Anchee Min - Empress Orchid

I convinced myself that it was just part of life’s journey. Cheerfulness belonged to youth and one naturally lost it. Maturity was what I would gain. Like a tree, my roots would grow stronger as I aged. I looked forward to achieving peace and happiness in a more essential way.

But my spring continued to have no butterflies. The saddest thing was that I knew I was still capable of passion. If Tung Chih were close to me, the butterflies would return. I could disregard everything else, even my loneliness and my deep yearning for a man. I needed my son’s love to endure living. Tung Chih was near, within arm’s reach, yet we might as well have been an ocean apart. I would do anything to earn his affection. But he was determined not to give me a chance.

My son punished me for the principles I demanded that he live by. He had two kinds of expression when he looked at me. One was like a stranger’s, as if he didn’t know me and had no interest in knowing me. The other look was of disbelief. He couldn’t understand why I had to be the only one to challenge him. His look seemed to question my very existence. After we fought and struggled his expression would show a sneer.

In my son’s bright eyes I was diminished. My worship for this little creature reduced me to the dancing bone in the Imperial soup that had been cooked for two hundred years.

I once saw my son and Nuharoo playing. Tung Chih was studying the map of China. He loved it when Nuharoo failed to locate Canton. She begged him to let her quit. He granted her wish and offered her his arms. He was attracted by her weakness. Protecting her from me made him feel like a hero.

Yet I couldn’t unlove my son. I couldn’t escape my affection. The moment Tung Chih was born, I knew that I belonged to him. I lived for his well-being. There was nothing else but him.

If I had to suffer, I made up my mind to take it. I was prepared to do anything to help Tung Chih avoid the fate of his father. Hsien Feng might have been an emperor, but he was deprived of a basic understanding of his own life. He was not raised with the truth, and he died in confusion.

Looking out, I saw large, loaf-shaped stones surrounded by a thick carpet of wild brush. For mile after mile there was not one single roof. Our lavish parade was for no one’s eyes but Heaven’s. I knew I shouldn’t resent it, but I couldn’t help myself. Sitting inside the palanquin, I was damp and achy. The bearers were exhausted, wet and filthy. The happy music only depressed me further.

Li Lien-ying walked back and forth between my chair and Nuharoo’s. He was in his purple cotton robe. Dye from his hat ran in rivulets down his face. Li Lien-ying had learned his trade as an Imperial servant and was by now almost as good as An-te-hai. I was worried about An-te-hai. Prince Ch’un had told me that he was in the Peking prison. To complete his deception, An-te-hai had spat at a guard, ensuring harsher punishment: he was put in a water chamber with feces floating around his neck. I prayed that he would hold on until I reached him. I couldn’t yet say that I would return to Peking with my head on my shoulders. But if I did, I would unlock An-te-hai’s chains myself.

The Parade of Happiness drifted out of its formation. It was hard to keep the tired horses and sheep in line. The bearers had stopped chanting their drills. All I could hear was the sound of steps mixed with heavy breathing. Tung Chih wanted to get out of the palanquin to play, and I wished that I could let him. I would like to see him run a mile with Li Lien-ying. But it was not safe. Several times I had noticed strange faces in our guards’ uniforms passing by. I wondered if they were Su Shun’s spies. Each day my bearers had been replaced by new men.

When I asked my brother-in-law Prince Ch’un about the changing of the bearers, he replied that it was normal. The bearers rotated positions so the blisters on their shoulders would have time to heal. I was not convinced.

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?