of stagnant civilization. Chinese society had all but disintegrated, and its 400 million people were as scattered and aimless as windblown grains of sand. The Chinese people were selfish, egotistical, and shortsighted—they were enslaved by a dying nation.

  The time had come for Japan to assert its natural superiority. With its superior strength, Japan would have little difficulty in establishing its first foothold in the Chinese territories of Manchuria and Mongolia. Having occupied this corner of the land, they could use it as a base from which to extend their influence throughout Asia, until they reached their ultimate goal: to become the masters of Asia. It was imperative that other world powers not be allowed to claw China apart, piece by piece. The Japanese were especially wary of Russia, which eyed China like a hungry beast.

  When Yoshiko walked in on them, it was just these questions—and what to do about Manchuria and Mongolia, in particular—that Kawashima and his guests were discussing.

  "I look forward
to the day when the skies of Manchuria will be the roof over our heads, the earth of Manchuria will be our bed, and our names will be engraved upon China's five thousand years of troubled history!" Kawashima declaimed.

  Yoshiko nodded her head in greeting to the assembled guests. To some extent, almost every one of the ambitious young men seated in Kawashima's study was a secret admirer of Yoshiko. Indeed, each may have dedicated his youth to something more than politics and the fate of the nation. Perhaps their political activism had become little more than a cover for another objective. After all, Yoshiko was just seventeen, beautiful, haughty, and a pure-blooded Manchu princess. And despite her breeding, she had a recklessness and unconventionality that made her all the more attractive. She would have been an appealing bride even without her political connections.