by Anchee Min
Twelve
IN ASSISTING Emperor Hsien Feng, I became familiar with two people who carried great weight in the court and yet whose views were diametrically opposed to it. One was Su Shun, the head of the Grand Council. The other was Prince Kung, the Emperor’s half-brother.
Su Shun was an ambitious and arrogant Manchu in his forties. He was a tall man with a vigorous frame, and his large eyes and thin, slightly hooked nose reminded me of an owl. His bushy eyebrows were uneven, one standing higher than the other. He was known for his wit and explosive temper. He represented the conservative party of the court. My husband called him “a merchant who sells fantastic ideas.” I admired Su Shun’s talent for delivering commanding speeches. He drew examples from history, philosophy, even from classic operas. I often caught myself thinking, Is there anything this man doesn’t know?
Detail was Su Shun’s specialty, and he was a great storyteller. His sense of drama enhanced the effect. With only his voice to go by, as I sat behind my curtain, I was often won over by his words, even if I disagreed with his politics.
To the court, Su Shun was a living book of five thousand years of China’s civilization. The breadth of his knowledge was unparalleled, and he was the only minister fluent in Manchu, Mandarin and ancient Chinese. Su Shun enjoyed great popularity among the Manchu clans, where his anti-barbarian views received wide support.
As the seventh grandson of a nobleman and as a descendant of the founder of the Ch’ing Dynasty, Nurhachi, Su Shun had connections in high places. His power also rested in his friendship with influential men, many of whom were quietly wealthy Chinese. Since his youth he had traveled extensively. His broad tastes allowed him to communicate effectively with society at large. He was known for having a special interest in antique art. He owned several ancient tombs in Hsian, where the first emperor of China was believed to be buried.
Su Shun was regarded as a man of generosity and loyalty. There was a story about when he first began to work for the court as a lowly official’s assistant: he sold his mother’s jewelry so that he could mount banquets for his friends. Later I learned that Su Shun used these elaborate meals to gather information on all areas of life—from gossip about Peking’s most popular actors to who hid the most gold in his backyard, from military reforms to political marriages.
Su Shun’s recent promotion as Emperor Hsien Feng’s right-hand man had stemmed from His Majesty’s frustration over the court’s bureaucracy. So corrupt was the court that most officials did little but sit on their titles and take their salaries. Many were descendants of royals who had fought under powerful princes; others were society’s wealthy but lowborn Manchus who had purchased their posts with “donations” to provincial governors. Together they formed an elite that ran the court. Over the years they emptied the Imperial treasury. When the country suffered economically, these people continued to thrive. When Emperor Hsien Feng realized the depth of the problem, he promoted Su Shun to “sweep away the debris.”
Su Shun was effective and ruthless. He concentrated on a single, highly visible case of corruption involving the Imperial civil service examination. The exam was given annually and touched the lives of thousands throughout the country. In his report to Emperor Hsien Feng, Su Shun charged five high-ranking judges with accepting bribes. Also in his report he presented ninety-one cases in which test scores had been mishandled, and challenged the past year’s first-place winner. To restore the reputation of the civil service, the Emperor ordered the be-heading of all five judges and the first-place winner. People cheered the action, and Su Shun became a household name.
Another thing Su Shun did brought him even greater honor. He prosecuted bankers who produced fake taels. One of the major counterfeiters happened to be his best friend, Huang Shan-li. Huang had once saved Su Shun from being murdered by an unforgiving creditor, so everyone predicted that Su Shun would find a way to exonerate his friend. But Su Shun showed that his first loyalty was to the Emperor.
The other man whose opinion Emperor Hsien Feng valued was Prince Kung. The Emperor once painfully admitted to me that his own talent was nowhere equal to Prince Kung’s. His other half-brothers, Prince Ts’eng and Prince Ch’un, were no match for Prince Kung either. Ts’eng was known as “a loser who thinks himself a winner,” and Ch’un as “honest but not too bright.”
I disagreed with my husband at first. Prince Kung’s seriousness and argumentative nature could be alienating. But as I got to know Kung, my view of him gradually changed. He thrived on challenges. Emperor Hsien Feng was too delicate, sensitive and, most of all, deeply insecure. Not everyone saw this, though, for he usually hid his fear beneath a mantle of arrogance and decisiveness. When it came to dealing with loss, Hsien Feng’s mind was rooted in fatalism. His brother looked down a more optimistic path.
It was strange spending time with both men. Like millions of other girls in China, I had grown up hearing stories of their private lives. Before Big Sister Fann filled in the details, I knew the general outlines of Empress Chu An’s tragic death. When Hsien Feng described it to me in his own words, it sounded flat and even false. He had no memory of a farewell scene with his mother. “No eunuch stood outside holding the white silk rope to hurry her on her way.” His Majesty’s tone was plain and undisturbed. “My mother put me to sleep, and by the time I woke they said she was dead. I never saw her again.”
To Emperor Hsien Feng the tragedy was a way of life, while to me it was a sad opera. The child Hsien Feng must have suffered grievously, and he continued to suffer as a man. But he would not allow himself to truly feel this; perhaps he no longer could.
The Emperor once told me that the Forbidden City was nothing more than a burning straw hut in a vast wilderness.
The palanquin bearers climbed the hills slowly. Behind us, eunuchs carried a cow, a goat and a deer tied up with ropes. The path was steep. Sometimes we had to get out of the chairs and walk. After we arrived at the ancestral site, the eunuchs set up an altar and laid out incense, food and wine. Emperor Hsien Feng bowed to the sky and spoke the same monologue he had delivered many times before.
Kneeling beside him, I knocked my forehead on the ground and prayed that his father would show mercy. Not long before, Hsien Feng wanted to use An-te-hai’s pigeons to send messages to his father in Heaven. He had his eunuchs replace the whistle pipes with notes to his father, which he had carefully composed himself. Naturally nothing came of it.
I hoped that the Emperor would be able to redirect his energy in more practical ways. Returning from the temple, he told me that he would like to visit his brother Prince Kung at the prince’s residence, the Garden of Discerning, about two miles down the path. It almost made me think that his father’s spirit was at work. I asked if I could continue on with him. When he said yes, I was excited. I had seen Prince Kung but had never spoken with him.
Hsien Feng’s palanquin was as large as a room. Its sides were made of satin the color of the sun. Inside we were bathed in soft yellow light. I turned to His Majesty.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
I smiled. “I wonder what’s on the Son of Heaven’s mind.”
“I’ll show you what’s on my mind,” he said as his hands groped between my thighs.
“Not here, Your Majesty.” I pushed him away.
“Nobody stops the Son of Heaven.”
“The bearers will know.”
“So what?”
“A rumor will be born and walk off on its own legs. Tomorrow morning Her Majesty the Grand Empress will spit when mentioning my name at her breakfast table.”
“Didn’t she do the same with my father?”
“No, Your Majesty, I am not going to do it with you.”
“I’ll make you.”
“Wait until we get to the palace, please?”
He pulled me to him. I struggled and tried to get away.
“You don’t want me, Orchid? Think about it. I am offering you my seeds.”
“Are you talking abo
ut those cooked seeds? The seeds that you told me won’t sprout?”
The palanquin rocked and swayed. I tried to keep still but it was impossible: the Emperor of China was not used to restraining himself. The head bearer and Chief Eunuch Shim began to talk. It seemed that the head bearer was concerned for His Majesty’s safety and wanted to stop and check. Shim knew exactly what was going on. The bearer and the eunuch argued.
One of my shoes fell off. It tumbled from the compartment and Chief Eunuch Shim picked it up. He held my shoe in front of the head bearer, who finally understood. The argument ceased. It was at this moment that Emperor Hsien Feng reached his climax. The whole palanquin shook. Shim delicately slipped the shoe back on my foot.
I was happy that our escapade lifted the Emperor from his depression. He complimented me on my pleasantness. But all was not what it seemed with me. On the surface I was pleasant, strong and self-assured, but behind my mask I felt isolated, tense and, in some vague but very real way, dissatisfied. Fear was always with me and I thought of my rivals constantly. How much longer would it be, I wondered, before another took my place? Their jealousy-pickled faces hung before me like winter fog.
I was sure that my rivals had sent spies to watch over me. The “eye” might be one of the Emperor’s own attendants. If so, he would certainly report on our activities in the palanquin. A little scandal might be made to go a long way. To the three thousand females in the Forbidden City, I was the thief who had stolen the only stallion. I was the one who had robbed them of their only chance of motherhood and happiness.
The disappearance of my cat, Snow, had been a warning. An-te-hai had found her in a well not far from my palace. Her beautiful white hair had all been pulled out. No one came forward to name the killer, nor did anyone express sympathy. In a strange coincidence, soon afterward three operas were performed on the Grand Changyi Stage. Was that an expression of victory? A celebration of revenge? I was the only concubine who was not invited to attend. I sat alone in my garden and listened to the music float over my wall.
An-te-hai had also reported another bit of gossip. A fortuneteller had visited the palace and predicted that something terrible would happen to me before the end of winter: I would be strangled to death in my sleep by the hands of a ghost. Whenever we passed one another, the expressions on the other ladies’ faces told me their thoughts. Their eyes asked, “When?”
Although I meant no harm, I was in a position to do harm. I was left with the choice of either ruining others’ lives or letting them ruin my own.
I knew exactly what was wanted from me. But would I voluntarily withdraw from His Majesty’s affection? Before I bribed Chief Eunuch Shim, my bed had been cold for months. I refused to willingly crawl beneath those sheets again.
• • •
At audiences, I discovered that the best solutions often existed between the words of those who reported the troubles. They had spent time with the subject and were able to come up with suggestions. What bothered me was that the ministers often held their true opinions back. They trusted the Son of Heaven to see things “through a god’s eye.”
It amazed me that Emperor Hsien Feng believed that he was the god’s eye. Rarely doubting his own wisdom, he sought signs to prove its heavenly source. It might be a tree split by thunder in his garden or a shooting star crossing the night sky. Su Shun encouraged Hsien Feng’s fascination with himself, convincing him that he was protected by Heaven. But when things outside the Forbidden City failed to go Hsien Feng’s way, he acted like a leaking water bag—his self-confidence spilled away.
The Emperor fell apart. When truth and understanding were kept from him, his moods swung all the more violently. One minute he would be definitive about defeating the barbarians and order the deportation of a foreign ambassador; the next minute he would despair and agree to sign a treaty that would only lead China into deeper economic disaster. In public I tried to maintain the illusion of my husband’s power. But I could not fool myself. Beneath my golden dress, I was Orchid from Wuhu. I knew that crops were helpless when locusts invaded.
When audiences went smoothly, Emperor Hsien Feng would tell me that I had helped him restore his magic powers. All I did was listen to people like Su Shun and Prince Kung. If I had been a man and been able to set foot outside the palace, I would have gone to the frontier and come back with my own strategies.
Outside our palanquin we could see nothing but barren hills. Letting down the curtain, His Majesty rested on his pillow and continued speaking about his life. “The Taiping rebels caused destruction everywhere. I have no one but my brother to count on. If Prince Kung can’t do it, nobody can, and that I know for sure. In the past I humiliated him knowingly and unknowingly; now I take every opportunity to mend our relationship. My father didn’t keep his promise, and I am guilty for him. I granted Prince Kung the highest title the day I was crowned Emperor.
“Then I granted him the best place to live outside the Forbidden City, as you will soon see for yourself.” He nodded. “I offered him a fortune in taels and he used it to remodel the palace. I neglected my other brothers and cousins. The Garden of Discerning is not a bit less beautiful than any of the palaces inside the Forbidden City.”
I was not unfamiliar with what Emperor Hsien Feng had done for his brother. To make Prince Kung feel welcome, Hsien Feng disregarded the tradition that a Manchu prince was not allowed to hold a military position. He appointed Kung as the chief advisor of the Imperial military cabinet. Prince Kung’s power was equal to Su Shun’s. Ignoring Su Shun’s protests, His Majesty also granted Prince Kung the right to pick whomever he liked to work with him, which included his father-in-law, Grand Secretary Kuei Liang, who happened to be Su Shun’s enemy.
We reached the Garden of Discerning just before noon. Prince Kung and his fujin—Manchu for “wife”—had been notified and were waiting by the gate. Kung seemed to be delighted to see his brother. Twenty-two years old, he was two years younger than Hsien Feng. They were about the same height. I detected Prince Kung’s sharpness when he stole a glance at me. It was an evaluation detached from feeling. I sensed his suspicion and distrust. No doubt he had wondered why his brother was keeping me, especially given the harshness of the rumors in circulation.
Following tradition, Prince Kung performed a ritual of welcome. To me it seemed rather unaffectionate. They did not act like two brothers who had grown up together. The feeling was more like a servant paying tribute to his master.
Emperor Hsien Feng acknowledged his brother’s gesture. He was impatient with the formality and rushed through his response. Before Fujin finished her “I wish Your Majesty ten thousand years of life” bows, he took his brother by the arms.
I performed my kowtows and bows and then stood aside to listen and observe. I discovered resemblances in the way the brothers carried themselves: elegant and arrogant at the same time. They both had typical Manchu features: slanting single-lidded eyes, a straight nose and a well-defined mouth. Here was the difference, I quickly decided: Prince Kung had a Mongol rider’s posture. He walked with a straight back but was bowlegged. Emperor Hsien Feng’s movements were more like those of an ancient scholar.
We exchanged gifts. I gave Fujin a pair of shoes that An-te-hai had only moments before returned with. They featured pearls and green jade beads sewn in a beautiful floral pattern. Fujin was delighted. In return she gave me a copper smoking pipe. I had never seen anything like it. The little pipe bore a sophisticated foreign battle scene, with ships, soldiers and ocean waves. The tiny figures were incised precisely and the surface was polished as smooth as porcelain. Fujin told me that it had been made with the help of a machine invented by an Englishman. It was a gift from one of Prince Kung’s employees, a Briton named Robert Hart.
After the greetings, servants came with mats and positioned them at our feet. Prince Kung threw himself down on his mat and kowtowed to his brother all over again. His wife followed. After he was pardoned, he called for his children and concubines, who h
ad been waiting, all dressed up, for their summons. Fujin made sure that the children performed their greetings to perfection.
I was relieved when the ritual was finally over and we were led to the sitting room. Fujin excused herself and exited. Before I sat down, Prince Kung asked if I would like to have Fujin give me a tour of the garden.
I told him that I preferred to stay, if he didn’t mind.
He showed surprise but said nothing.
With Emperor Hsien Feng’s permission I remained in my seat. The brothers began their conversation. Prince Kung focused completely on his brother, as if I were not in the room.
I had never seen anyone talk as frankly and passionately as Prince Kung. His words carried great urgency, as if his house would catch fire if he didn’t speak fast enough.
Before the Emperor had a chance to take the first sip of his tea, Prince Kung placed a letter in front of him. “The news reached me yesterday with a six-hundred-mile priority stamp. It is from the governor of Shantung province. As you can see, it is addressed to both Su Shun and me and is extremely troubling.”
Emperor Hsien Feng put down his tea. “What’s the matter?”
“The dikes around the Yellow River have collapsed near the border of Shantung and Kiangsu provinces. Twenty villages were flooded. Four thousand people have died.”
“Someone will be punished!” Emperor Hsien Feng seemed more annoyed than concerned.
Prince Kung put down the document and sighed. “It is too easy to behead a couple of mayors and governors. Lives will not be gained back. We need the local authorities to take care of the homeless and organize rescues.”
Hsien Feng covered his face with his palms. “Let me hear no more bad news! Leave me alone!”
As if he had no time to dwell on his brother’s suffering, Prince Kung moved on. “I also need your support to establish a Tsungli Yamen.”
