by Anchee Min
To comfort me, Ch’un talked about Rong and their infant son. They were doing well and were a few miles behind. My sister hadn’t wanted to join me because she feared that something would befall my palanquin. “A big tree invites stronger wind” was the message she sent, and she suggested that I take heed.
We reached a temple located on the waist of a mountain. It was after dark and the drizzle had stopped. We were to go into the temple and pray at the altars and then spend the night. The moment Nuharoo, Tung Chih and I stepped out of our chairs, the bearers went off with the empty palanquins. I hurried and caught up with the last bearer and asked why they were not staying with us. He answered that they had been instructed not to store the palanquins near the temple.
“What if something goes wrong and we need to return to our palanquins and you are not available?” I asked.
The bearer threw himself on the ground and kowtowed like an idiot. But he did not answer my question, and it was no use pressing him.
“Come back, Yehonala!” Nuharoo yelled. “I am sure that our scouts and spies have checked the safety of the temple.”
The temple seemed to be well prepared for our arrival. The old roof had been brushed clean and the inside thoroughly dusted. The head monk was a thick-lipped, gentle-looking fellow with fat cheeks. “The goddess of mercy, Kuan Ying, has been sweating,” he said, smiling. “I knew this was Heaven’s message telling me that Your Majesty would be passing. Although the temple is small, my humble welcome to you extends from Buddha’s hand to infinity.”
We were served hot gingerroot soup, soybeans and wheat buns for dinner. Tung Chih buried his face in the bowl. I was a starving wolf myself. I consumed all the food on my plate and asked for more. Nuharoo took her time. She checked each button on her robe, making sure she hadn’t lost any, and straightened the withered flowers on her headboard. She took small spoonfuls of soup until her hunger could no longer be denied. She picked up the bowl and drank like a peasant.
After the meal the head monk politely showed us to our room and left. We were excited to discover ceramic fire burners near the beds. We laid our damp robes on them to dry. The moment Tung Chih found that the basins were filled with water, Nuharoo cried with joy, then sighed. “I’ll just have to wash myself without the maids, I guess.” Eagerly she unshelled herself. It was the first time I had seen her naked. Her ivory-colored body was an exquisite work of Heaven. She had a slender frame with apple-like breasts and jade-smooth long legs. Her straight back curved into a sensuous round behind. It made me think that the shapeless fashions for Manchu women were a crime.
Like a deer standing by a cliff under the moonlight, Nuharoo stood by the basin. She slowly washed herself from head to toe. This had been for Hsien Feng’s eyes only, I thought.
In the middle of the night I awoke. Nuharoo and Tung Chih were sleeping soundly. My suspicions asserted themselves again. I recalled the head monk’s smile—it lacked sincerity. The other monks did not have the peaceful expressions I was used to seeing in Buddhists. The monks’ eyes darted away from the head monk and then quickly back as if awaiting a signal. During the meal I had asked the head monk about the local bandits. He said that he had never heard of such a thing. Was he telling the truth? Our scouts told us that bandits were known to be in this area. The head monk must have spent many years living here—how could he not know?
The head monk changed the subject when I asked to be shown around the temple. He took us to the main hall so we could light incense for the gods and then took us right back to this room to sleep. When I asked him about the history of the carvings on the walls, he changed the subject again. His tongue also lacked a preacher’s polish when telling Tung Chih the story of the one-thousand-hand Buddha. He didn’t seem familiar with the basic styles of calligraphy, which I found hard to believe, for monks made their living copying sutras. I had asked him how many monks he housed in the temple, and he had said eight. Where would we get help if bandits should attack?
The more I thought about this dubious man, the more restless I grew. “Li Lien-ying,” I whispered.
My eunuch didn’t answer. This was unusual. Li Lien-ying was a light sleeper. He could hear a leaf falling from a tree outside the window. What was wrong with him? I remembered that he had been invited by the head monk to have tea after dinner.
“Li—Li Lien-ying!” I sat up and saw him in the corner.
He was sleeping like a rock. Could there have been something in the tea the head monk had served?
I slipped into my robe and crossed the room. I shook the eunuch, but he responded with loud snoring. Maybe he was just too tired.
I decided to go out and check the courtyard. I was fearful, but it was scarier to be kept in doubt.
The moon was bright. The courtyard looked like it had been spread with a coat of salt. The scent of laurel was carried by the wind. Just as I thought how peaceful it was, I saw a shadow duck behind an arched door. Had my eyes been fooled by the moonlight? By my nerves?
I went back to the room and closed the door. I climbed into bed and peeked through a window. In front of me was a tree with a thick trunk. In the dark, the trunk kept changing its shape. One moment it looked like it grew a belly, the next an arm.
My eyes weren’t fooling me. There were people in the courtyard. They were hiding behind the trees.
I woke Nuharoo and explained what I saw.
“You see a soldier behind every blade of grass,” Nuharoo complained, putting on her clothes.
While I dressed Tung Chih, Nuharoo went to wake Li Lien-ying. “The slave must be drunk,” she said. “He won’t wake up.”
“Something’s wrong, Nuharoo.”
I slapped Li’s face and eventually he woke up. When he tried to walk, however, his legs wobbled. We were shocked.
“Get ready to run,” I said.
“Where can we go?” Nuharoo panicked.
We had no knowledge of the area. Even if we managed to get out of the temple, we could easily lose our way on the mountain. If we weren’t caught, we might starve to death. But what would happen if we remained here? By now I had no doubt that the head monk was Su Shun’s man. I should have insisted on keeping the bearers near.
I told Tung Chih to hold on to me when I opened the door.
The mountain was beginning to show its shape in the predawn light. The wind in the pines sounded like a rushing tide. The four of us walked down a hallway and passed through an arched gate. We followed a barely visible path. “This should lead us to the foot of the mountain,” I said, although I was not sure.
We didn’t get far before we heard the sounds of pursuit.
“Look, Yehonala, you’ve gotten us in trouble,” Nuharoo cried. “We could have called the monks for help if we had stayed in the temple.”
I pulled Nuharoo along with me as Li Lien-ying struggled to stay on his feet while carrying Tung Chih on his back. We walked as fast as we could. Suddenly the path was blocked by a group of masked men.
“Give them what they want,” I said to Nuharoo, assuming they were bandits.
The men made no sound but moved in closer around us.
“Here, take our jewelry,” I said. “Take it all and let us go!”
But the men wanted none of it. They jumped us and tied us with ropes. They stuck wads of cloth in our mouths and blindfolded us.
I was inside a jute sack, tied to a pole and carried on men’s shoulders. The blindfold fell off during my struggle, although my mouth was still stuffed with cloth. I could see light through the coarse weave of the sack. The men walked jerkily downward through the hills, and I guessed that they were not bandits, who would have had strong legs for rough terrain like this.
I had trusted that Prince Kung would protect us, but it seemed that Su Shun had outwitted him. There was no way I could escape if this was meant to be.
I believed that Nuharoo had a chance to live, but did Tung Chih? How amazingly easy it was for Su Shun to conduct a coup d’état! No army, no weapons, not a dro
p of blood shed, just a few men dressed as bandits. Our government was a paper dragon made only for parades. The Era of Well-Omened Happiness was a joke. How would Emperor Hsien Feng like it now that Su Shun revealed what he was made of!
Branches beat against the sack. In darkness I searched for sounds of Tung Chih. There was nothing. Was I to be executed? I dared not allow myself to reflect on anything. Based on the angle of the pole, I could tell that the ground had become less steep.
Without warning I was dropped and knocked into something like a tree stump. My head hit a hard surface and the pain was excruciating. I heard men talking, then heavy steps approaching. I was dragged through dry leaves and tossed into what felt like a ditch.
The cloth in my mouth was soaked with saliva and it finally fell out. I dared not scream for help, fearing they would come and finish me sooner. I tried to prepare myself for the worst, but a crushing feeling came over me: I can’t die without knowing where Tung Chih is! I tried to tear the sack with my teeth, but with my hands tied behind me it was hopeless.
I heard footsteps over the dry leaves. Someone approached and stopped next to me. I tried to move my legs and get into a better position to defend myself from inside the sack, but they were tied too.
I could hear the sound of a man’s breathing.
“For the sake of Heaven, spare my son!” I cried out and then cringed. I imagined his knife slashing the sack and the cold metal ripping into my flesh.
It didn’t come. Instead I heard more footsteps and the clash of metal weapons. There was a muted cry, and then something, a body, fell on me.
For a moment there was quiet. Then in the distance came the sound of hooves and shouting men.
I couldn’t make up my mind whether to remain silent or call out for help. What if they were Su Shun’s men who had come to make sure I was dead? But what if they were Prince Kung’s men? How would I get anyone to pay attention to a jute sack lying in a ditch under a body?
“Tung Chih! Tung Chih!” I screamed.
A moment later a knife slashed open the sack and I was breathing in the sunlight.
Holding the knife was a soldier in the uniform of the Imperial Guards. He stood in front of me, stunned. “Your Majesty!” He threw himself on the ground.
Removing the ropes from my arms and legs, I told him, “Rise and tell me who sent you.”
The soldier rose and pointed behind him. A few yards away, a man on a horse turned his head.
“Yung Lu!”
He dismounted and dropped to his knees.
“I was almost a ghost!” I cried. “Or am I already one?”
“Speak, so I will know, Your Majesty,” said Yung Lu.
I broke down.
“Your Majesty,” he murmured, “it is Heaven’s will that you survived.” He wiped sweat from his forehead.
I tried to climb out of the ditch, but my knees betrayed me and I collapsed.
He took me by the arm.
The touch of his hand made me sob like a child. “I could have been a hungry ghost,” I said. “I have had little sleep, nothing to eat the whole day, not a drop of water to drink. I am not even dressed properly. My shoes are gone. If I had met the Imperial ancestors, they would have been too embarrassed to receive me.”
He squatted next to me. “It is over, Your Majesty.”
“Was Su Shun behind this?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where is the assassin?”
Yung Lu pointed his chin back at the ditch. The dead man there had half his face buried in the dirt, but I recognized the fat body. It was the head monk.
I asked where Tung Chih and Nuharoo were. Yung Lu told me that they had been rescued as well and were continuing their journey to Peking. Yung Lu had already sent messengers to Su Shun with news that I had been found dead, but it would take days for that false report to reach him, which was all part of Prince Kung’s plan.
Yung Lu placed me in a carriage and escorted me himself. We took a shorter route and arrived in Peking well ahead of Su Shun and his procession.
Twenty-three
WAITING FOR ME inside the Forbidden City, Prince Kung was relieved when he saw that I was unharmed. “Rumors of your death traveled faster than our messengers,” he said, greeting me. “I have been tortured by worry.”
In tears, we bowed to each other.
“Maybe your brother did want to take me with him,” I said, still feeling a bit hurt.
“But he changed his mind at the last minute, didn’t he? He might have aided your rescue in Heaven.” Prince Kung paused. “I am sure he was not in his right mind when he appointed Su Shun.”
“True.”
Prince Kung looked me up and down and then smiled. “Welcome home, sister-in-law. You’ve had a tough journey.”
“You too,” I said, and noticed that his hat looked too big for him. He kept pushing back the brim with his hand so the hat wouldn’t cover his eyebrows. “I lost weight, but I didn’t expect my head to shrink.” He laughed.
When I asked about the head monk, Prince Kung explained that the assassin was known as the Buddha’s Palm—his power had been as unlimited as the palm of Buddha, said to be capable of “covering everything.” In folklore, when the Monkey King of Magic thinks he has escaped after cartwheeling thousands of miles, he finds that he has landed in that almighty palm. My head was the only one the assassin had failed to collect in his ornamental box.
Prince Kung and I sat down to talk—and so began our long working relationship. He was a man of broad perspective, although his temper would continue to flare over the years. He had been raised like Hsien Feng and could be just as spoiled and impatient. Many times I had to ignore his insensitivity and selfishness. He unintentionally humiliated me more than once in front of the court. I could have protested, but I told myself that I must learn to take Kung’s flaws along with his virtues. His strengths were greater than his brothers’, and not insignificant. He respected reality and was open to different opinions. We needed each other at this moment. As a Manchu he had been taught that a woman’s place was in her bedroom, but he couldn’t ignore me totally. Without my support he would have no legitimacy.
As Prince Kung and I got to know each other better, we were able to relax. I let him know that I had no interest in power itself, and that all I wanted was to help Tung Chih succeed. It was wonderful that we shared the same vision. We fought at times, but we always managed to come out of our battles united. To stabilize the new court, we became each other’s figurehead and decoration.
Dancing around Prince Kung’s pride, I encouraged his enthusiasm and ambitions. I believed that if Nuharoo and I were humble with him, he would be humble with Tung Chih. We practiced the Confucian principles of the family and both benefited.
I played my part, although I would grow tired of putting on a theatrical mask every day. I had to pretend that I was absolutely helpless without the court. My ministers functioned only when they believed that they were my saviors. My ideas would not have gone far if I hadn’t presented them as their “five-year-old lord’s idea.” In order to direct, I learned to offer an image that I was being directed.
It took Nuharoo, Tung Chih and the rest of the Parade of Happiness five more days to arrive in Peking. By the time they reached the Gate of Zenith, the men and horses were so exhausted that they looked like a defeated army. Their flags were torn and their shoes worn through. With dirt-caked, hairy faces, the palanquin bearers dragged their blistered feet. The guards were spiritless and out of formation.
I imagined Su Shun and his Parade of Sorrow, scheduled to arrive in a few more days. The weight of Hsien Feng’s coffin must be crushing the shoulders of the bearers. By now Su Shun must have received the news of my execution and be eager to reach Peking.
The joy of making it home brought great energy to the Parade of Happiness. At the Forbidden City gate, the whole retinue re-formed. Men straightened their backs and stuck out their chests with pride when entering. Nobody seemed to know anyt
hing about what had happened. Citizens lined up on either side of the entrance and clapped their hands. The crowd cheered at the sight of the Imperial palanquins. No one knew that the person in my chair was not me but my eunuch Li Lien-ying.
Nuharoo celebrated the end of the journey by having three baths in a row. The maid reported that she almost drowned in the tub because she fell asleep. I called on Rong and her young son. We visited our mother and brother. I invited Mother to move into the palace and live with me so I could take care of her, but she declined, preferring to stay where she was, in a quiet house in a small lane behind the Forbidden City. I didn’t insist. If she lived with me, she would have to get permission every time she wanted to go shopping or visit her friends. Her activities would be restricted to her rooms and garden, and she would not be allowed to cook her own meals. I wanted to spend more time with Mother, but I had to meet with Nuharoo about our plan regarding Su Shun.
“Unless there is good news, I do not wish to hear it,” Nuharoo warned. “The hard journey has cut my longevity short enough.”
I stood by Nuharoo’s half-broken door. The foreigners had damaged everything in sight. Her mirror was scratched. Her golden carvings were gone, and so were the embroideries from the walls. Her closets were empty and her bed had men’s footprints on it. There were still pieces of glass on the floor. Her art collections were missing. The gardens were ruined. The fish, birds, peacocks and parrots had all died.
“Misery is the work of the mind,” Nuharoo said as she took a sip of her tea. “Master it and you will feel nothing but happiness. The beauty of my nails has not been damaged, because they stayed inside the protectors.”
I looked at her and recalled how she had sat inside the palanquin in a rain-soaked robe for days on end. I knew how hard that had been because I had experienced it myself. The wet cushions made me feel like I was sitting in urine. I didn’t know whether I should admire Nuharoo’s effort to maintain her dignity. I had wanted to get off the chair to walk during the journey. Nuharoo had stopped me. “Bearers are made to carry you,” she insisted. I explained that I was sick of having a wet butt: “I’ve got to air it somehow!”
