Last Princess of Manchuria

by Lilian Lee

  He paused briefly before adding, "His Imperial Highness, the emperor of Japan, has lent us his full support. He has absolute faith in our Kwantung Army!"

  "If you will return me to my rightful station as emperor, I will agree to go to Manchuria. Otherwise, I shall refuse," Pu-yi insisted.

  "Why, of course we plan to restore the monarchy," Tohibara replied. He smiled faintly, but his voice remained even. "That goes without saying."

  Tohibara's calm attitude hid the fact that getting Pu-yi to Manchuria was a matter of extreme urgency to the Japanese. It was to be done as soon as possible, and Tohibara was simply pandering to Pu-yi's ambition in order to get his cooperation. Once Pu-yi reached Manchuria, he would be nothing but a puppet emperor. But Pu-yi was too blinded by ambition even to suspect their true intentions.

  On a dark November night, a small motorboat neared the shore at the Manchurian port city of Yingkou. The vessel, the Hijiyama Maru, belonged to the Transport Division of Japanese Military Headquarters. Its mission had been to transport Pu-yi from Tientsin under the strictest security, and the crew had never let him out of their sight.

  All was dark and quiet on shore, and nothing could be seen in the gloom except a few figures waiting nervously in the shadows. The only other sign of life was the occasional halfhearted barking of a dog somewhere in the distance.

  Yoshiko and Shunkichi Uno stood together, watching with bated breath the little black dot that hugged the shore. They were flanked by aides-de-camp, a few military policemen, and Uno's special aide, whose tightly pursed lips only detracted slightly from his rather handsome features. He had a resourceful and determined air, indeed. This Chinese orphan raised by Japanese troops was known for his quick wits and cool head. He had come far and held many important duties in Uno's organization. His family name was Lin, and everybody called him by the nickname Hsiao Lin, or Young Lin.

  Young Lin's eyes did not waver from the small motorboat as it docked.

  Yoshiko gave him a quick appraisal. A young Chinese man working with China's sworn enemies, the Japanese? That was highly unusual, abnormal even, she thought to herself.

  The boat's passengers started to disembark. Cheng Hsiao-hsu, a politician, and his son led the way, followed by several of Pu-yi's loyal retainers, a few Japanese officers, and a dozen other soldiers. Pu-yi, disguised in a Japanese Army coat and cap, was the last to appear. He looked haggard, as though there'd been trouble along the way; but now he thought he had found a safe harbor at last.

  The welcoming party rushed forward to greet Pu-yi and pay their respects as he stepped ashore.

  "Your Imperial Highness has undoubtedly had a difficult journey," Uno said as he saluted. "Tonight, we will travel by car to the hot springs at Tang Peak. After a few days' rest, we will proceed to Port Arthur."

  Pu-yi surveyed the small group assembled before him. Was this the full extent of his welcoming party? he wondered with some disappointment. He still had on dark glasses, and when he pulled a long face, his entire body seemed cloaked in gloom. But then a ray of light burst upon the company, and right before his eyes there stood a beautiful young woman. She came forward and presented herself.

  "Best wishes to Your Imperial Highness," she said, all but prostrating herself before him. "Hsien-tzu, the fourteenth daughter of Prince Su, at Your Majesty's service."

  Pu-yi brightened visibly at the sight of his countrywoman. She was like him—a Manchu, and a member of the Ching imperial clan.

  "Hm. I seem to remember you. You are my cousin, are you not?" he said.

  Yoshiko felt a flush of pride at being singled out by the emperor. In a crowd of Japanese men, it was she, Yoshiko, who was the emperor's favorite. But she carefully hid her pleasure, responding to Pu-yi in a voice that betrayed nothing.

  "Your Highness flatters me. Although I am still known by some as Hsien-tzu, I have a nom de guerre—Yoshiko Kawa-shima," she said, ambition shining in her eyes.

  Members of the imperial household crowded in behind the emperor. Their future and the future of the Ching dynasty depended on Yoshiko and a handful of foreign strangers.

  "Your Highness can rest assured," Uno said warmly. "We are committed to the great task of founding an independent Manchuria."

  As Pu-yi was escorted to a waiting carriage, he turned to Yoshiko.

  "I had expected a bigger crowd," he confided morosely, "all waving flags and cheering. . . ."

  "Your Highness, when the time comes, there most assuredly will be," Yoshiko replied in a firm and masculine tone.

  As Pu-yi mounted the carriage, she turned to Uno's special aide.

  "Young Lin! Protect His Majesty well!" she commanded.

  "Yes, ma'am!" he answered heartily.

  Pu-yi needed protection—only a day before his departure from Tientsin, there was an attempt on his life. A fruit basket had arrived at his residence, and closer inspection had revealed that there were explosives hidden inside. This narrow escape left Pu-yi feeling especially anxious to leave Tientsin, but perhaps the timing was too perfect. After all, nobody knew for sure who sent the explosive package. It might well have been a Japanese ruse to frighten Pu-yi and speed him on his way to Manchuria.

  The group watched Pu-yi's carriage until it was out of sight, and then Uno walked over to Yoshiko. They stood face-to-face, eyeing each other momentarily, a pair of wary conspirators. Both were troubled by the same question: Where was the empress Wan-jung? Why hadn't she come to Manchuria with her husband?

  Yoshiko was back in her old home, Port Arthur. The pain of being sent away at the age of seven had all but faded from her memory, but she could still remember her childhood in this city. She and her thirty-odd brothers and sisters did everything together—they played in the garden, catching sparrows, gathering wild dates, or waiting eagerly for the apricot blossoms of spring. They studied together, too, learning Chinese, Japanese, and calligraphy. But, suddenly, everything had changed, and she was thrown into a new life. Her childhood ended the day she boarded the ship to Japan.

  At twenty she came back here and became a married woman. What pomp and fanfare accompanied that event! Of course, it did not last, and now she was a divorcee. Such are the vicissitudes of fate.

  Despite all that happened here, she did not think of Port Arthur as her true home, but rather as a way station.

  This time around, Yoshiko stayed at the Daiwa Hotel, that fancy Japanese establishment where she was married. Pu-yi was sequestered on the upper floor, along with a small entourage. Until his coronation, he was to remain there, for all purposes under house arrest. While he was essentially a Japanese prisoner, they treated him with the utmost respect.

  It was three o'clock in the morning, and there were only two customers in the hotel's elegant and spacious bar. Guards kept watch over the vast hall.

  Yoshiko and Shunkichi Uno had been up all night. He was pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. She sat on a barstool, lost in thought. They were both worrying about the same problem: the last empress, Wan-jung.

  "Every play needs a hero and a heroine," Uno muttered to himself.

  "What do you mean, 'play'? You make the founding of Manchukuo sound like an amateur theatrical!" Yoshiko said indignantly. She was also thinking that every play has a final curtain, and that the curtain must never fall on the Ching dynasty.

  Yoshiko and Uno were already at cross-purposes, although they continued to plot and scheme together and kept ulterior motives hidden.

  Uno brought the topic of conversation back to the empress.

  "What's your guess?" he asked her. "Why do you think the empress didn't come to Manchuria with the emperor?"

  "From what I've gathered, she didn't come because she didn't want to."

  "Yes, but was that her idea or the emperor's?" It was a fair question, for it was common knowledge that the emperor and empress had become estranged. Pu-yi was intoxicated by dreams of returning to his dragon throne, and there was no room in his heart for anything but restoration of the Ching dynas
ty. It was a passion that controlled his life. During his time in Tientsin, Pu-yi played host to an endless parade of guests— militarists, politicians, even foreigners. Some of them were rather unsavory characters, but he welcomed them all, provided they expressed a willingness to aid him in his cause. When he had money, he paid these "supporters" handsomely. When there was no cash on hand, he gave them artifacts from the imperial collection. He handed out everything from pearls and jewels to antiques, paintings, and calligraphy scrolls, as "tokens of appreciation."

  The empress, the imperial consort, and the rest of Pu-yi's concubines faded into the background, like so much furniture. Pu-yi neglected his marital relationships to such a point that his wives felt like little more than slaves. The emperor's consort, Wen-hsiu, found the situation so unbearable that she filed for divorce. But the empress Wan-jung did not leave. A member of one of the most powerful Manchu clans, she had entered the imperial court at the age of seventeen, and it was not easy for her to leave. Furthermore, the title of empress still meant a great deal to her, and she held fast to this faded remnant of China's feudal past.

  Clinging to her privilege for dear life, Wan-jung grew more narrow-minded and obsessive with each day, and became superstitious to the point of madness. A jealous woman, she could not tolerate the presence of other women. The emperor, for his part, could not tolerate her. Sinking ever deeper into depression, she took to smoking opium and soon became heavily addicted. At the same time, rumors began to circulate about her loose morals. Once the empress of a vast nation, Wan-jung was a pathetic figure.

  "Well, in any case," Yoshiko was saying to Uno, "this grand scheme of ours can hardly come off without Wan-jung. The stage will be as good as empty if the heroine doesn't show up!" She laughed ruefully.

  Uno seemed to consider for a moment.

  "If only there were someone," he said without looking at her, "someone bold enough, bold enough to risk going to Tientsin in secret to bring back the empress—"

  "That someone is me," Yoshiko broke in. "I'm the one for the job. I know it."

  "It would be a very dangerous operation. Why you?"

  "Because I've been waiting for a chance like this for ages!"

  "No. It's too dangerous. I can't let you do it. There are scores of underlings I could send to take care of this errand," he said with calculation.

  "I only want to help out my 'daddy,' " she said in her most girlish and wheedling voice. Then, in English, she said, "I'll try my best!" She continued in Japanese: "I'll give it everything I have!"

  "Well, my dear. Not only do you have a genius for espionage, you also have quite a talent for languages. I haven't misjudged you!" he said, praising her to the skies. She really was fearless, he thought.

  Uno stepped around so that he stood facing her and looked directly into her eyes.

  "If I ever lost you, Yoshiko, I would be like a samurai who had lost his sword."

  "Hey!" she said, shaking him. "Isn't that pouring it on a bit thick? Tell your scriptwriter to tone it down a little, all right?"

  "I only want to make you happy."

  Still sitting on her barstool, Yoshiko reached out and encircled his waist with her arms. She raised her head just far enough to meet his eyes and stayed that way for quite some time, gazing at him provocatively. Suddenly, she gave him a tight squeeze and buried her head between his legs, but his military trousers blocked her progress. She closed her eyes and chanted seductively in a low and sleepy voice.

  "I thought it was the woman's duty to do everything she could to make her man happy."

  The world outside was pitch-black and deathly still, but this hotel bar, with its blazing lanterns, was an island of warmth and light. The blank-faced darkness pressed in on all sides, but the lounge was like an enormous, cozy bed.

  Yoshiko unfastened the buttons of Uno's trousers. Then she took hold of the zipper with her fine white teeth and slowly drew it down. Slyly, she gave him a light bite, and he responded. . . .

  It was a very, very long night.

  While she was living in Port Arthur, Yoshiko had a chance to meet some of her younger brothers and sisters for the first time. They were not yet born when she was sent away to Japan, and they had grown up in her absence.

  Try as she might, she was unable to win their affection. Sadly, she had become a foreigner in their eyes. They were outwardly polite toward her, but the older brothers and sisters advised the younger ones not to get too close to her. Her improper escapades attracted too much attention, and her flamboyant political activities bore the taint of scandal. Her elder siblings regarded her as an immoral and abnormal woman, and they warned the others off in no uncertain terms. When, on the tenth anniversary of her father's death, a memorial plaque was erected in the garden of his residence, Yoshiko was not invited to the ceremony.

  But she had her own life to live. She would put on a cropped fur coat, tight skirt, high heels, and lots of heavy makeup, and go for a stroll downtown. She cut quite a flashy figure in this outfit, and she turned a lot of heads.

  There was gossip about her liaisons with certain Japanese men, and it wasn't long before her elder brothers sent the younger sisters away to school in Japan. They wanted those impressionable girls to be as far away from Yoshiko as possible.

  Deeply hurt, Yoshiko immersed herself in her work. She was determined not to become like the other members of Prince Su's family, reduced to living like commoners! It took great men and women to change the world. Fate never helped anyone who didn't help himself!

  Her brothers and sisters were her own flesh and blood. Why, she even shared a mother with some of them. And they all had the same father. She was part of their family, and yet they felt nothing for her, as though she weren't good enough for them. She was an outsider, but was it she who was the odd one? No! The truth was that she was the only one of them who had any potential at all!

  The burden fell on her to make things happen and get results. To fail would be to betray her father's faith in her, and render those long years he labored meaningless. She couldn't let that happen. She had a great opportunity before her. She couldn't fail.

  11

  Tientsin. The Garden of Tranquillity, Pu-yi's villa, was located on Harmony and Prosperity Lane in the Japanese concession of Tientsin. The plaque on its outer wall read ching court office—Tientsin branch, for when Pu-yi had named this villa "The Garden of Tranquillity," he had not been seeking the tranquillity of a peaceful retirement. A more accurate reading of his intentions would have been: Watch and wait.

  When its master was at home, the villa had been a miniature Forbidden City. The emperor's old retainers insisted on referring to it as a "temporary residence," as though the emperor were only staying there because some business had briefly taken him away from Peking. Loyal "subjects" came to the villa to pay their respects, and others managed the affairs of this shrunken domain, where the old Ching calendar was still observed and where the emperor and empress were treated according to the strictest rules of court etiquette.

  One day, after the emperor's departure from Tientsin, a small sedan drove up to the imposing main gate of the Garden of Tranquillity. The car sat idling for a moment.

  There were all kinds of people in the road in front of the gate—hawkers, passersby, drivers—an ordinary and harmless mix, at least on the surface. In fact, there was probably more to some of them than met the eye, but it would have taken an expert to tell for sure who was a plainclothes policeman and who was genuine.

  The rather forbidding guards who stood watch inside the gate observed an aristocratic lady in a black fur-lined cloak and high heels stepping out of the car. Under the cloak, she wore a deep, rich red cheongsam, embroidered with a pattern of dragons in silver and gold threads.

  Accompanying this lady was an elegant gentleman in a European suit of the finest English wool—the sort of thing that could only be found in first-class foreign department stores like Harrods. A pair of diamond cuff links and a matching tie tack completed his outfi
t.

  This beautifully turned-out couple was there to call on the residents of the Garden of Tranquillity. The man followed the woman up to the gate, where the gatekeeper looked them over once or twice before beckoning them in with a smile. The woman's imported perfume lingered in the air outside the gate long after she entered the compound. The two were not what they appeared to be, for she was Yoshiko Kawashima, and her "husband" was her handpicked assistant, Young Lin.

  Young Lin felt greatly honored that Yoshiko had chosen to include him in such an important operation, and he was determined to do his job well. Before they left for Tientsin, Yoshiko had commanded Young Lin to spend an evening out on the town with her. "All work and no play makes you a very dull boy," she teased him. They did go out dancing together, and it was rumored that Young Lin spent the night with her, although no one will ever know.