China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  * * *

  —

  Cixi sent word that I should come to see her the next day. She was clearly going downhill, but her mind was still clear as a bell.

  “You know, Lacquer Nail,” she said, “if the emperor were unable to resume his duties after my death, it would be necessary to make other arrangements for the succession.”

  “I suppose it would.” I didn’t say anything else. Just that.

  “The father of the emperor, Prince Chun, has another son, not by my sister.”

  “Of course,” I said. “The young Prince Chun.”

  “The young Prince Chun is the same generation as the emperor,” she went on, “so he is not supposed to succeed him.”

  That’s exactly the rule you broke when you selected your sister’s son to be emperor last time, I thought. But all I said was: “These things are complex.”

  “But the young Prince Chun has a son, by a woman I personally selected for him.”

  And whom he hates, I might have said.

  “You mean the boy they call Puyi?” I asked.

  “Puyi could be the heir. His father could be regent.”

  The child was not even three years old. I stared at her in amazement. What was she thinking of?

  And then I thought I understood. The two times she’d seen an emperor actually ruling, it had been a disaster. The first emperor had deserted his post and run away to the north; the second had nearly brought down the administration. The only governments she knew that worked—however badly—in nearly fifty years were regencies. Perhaps she’d come to think that this was a natural state. With Puyi on the throne, she’d guarantee another dozen years of regency, at least.

  And what then? Perhaps a wise emperor. There had been wise emperors in the past.

  But then I thought about all she’d said to me about change and timing. The final arrangements for the assembly they’d been talking about had been pretty much agreed just weeks before. It was to begin functioning after a period of eleven years. Just about the time little Puyi would reach his majority. Of course, that would all make sense. The new National Assembly would rule and Puyi, in all likelihood, could be a constitutional monarch. I cannot prove this was her plan, but if it was, it might be a pretty good one.

  So she did have a plan. A gradual transition. It seemed to me that people might even support it. After all, I’d always supported the Confucian ideal of moral government by a good emperor. But having observed emperors for half a century I had to ask: Where do you find this good emperor? I’d never seen one.

  Knowing Cixi as I did, I’m nearly certain of one other thing, too. She suspected the dynasty was doomed, and she wanted it to end with her.

  Think of it. She’d ruled for half a century. She’d been the one to defend the old order—braver and bolder than any of the men. And more cunning. And now she was ushering in the new world. No more emperors after her. She’d be the last to rule. A heroine, perhaps. The most extraordinary woman, certainly. An enigma: Ah, she’d built a splendid tomb for herself, and so have many rulers; but if you want to fascinate historians, then you must be an enigma.

  The art of the thing. The symmetry. How I admired her.

  But she still took me by surprise by what she said next.

  “So, Lacquer Nail, what do you think I should do?”

  “About?”

  “The emperor.”

  “You are asking me, my lady? Your humble servant?”

  “I’ve known you fifty years, Lacquer Nail. You’re intelligent. I trust you. And you’re not an interested party. You’ve nothing at stake one way or the other. And the truth is that I hardly know what to do myself. I am so old and tired. But I would trust you to do the right thing.”

  I stared at her. And I thought very hard. “You know I am loyal to you, my lady,” I said. “I’ve never been anything else in my life. And I think you understand things better than anyone else.”

  She was listening to me carefully. “And?”

  “Are you sure, my lady, that you want me to express an opinion? Personally,” I went on, “if I have understood you correctly, I don’t think anyone should say anything at all.”

  She looked me in the eye and nodded slowly, and I knew that she had just left the fate of the Celestial Kingdom in my hands. Think of it. In my hands.

  “I am tired now,” she said. “You have things to attend to. Come and do my nails in the morning.”

  * * *

  —

  It was early evening when I went across the little bridge to see the emperor. There were lamps lit in the corridor and on the narrow bridge. They made shiny little reflections in the ice-covered water of the pond.

  He was looking very low. “My stomach’s been hurting all day,” he said. “I’m awfully tired, but the pain won’t let me sleep.”

  “May I prepare a pipe for Your Majesty?” I asked. “I brought a little opium. It will take the pain away.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “May I also smoke?”

  He nodded, and I prepared two pipes. After we had smoked for a little while I asked him if the pain had eased, and he said, “Yes, but it’s still there.”

  “I believe,” I said, “it would help if you also drank a little tea. It’s good for the bowels. Would Your Majesty allow me to pour a little tea for myself also?” I dared to ask.

  He indicated that I should prepare the tea, so I did. He was quite drowsy, so I had to prop him up with one arm as I gave him the tea, which I naturally did before taking any myself.

  “Drink it all,” I said. And he emptied the cup.

  It was quite a big cup, with enough arsenic in it to kill two horses.

  People say that the Empress Cixi herself went to see the emperor on his deathbed and watched him die. But it’s not true. I was the one with him. Only me. It was me who took the life of the last reigning emperor of China.

  Two hours later, after I had cleaned everything up, I went back across the bridge, leaving word with the eunuch on duty that the emperor was asleep, but that he didn’t seem very well.

  “He’s been like that all day,” he said.

  * * *

  —

  When I came to see Cixi the next morning, she was already up and busy dealing with the death of the emperor the evening before. The infant Puyi had already been sent for.

  I was still there when his father brought him in to present him to Cixi. She was having a rest at that moment and the child did nothing but scream, so I don’t think anybody enjoyed the meeting.

  But the succession was decided. Puyi was the infant boy emperor and his father was regent.

  Before I withdrew, Cixi called me to her side. “Is there anything you need, Lacquer Nail?”

  She had so much money. She’d have given me anything I asked for. But I was already well set up by then. So I was glad to be able to ask her for nothing, and I’m sure she was pleased.

  But I did have one bright idea. “Your Majesty,” I said, “I should like a few books for my house. It would add distinction, and there are many in the palace. Might I take a dozen or so?”

  “What an extraordinary request. You are full of surprises. Take whatever you want, but let me see them before you go.”

  So I went to the private library and selected a dozen books I believed to be valuable and brought them to her. She was quite tired, drained by all the events of the day I’m sure, and she hardly glanced at them. But she managed a smile at me.

  “I don’t think we shall meet again, Lacquer Nail,” she said.

  “Please don’t say that, Majesty,” I muttered.

  “You are unlike the other palace people,” she went on, “because you used to be a man. And I have often thought that you had feelings for me.”

  I bowed my head. “It is true, my lady,” I said softly. I was very
moved.

  “Here,” she said, “take this in memory of me.” And she pulled off one of the beautiful jeweled nail guards she wore and gave it to me.

  I have it still.

  That very evening, she laid herself out in the correct posture, with her face turned towards the south, and died. She willed it.

  There was never any woman like her.

  That day was my last in the palace. I retired with honor. I ceased forever to be Lacquer Nail the eunuch. From that day, I lived only as my other self, the rich merchant with a fine house and children and grandchildren.

  But before I left the Forbidden City, I walked down towards the western side gate and turned into the little haunted alley. I hadn’t been in there for a long time, but down the years I had always kept my secret store of silver under the stone there, just in case I should ever have need of it. Indeed, I’d added to it from time to time.

  “Good evening, my lady,” I said to the ghost, just in case she should be there. Then I prized up the stone and removed the little cache of silver coins. But before putting the stone back, I placed a single coin under it.

  “Thank you for protecting my fortune, honored lady,” I said. “I have left you a coin just in case you should ever have need of it.”

  Then I went on my way. And I think she was pleased, for had she thought it was not enough, I’m sure she would have let me know.

  * * *

  ◦

  In the years that followed, one might have said that the arrangements Cixi made for the succession collapsed. At the time of what we now call the revolution, the little boy king was removed from the throne and Dr. Sun Yat-sen was elected president. But that didn’t last long, either. Then General Yuan took over and tried to found a new dynasty. But no one wanted that, and soon the republic dissolved into scores of little territories under the control of local warlords.

  That was when I remembered Cixi’s words to me about history. “Nothing is new.” China’s history is long. The pattern takes new forms, but in essence it is always the same. A dynasty slowly degenerates. Outsiders encroach. Insiders rebel. The Mandate of Heaven is withdrawn. The dynasty falls. A period of chaos and warlords follows. Finally order is restored by a new dynasty, usually from inside. The old empire rises again for a few more centuries.

  She might not have been pleased by the course of events, but she would have hardly been surprised.

  * * *

  ◦

  For me personally, there still remained one small piece of business to attend to. It was for this business I needed those books from the emperor’s palace.

  For shortly before the Boxer Rebellion I had made the acquaintance of a rather strange Englishman, a Chinese scholar, who would do anything for books, if they were rare and valuable. And I needed him to do something for me.

  His name was Edmund Backhouse.

  When I asked him to visit me and showed him the books I’d taken, he was very pleased.

  “I should very much like them for my collection,” he said. “What do you want for them?”

  “No money,” I said. “A service.” And I told him what I needed. “Do you think you can do it?” I asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said. I think he was quite amused by the challenge. “Where do I find him?”

  The Temple of Prosperity was an old monastery dating back to the Ming dynasty, just outside the walls of the Forbidden City. It was really the nicest place you could end your days if you were a palace person. You could come and go as you liked, but you had comfortable quarters and the monks looked after you. The other residents were former eunuchs like yourself, so everyone felt comfortable in one another’s company. But you had to be rich to get in there.

  They lived a very dignified life, I must say. I’d have been glad to go there myself, if I didn’t have another life.

  “He’s in the Temple of Prosperity,” I told Backhouse. “But that’s all I know. You’ll have to do the rest. I suppose you could say you’re compiling a history or something like that, and ask if he’d talk to you.”

  “I often do that sort of thing,” he replied.

  “Well, good luck, then,” I said. “When you’ve something to tell me, come here after dark, and make sure you’re not followed.”

  * * *

  —

  I had to wait only ten days before Backhouse arrived at my house one night.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d have come sooner, but he was such a mine of information that I visited seven times before I did the deed. Then I said my final goodbye and gave him a present as thanks, and we parted as friends. With a bit of luck he may not even realize what’s missing for a while.”

  “You’ve got them, then?”

  “Of course.” He produced a jar.

  And I found myself looking at the tiny sexual organs of the boy who became Mr. Liu.

  “It took me a while to discover where he kept them, but it just came out naturally when he was discussing the whole procedure he went through. They were on a shelf behind a little votive Buddha.”

  “Here are the books,” I said. “Can you take them now? And after this, we’d better not meet for a while.”

  * * *

  —

  It took a couple of days for Mr. Liu to discover his terrible loss. Naturally, he supposed it must be someone in the monastery, and he tried to think of anyone who might be his enemy there. It turned out there were quite a few. It’s always like that in monasteries, I think.

  It was only gradually that his thoughts turned to Backhouse. But why would Backhouse want to do such a thing? That was what Backhouse himself asked the police when they came to see him.

  “You’re most welcome to search my little house,” he said. “But I don’t think my stealing Mr. Liu’s balls, especially when we had such cordial and interesting conversations, makes much sense.” And although the police did look around his rooms, it was pretty clear that they couldn’t see why he’d have done such a thing, either.

  Meanwhile, I waited. I waited three months. I suppose he went from one person he’d bullied or cheated after another, but even so, I was surprised he took so long to come to me.

  But there he was, one afternoon, speaking to a servant at the street door, asking to be admitted to my presence. I made sure he had to wait in the outer yard some time. I watched him, actually, from behind a screen. I could see he was impressed by the house.

  Finally he was admitted to my presence.

  “Why, Mr. Liu,” I said, “what brings you here?”

  I must say, he was looking very old and tired and bent, and really quite beaten. Not at all the old Mr. Liu I remembered.

  “I thought you might know,” he said. I wonder how many people he’d already been forced to say that to.

  “There’s a rumor going around that you have suffered a great loss,” I told him. “A terrible loss.”

  “Terrible, indeed. I do not need to tell you what it means.”

  “Quite,” I said. “But I don’t see how I can help you.”

  He looked at me. His eyes were pleading. “If there is anything…” he offered. “I would pay…”

  “When I heard about this,” I said, “I was curious. Either someone bears him a grudge, I thought, or there is ransom money involved. Has anyone asked for ransom money?”

  “Nobody. I thought of that. But there has been no demand.”

  “All the same,” I continued, “that doesn’t mean that someone wouldn’t be prepared to part with your balls—having made you suffer—for a sum of money.”

  “How should I go about finding them?”

  “Inside the palace, you knew everything. Outside, you know very little. But I am a merchant. Give me a little time and I will make some inquiries. I promise nothing, but come back in a month.” T
hen I dismissed him.

  * * *

  —

  He came back in a month. The moment I was told he was waiting outside, I sent a servant with a message to a certain young fellow whom I trusted to run discreet errands for me. Before Mr. Liu was ushered in, the young fellow was on his way to the Temple of Prosperity, where he left the package containing the jar with Mr. Liu’s private parts with the abbot, to be given to Mr. Liu on his return. Before they even had time to ask who he was, he’d disappeared into the street.

  Mr. Liu looked quite unwell, I must say. He was all in. He gazed sadly at my face, and seeing no encouragement, he seemed quite to shrivel up.

  “No news, then?” he said, as if he knew the answer.

  “There is news,” I answered. “I believe your jar will be returned.”

  “You do?” He brightened. “Truly?”

  “I hope so. It will cost money.”

  “Tell me how much.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t afford it.”

  He didn’t like that.

  “I assure you…” he started.

  “I know you have money, Mr. Liu. But I am a merchant and a rich man. Your problem and its price are not significant to me.”

  “If there is anything I can do…” he began again.

  “Yes,” I said. “There is. For old times’ sake.” I savored the moment. “Get down on your knees and kowtow.”

  “Kowtow?”

  “You remember how to, I’m sure. As you did to the emperor. Kowtow.”

  “This is sacrilege,” he cried.

  “Do you want your balls back? Yes or no? Kowtow.”

  Slowly he went down on his knees. He looked up. There was a flash of the old Mr. Liu in his eyes now. “You want to humiliate me,” he hissed.

  “There is no one to see,” I answered blandly.

  He made the first kowtow.

  “It was you,” he cried. “You all along.” His instincts were still good.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I replied calmly. “I have no idea how I could have accomplished such a thing if I’d even thought of it. This is an opportunity that fate has unexpectedly thrown in my way. But when I think,” I went on, “of all you have done to me in the past, it’s a very small penalty that I’m exacting. Had I actually planned all this,” I added for good measure, “you’d never have got your balls back at all.”