by Zoey Gong
These thoughts are still swirling around in my head as we reach my palace and Suyin helps me out of the chair.
“My lady! Lady Lihua!” I look and see a maid from Empress Caihong’s palace running toward me.
“Yes?” I ask. I look up and see that the moon is high in the sky. It is very late.
“You must come at once! The empress’s labor pains have started!”
30
“It’s too early!” Suyin says, but I can hardly hear her as the blood thumps in my ears.
“Call the physician!” I say as I run toward the empress’s palace.
“My lady!” Suyin calls, but I do not stop. I can run far faster than any chair can carry me, and the empress needs me, now!
When I reach her palace, it is lit up bright as day, surrounded by bright lanterns. A dozen servants are sitting outside on their knees, their hands folded together as they pray. I step around them and enter the palace, the place in a flurry of activity. Maids rush about carrying bowls of water and clean linens. Eunuchs carry buckets of coal to the various braziers to keep the palace warm and well-lit. My heart seizes as I hear the empress cry out in pain.
I push my way into the room. The empress, lying on her bed, turns her head to me as tears fall down her cheeks. I rush to her side, pushing the maid who was mopping her brow out of my way as I take the empress’s hand.
“You…you told me…” the empress starts to say, but she cries out with another birth pang.
“Don’t try to speak,” I tell her. I toss her quilt aside and a maid screams. There’s so much blood. I remember the night my mother nearly died and shake myself from my stupor. If my mother lived, so can the empress.
“My…my baby!” the empress cries. “My boy!”
“Shh,” I say as I take over with the rag, dabbing cold water on her forehead. “You’ll be fine. The baby will be fine.”
“You…said that…that she confessed,” the empress says with wide, terrified eyes, gripping my wrist. I open my mouth to confirm what I had said, but it’s too late. I know the truth is showing on my face. The empress looks away from me and cries out as another pain grips her, her short hair sticking to her cheeks.
“Where’s the physician?” I yell.
“He’s been sent for, my lady,” someone answers.
“The midwife?” I ask. Before anyone can answer, the doors to the room swing wide open and everyone drops to their knees.
“What are you—” I am about to ask how they can just abandon their empress, but then I see that the dowager has entered the room. I don’t care. I look back to the empress, trying to keep her calm.
“It’s all right,” I tell Caihong.
In a moment, the dowager is at my side, standing over the empress. “What have you done?” she demands.
“Nothing!” the empress cries. “I did nothing!”
“You worthless—” She raises a hand to strike the empress, but I jump to my feet, grabbing the dowager’s arm. Her eyes go wide in shock. “You dare—”
“Get out!” I tell her, releasing her arm. “The empress needs to focus on giving birth. Get out!”
The dowager seems to have forgotten all about Caihong as her gaze narrows at me. “You will regret this,” she says through gritted teeth.
I know I will, but I do not stand down. The empress can’t handle any more stress if she is to have any hope of surviving. The dowager and I continue to stare at one another, but then I turn away from her and sit back at the empress’s side. I think the dowager originally thought to cower me with her glare, but the fact that I simply ignore her instead of appearing frightened does not have the intended effect. Instead of her appearing superior to me, I insulted her. The fact that I don’t seem to care only adds salt to the wound. Still, I ignore her. Ignore the scared faces of the maids. Ignore the whispers that dance around the room.
Finally, the dowager turns away, her robes swishing by me, and she stomps from the room. I’ve now managed to anger the emperor and the dowager both in one night. I am sure I will pay for it later. The empress squeezes my hand and I look down at her.
“Thank you,” she says, and I nod. If the empress lives, she will surely protect me from the dowager’s wrath. But should she die…
The midwife arrives then, and I make way for her. It is custom for a royal birth to be attended by a doctor and a midwife. As women, we know a doctor is unnecessary, but the emperor insists.
The midwife feels the empress’s belly, but her face gives nothing away. She then moves to the empress’s feet, lifting her nightgown and looking between her legs. She is not at all bothered by having to sit on the blood-soaked bedding.
“My lady,” the midwife says to the empress, “the child has decided to be born. This is not something that can be stopped.”
“It’s too early…” the empress cries. “It’s too early…”
“Not necessarily,” the midwife says. “Babies born this early can survive. But we must hurry.”
At this, the doors open again and the doctor rushes forward. Behind him is the emperor. This time, even I drop to my knees. The doctor begins giving the empress the same exam as the midwife did, and the two whisper together. The emperor crosses the room, and I move out of the way as he sits on the bed next to his wife.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
The emperor shakes his head and gives her a smile, but it quavers. He touches her cheek and then kisses her forehead.
“You can do this,” he whispers. “Do it for me.”
The empress kisses the palm of the emperor’s hand. As he pulls away, he glances at me and gives me a nod. I bow and then take his place by her side. He cannot stay, so he entrusts her care to me. As soon as he is gone, the room is once again busy, and the doctor and midwife work together to save the empress and her son.
A day and a half later, the baby still has not come. The empress is so weak, she can barely keep her eyes open. She no longer screams, her body having become numb from the pain. The midwife and doctor check between the empress’s legs one more time and shake their heads.
“Your majesty,” the doctor whispers so only she and I can hear, “we can delay no longer. The baby will not come on its own. We must cut him out. I’m sorry.”
The empress puts her hand to her face as she nods. Tears run down my cheeks, but I do not contradict her. It is a death sentence for her, but it is the only chance the baby has of survival. As the doctor moves away to prepare for the surgery, the empress pulls me to her.
“He will need you now,” she says, and I know she means the emperor. I nod as I hold her tight.
“My lady,” the doctor says, tugging gently on my shoulder. I look around and see that there are very few people in the room, only two senior maids and the helpers for the doctor and midwife. I know he thinks I should leave. That I should not have to see what happens next. Watch my empress die. But I can’t leave her. I shrug him off.
“I’m staying.”
The doctor only gives me a small bow as he prepares his instruments and lays a clean cloth over the empress’s stomach.
“She…she was innocent, wasn’t she?” the empress asks me. “She never would have hurt me.”
I cannot lie to her. Not now. Not when she knows the truth already. Not when she has only moments left on this earth. I nod, too choked up to say anything.
The empress grunts, and I see that the doctor has made the first incision. I look away, back to the empress’s face. I can’t watch.
Tears stream down her face and she grunts again, gritting her teeth. She gasps and looks at me. “You are in grave danger,” she spits out with surprising force. “If it wasn’t Lady An… I don’t know… I don’t know…” She screams and I see the doctor pull the baby from the empress’s body, the thing tiny and red.
“I did it,” she says with a sigh, and I feel her grip loosen. “I did…my duty…”
Her eyes flutter closed as the blood from her body pours out, seeping into the bedclothes, my gown, an
d dripping to the floor. The midwife and doctor have not bothered to stop the bleeding or clean her up. All their focus is on the child, who they are tending across the room next to a brazier. The assistants are there as well. One maid has fainted, while the other has fled the room to tell the others what has happened.
Pain seizes my chest and I lean forward, wrapping my arms around the empress, crying out in a pain of my own. How could everyone just abandon her? This beautiful, brave woman who sacrificed her very life for the empire. She cannot simply be discarded, tossed aside like a useless husk. I hold her tight, my cheek to hers.
“I’ll remember you,” I whisper. “I’ll tell your son about you.”
I don’t know how long I sit there, waiting for my tears to stop. Waiting for the pain to release me. But eventually, I realize that I have not heard the baby cry. I look over and see the doctor and midwife still working.
“No,” I whisper as I stand. My gown is heavy with blood and I slip on the slick floor. But I must see. I must know. The empress cannot have died in vain. The prince must live!
When I reach the light of the brazier, I look between the midwife and the doctor at the tiny wrapped bundle between them. The midwife is crying, and the doctor is shaking his head.
“What…what is wrong?” I ask. I know the answer, but I must hear it.
They both look at me, and I see both sadness and fear on their faces.
“The prince,” the midwife says, “he is dead.”
My head swims and think I might swoon. The doctor grabs my arm to hold me steady.
“There was nothing we could do,” the doctor says. “The…the cord wrapped itself around his throat. The prince was already dead from the start of the empress’s pains.”
I don’t know how they can know this, nor how they could not have known it before now. If they had known, then perhaps the empress could have been saved. She didn’t need to die.
I look back at the empress’s body, the large cut across her abdomen, and feel sick. How could this happen? She was so young. Healthy. She’d given birth before. It shouldn’t have happened… It shouldn’t have happened…
The doors to the room open and the emperor staggers in, swaying, and I think he must have spent the last day and a half drinking. He looks at the empress, then he leans against the wall and vomits. The smell of it about makes me sick as well. I put my sleeve to my hand, which is not much better as it smells of blood and the empress’s perfume.
“My son,” the emperor says, walking toward us. We all drop to our knees, the midwife holding tight to the bundle. “Where is my son?”
“Your majesty…” the doctor says, shaking, and I suddenly realize why I saw fear on his and the midwife’s faces. “The child…c-c-could not survive.”
“Where is my son!” the emperor roars, pushing the doctor out of the way. The midwife staggers to her feet, offering him the wrapped bundle. I am afraid he will drop it, but the emperor takes the baby with surprising gentleness. He nudges the wrapping away from the face, then he brings it to his lips and gives it a delicate kiss.
“It was a boy, wasn’t it?” he asks, looking to the midwife for confirmation. The midwife nods.
“Yes, your majesty.”
I am not sure if this is a comfort to him or only makes the deaths more painful, but either way, the news seems to undo him. He backs into a wall and sinks to the ground. There, holding the body of his only son, he cries.
I am not sure what to do. My own heart aches so much, I wish I could just lose consciousness. Sleep for a thousand years. Long enough for the pain to dull. But I cannot. Still on my knees, I crawl to the emperor’s side and wrap my arm around his shoulder. He turns into me, crying into my chest. I hold him tight, his son between us, and together we mourn the loss of our empress and our hope for the future.
31
We mourn the empress and the prince for ten days. We dress in white robes and kneel in the courtyard behind the emperor’s main audience hall from dawn until dusk. We do not eat, do not pass water, don’t stand up until the sun sets. On the other side of the emperor’s audience hall, in the main grand courtyard, all of the emperor’s advisors, officials, princes, and elevated lords and ladies perform the same ritual.
I do not see the emperor in all this time. After we cried together, he left the empress’s palace, carrying the tiny body of his son, and retreated to his own palace. Jinhai carried me back to my palace, where my ladies washed me and combed my hair, folding it into a simple plait. We cannot wear makeup or style our hair in any elaborate fashion while in mourning. I do not know anything about Manchu death rites, but no one seems to notice. I think everyone chalks it up to my own grief muddling my mind.
But why have I grieved so? I was not particularly close to the empress. She had not been exceptionally kind to me. I suppose it is just the tragedy of it all.
When I lived on the dusty streets of Peking, I thought that the Manchu lords and ladies, the emperor and empress, on the other side of the great red wall lived such easy lives. They never knew hunger, or cold, or went without shoes. And while that is all true, that does not mean that they did not still suffer. Suffer loss, suffer pain, suffer loneliness. The empress should have been the happiest, safest, most privileged woman in the world. But the last time I saw her, she looked like nothing more than a slaughtered animal. The memory makes me sick, and I think it always will.
This morning, eleven days after the deaths of the empress and the prince, the emperor’s chief eunuch appears at my door. Even though no one told me what is going to happen—I know.
I am going to be crowned empress.
“Please prepare yourself and follow me,” is all the eunuch says. I nod and return to my washroom, where Nuwa bathes me, scrubbing me from head to toe until my skin burns pink, and then rinsing me with cow milk scented with rose petals. I did not think it was possible for my skin to appear so light in color. I am then massaged with oils and my hair brushed one thousand times.
Suyin uses the best quality makeup, making my face even more pale, painting my eyes with black and gold and a strip of red painted down the center of my lips. Nuwa styles my hair with a headdress befitting an empress. Then, I am dressed in a yellow robe embroidered with a nine-tailed phoenix. The emperor and the empress are the only people in the whole country allowed to wear imperial yellow. I am given a long string of jade beads, and gold enameled nail protectors are placed on three of my fingers on each hand. I am then helped into pot-bottom shoes taller than any I have worn before. I am carried in a sedan chair to the main audience hall and led through a side door into a small room, where I now wait alone.
I wish I could pace, but I cannot walk on my own accord without falling. The shoes are too elevated, the headdress too heavy, and the long train of my robe tugs me down. My maids are instructed to wait outside until I am summoned. I wish I could cry, but I do not want to spoil my makeup or look a fool when I am called for. I do not want this, but it is impossible for me to refuse. The least I can do is act with as much dignity as I can muster.
I hear a door behind me open and close and I hold my breath, expecting it to be the eunuch, telling me it is time. But it is not the eunuch’s voice I hear.
“Lihua.”
Prince Honghui’s eyes are rimmed red, the same as mine have been these last two weeks. He is no longer in his mourning clothes, but in a robe of another shade of yellow embroidered with a three-toed dragon. Only the emperor may wear garments depicting a four-toed dragon.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He takes my hand, and I know I should pull it back, but I don’t. He steps close to me, too close, and puts his forehead to mine.
“I had to see you,” he says, his breath shaking. “Had to see you one last time before…”
Before I am crowned empress, is what he cannot say. After today, we will not be able to see each other again, at least not privately. I can never risk sneaking out of my palace, not that I would have the opportunity. I hav
e not had a moment alone since I became rank-two consort, and it will be even worse when I am empress.
Any independent identity I thought I had been forming since my arrival here is now gone. I am no longer a mere Manchu lady. Nor a concubine. Not even a consort. In only a few minutes, I will be the empress of China. When I was younger, I thought that such a title was the pinnacle of power. But now I know that it is the opposite of that, complete servitude. I will no longer live for myself, but for my country, my emperor. Pregnancy will not be an unhappy consequence of my position, but my sworn duty. A duty that killed my predecessor.
“No matter what happens, I will be here for you,” he says, and my heart hurts. It is a beautiful sentiment, to think that I am not alone. But I am alone. So very alone. Whatever happens, I will not be able to turn to him for help. For support. For kindness or friendship. And do not mention love.
But I nod, unable to stop a single tear from slipping down my cheek. “I’m so afraid,” I whisper, at first surprised that I said the words out loud. Then I realize that this is my last chance to speak freely, to express what’s truly in my heart.
“I know,” he says. “You never asked for this, never wanted it. You strange, wonderful, beautiful girl.” I can’t help but laugh. “You never told me what secret burden you carry, and now I suppose you never will.”
I am not Lihua! I want to tell him. Tell anyone! It isn’t only that I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not Manchu. I’m not a lady. I should never have even been admitted to the Forbidden City, and now I am about to sit on the empress’s throne. How did this happen?
