Lady Jin’s face had been smoothed and patched with powder from ground pearls. If one looked closely, however, one could still detect the bumps. On the right side of Her Majesty’s head was a tray with a golden ceramic bowl. This contained her last earthly meal, rice. On the left stood a large burning oil lamp, the “eternal light.”
I went with Nuharoo and Emperor Hsien Feng’s other wives to view the body. We were all dressed in white silk gowns. Nuharoo wore makeup but without the rouge dot on her lower lip. She burst into tears when she saw Lady Jin. She pulled a piece of lace from her hair and bit it with her teeth in order to hold back her emotions. I was moved by her sadness and offered her my hand. We stood shoulder to shoulder before the dead Empress.
A mourning troupe arrived. They cried in various styles. The sound was more like singing than crying. It reminded me of the discordant music of a village band. Maybe it was how I felt—I had just escaped the curse. My mood was lightened and I felt little sadness.
Lady Jin had never liked me. She said openly after learning I was pregnant that she wished the news had come from Nuharoo. She believed that I had stolen Emperor Hsien Feng from Nuharoo.
I remembered the last time I encountered Lady Jin. Her health was declining but she refused to admit it. Disregarding the fact that everyone knew about the peach-pit-sized stone, she claimed that her health had never been more robust. She rewarded doctors who lied to her and said that her longevity was not in doubt. But her body gave away her flaws. When she pointed a finger and tried to tell me that I was bad, her hand trembled. It looked like she was getting ready to strike me. She tried to fight off her trembling. Eventually she fell back and couldn’t sit up without help from her eunuchs. That didn’t stop her from cursing me. “You illiterate!” she cried. I didn’t understand her choice of epithet. None of the other ladies, except perhaps Nuharoo, was more accomplished than I was in reading.
I tried to avoid Lady Jin’s lifeless eyes. I looked above her eyebrows when I had to face her. Her broad wrinkled forehead reminded me of a painting I had once seen of the Gobi Desert. Folds of skin hung from her chin. The loss of her teeth on her right side made her face slope like a spoiled melon.
Lady Jin had a love of magnolias. Even in sickness, she wore an embroidered dress with large pink magnolia flowers covering every inch of the fabric. “Magnolia” had been the Empress’s childhood name. I could hardly believe that she had once caught the eye of Emperor Tao Kuang.
How frightening it was the way a woman could age. Would anyone be able to imagine how I would look by the time I died?
Lady Jin yelled at me that day, “Don’t you worry about your beauty. Worry about beheading instead!” The words were pushed out of her chest as she struggled with her breath. “Let me tell you what I have been worrying about since the day I became the Imperial consort! I will continue to worry until the day I die!” Fighting to keep her composure, she raised herself up with the help of her eunuchs. With both arms in the air she looked like a vulture spreading its wings from the edge of a cliff.
We dared not move. The daughters-in-law—Nuharoo, Ladies Yun, Li, Mei and Hui, and I—endured her ranting and waited for the moment when she would release us.
“Have you heard the story from a country far away where people’s eyeballs look like they have been bleached and their hair is the color of straw?” Lady Jin narrowed her eyes. The landscape of her forehead changed from rolling hills to steep valleys. “A king’s entire family was slaughtered after the empire was overthrown. All of them, including the infants!”
Seeing that her words had startled us, she was satisfied. “You bunch of illiterates!” she yelled. Suddenly her throat produced a string of noises: “Ohhhhh, wa! Ohhhhh, wa!” It took me a while to realize that she was laughing. “Fear is good! Ohhhhh, wa! Fear tortures you and makes you behave. You can’t gain immortality without it, and my job is to instill fear in you! Ohhhhh, wa! Ohhhhh, wa!”
I could still hear that laughter. I wondered what Lady Jin would say if she had known that she was the victim of my child, her grandson’s curse. I felt blessed that Lady Jin considered me an illiterate. She would have ordered my beheading if she had seen my love for knowledge or bothered to trace the source of the curse.
Watching her on her soul bed, I had little remorse. I saw no sympathy in the others except for Nuharoo. The general expression was wooden. The eunuchs had just finished burning straw paper in the hall, and now the crowd was led outside to burn more paper. In the courtyard life-size palanquins, horses, carriages, tables and chamber pots were being installed with life-size paper figures of people and animals. The figures were clothed in expensive silk and linen, as was the furniture. Following the Manchu burial traditions she had adopted, she had arranged everything herself years before. The paper figure of herself looked real, although it was the way she used to look when she was young. It was wearing a magnolia-patterned dress.
Before the ceremony began, a thirty-foot pole was raised. A red silk scroll was mounted at the top with the word tien, “in memory.” It was the first time I had a chance to witness this ritual. Centuries before, Manchus inhabited vast grasslands where it was difficult to notify relatives about a death in the family. When a family member died, a pole with a red scroll would be put up in front of the family’s tent, so that passing horsemen and herdsmen would stop and pay their respects in place of the missing relatives.
True to the custom, three large tents were set up in the Forbidden City. One was used to display the body, the second housed the monks, lamas and priests who came from afar, and the last was for receiving relatives and high-ranking guests. Other, smaller tents were also put up in the courtyard to receive visitors. The tents were about ten feet in height, and the supporting bamboo posts were decorated with white magnolias made of silk. As daughters-in-law we each were given a dozen handkerchiefs for our tears. I kept hearing Lady Jin—“Illiterate!”—and wanted to laugh instead of cry. I had to cover my face with my hands.
Between my fingers I saw Prince Kung arrive. He was dressed in a white robe and matching boots. When he examined the coffin, he looked grief-stricken. The female relatives were supposed to avoid their male cousins or brothers-in-law, so we retreated to the next room. Fortunately I was able to see through the windows. The coffin lid was lifted for Prince Kung. Glittering jewels, gold, jade, pearls, emeralds, rubies and crystal vases were piled on Lady Jin’s chest. Besides the little mirror, she was holding her makeup box.
Prince Kung stood solemnly beside his mother. His sorrow made him look like an older man. He got down on his knees and performed a kowtow. His forehead remained on the ground for a long time. When he rose, a eunuch went up and carefully parted Lady Jin’s lips. The eunuch placed a large pearl strung on red thread in her mouth. Then he closed her mouth, leaving the end of the thread hanging by her chin. The pearl was the symbol of life’s essence and represented purity and nobility. The red thread, which would be tied by her son, served as a demonstration of his unwillingness to part with her.
Prince Kung tied the thread onto the first button of his mother’s robe. A eunuch handed him a pair of chopsticks with a wet cotton ball between them. Prince Kung gently wiped his mother’s eyelids with the cotton ball.
The guests brought in boxes of decorated steamed buns. The plates in front of the altars had to be changed every few minutes in order to receive more boxes. Hundreds of scrolls were also brought. They piled up and made the palace look like a calligraphy festival. Couplets and poems hung from every wall. Extra string was needed to tie more couplets from the beams. The kitchen served a banquet for more than two thousand guests.
The mourning troupe wailed when Prince Kung’s knees hit the ground again. The chanting mounted to a crescendo. The trumpets were deafening. I thought that this would be the end of the ceremony, but no: it had just officially started.
The seventh day was the time of the figure-burning ceremony. Three paper palaces and two mountains were to be set on fire. The palaces were
twelve feet high, each with a golden pagoda at the top. One mountain was painted gold and the other silver. The ceremony was conducted outside the Forbidden City, near the North Bridge. The crowds that gathered exceeded the New Year’s Eve celebration. The paper palaces were modeled after examples of Sung Dynasty architecture. The tiles of the traditional wing roofs were painted ocean blue. From where I stood, I could peer into the palaces, which were completely furnished. The chair covers were painted in strokes and patterns that imitated embroidery. On a dining table piled with paper flowers, silver chopsticks and gold wine cups were neatly set out.
The mountains were covered with rocks, brooks, magnolia trees and waving grass, all done to scale. What amazed me even more was that there were tiny cicadas resting on the magnolia branches, butterflies on peonies and crickets in the grass. It took hundreds of craftsmen years to complete this paper world, and in minutes it would turn to ashes.
The chanting began and the fire was lit. As the flames shot high the monks, lamas and priests threw steamed buns over the heads of the cheering crowd. The buns were supposed to be consumed by homeless ghosts. It was a gesture of Lady Jin’s benevolence.
Emperor Hsien Feng was absent from the beginning to the end. He claimed to be ill. I knew that he hated this woman, and I didn’t blame him. Lady Jin was the one who had caused his birth mother’s suicide. By not attending the funeral, the Emperor was making a statement.
The guests and concubines made poor mourners. They ate and drank and chatted with one another. I even heard people talking about my pregnancy.
There was no way I could convince Emperor Hsien Feng that my rivals were plotting against me. I told His Majesty that the fish in my pond were dying, that the orchids in my garden had withered in the middle of a strong blooming. An-te-hai found that orchid-loving rodents had eaten the plants’ roots. Someone had to have smuggled them in.
My complaints irritated my husband. He thought of Nuharoo as the goddess of mercy and told me to quit worrying. My thinking was that I might be able to deal with one Nuharoo but not three thousand. Anything could happen, since they had made my belly a target. I was nearly twenty-one, and already I had heard about too many murders.
I begged Emperor Hsien Feng to move us back to Yuan Ming Yuan until I delivered. His Majesty yielded. I knew that I had to learn to tuck away my happiness like a mouse hiding its food. For the past weeks I had tried to avoid talking about my pregnancy when the other concubines visited. But it was difficult, especially when they brought gifts for the baby. The Emperor had recently increased my allowance, and I used the extra taels to purchase return gifts of equal value. I was sick of pretending to be glad of their visits.
An-te-hai kept my belly his priority. As it grew bigger, he became more and more involved. Each day he danced on his nerve tips, excited and frightened at the same time. Instead of greeting me in the morning, he greeted my belly. “Good morning, Your Young Majesty.” He bowed deeply and solemnly. “What can I get you for breakfast?”
I began to study Buddhist manuscripts. I prayed that my child would be content to grow inside me. I prayed that my nightmares wouldn’t disturb his growth. If I produced a girl, I still wanted to feel happy and blessed. Mornings I sat in a sun-filled room and read. In the afternoon I practiced calligraphy, part of a Buddhist’s training for cultivating balance and harmony. Gradually I felt the return of peace. Since I had captured His Majesty’s attention, he had visited Nuharoo only twice. Once was upon Lady Jin’s death. After the burial, he called on Nuharoo for tea. According to An-te-hai’s spies, His Majesty talked to her about nothing but the ceremony.
The second time His Majesty visited Nuharoo was at her request. And this Nuharoo told me herself. She did what she believed would please His Majesty—she asked for his permission to add a wing to Lady Jin’s tomb. Nuharoo reported that she had been collecting taels from everyone and had contributed her own money.
Emperor Hsien Feng was not pleased, but praised Nuharoo for her devotion. To demonstrate his affection and appreciation, he issued an edict to add one more title to Nuharoo’s name. She was now the Virtuous Lady of Grand Piety. But that was not what Nuharoo wanted. I knew what she wanted. She wanted Hsien Feng back in her bed. But he was not interested. His Majesty stayed in my quarters every night until dawn, disregarding the rules. It would be dishonest of me to say that I was willing to share Hsien Feng with anyone else, but I did understand Nuharoo’s suffering. In the future I would find myself wearing her shoes. For the moment I tried to get what I could. I thought of tomorrow as a mystery, and I allowed it to reveal itself. The word “future” made me think of the locust war my father had fought back in Wuhu, when the spring fields disappeared overnight.
Nuharoo managed to put on fabulous smiles in public, but the gossip from her eunuchs and ladies in waiting revealed that she was dis-tressed. She moved deeper into her Buddhist faith and visited the temple to chant with her master three times a day.
Emperor Hsien Feng advised me not to “look at other people through the eye of a sewing needle.” But my instinct told me not to take Nuharoo’s hidden jealousy lightly. Yuan Ming Yuan was by no means a safe place. On the surface, Nuharoo and I were friends. She was involved in the preparations for the baby’s arrival. She had visited the Imperial clothing shop to inspect the infant’s outfits. She had also visited the Imperial storehouses to make sure that fruits and nuts were available and fresh. Last she checked on the fish farm. Since fish was said to promote the flow of breast milk, Nuharoo made sure that there was plenty of fish to feed the wet nurses.
The selection of wet nurses became Nuharoo’s focus. She inspected an army of pregnant women whose babies were due at the same time mine was. Then she traveled all the way by carriage to Yuan Ming Yuan to talk to me about the matter.
“I have checked the history of their health three generations back,” she said.
The more excited Nuharoo got, the deeper my fear grew. I wished that she had her own child. Everyone in the Forbidden City except the Emperor understood the pressure Nuharoo was under after several years of marriage and no sign of fertility. That such pressure could lead to strange behavior was common in childless women. An obsession with yoo-hoo-loos was one manifestation; jumping into wells was another. With Nuharoo, I still couldn’t tell what her true intention was.
The moment after Doctor Sun Pao-tien examined me and pronounced that I would carry the baby to full term, His Majesty summoned his astrologer. The two of them went to the Temple of Heaven, where Hsien Feng prayed that the child would be a son. Afterward he went to Nuharoo to congratulate her.
But she is not the mother of your child! I shouted in my head.
Nuharoo played her role well. She showed her happiness with real tears. I thought, Could I be wrong about her? Maybe it was time for me to change my view. Maybe Nuharoo had turned herself into a true Buddhist.
When I was five months pregnant, Nuharoo suggested to Emperor Hsien Feng that I be moved back to the Palace of Concentrated Beauty.
“Lady Yehonala needs absolute peace,” Nuharoo said to him. “She needs to stay away from stress of any kind, including the bad news about the country from you.”
I let myself believe that Nuharoo was thinking of my welfare, and agreed to be moved. But the moment I was out of His Majesty’s bedroom, I sensed that I had made a mistake. Soon enough the truth revealed itself, and I never made it back to that bedroom.
As if to add more chaos to my life, Chief Eunuch Shim told me that I would not be allowed to raise my own child. I was considered “one of the prince’s mothers,” but not the only one. “It is the Imperial tradition,” Shim said coldly. Nuharoo would also be responsible for the daily care and education of my child, and she would have the right to take my child away from me if I refused to cooperate with her. The Manchu clan and Emperor Hsien Feng both believed that Nuharoo’s Imperial blood qualified her to be the chief mother of the future prince. No one had ever accused me of being a concubine from a lower class, but
my background as a village girl and my father’s status as a low-ranking governor were an embarrassment that the court and the Emperor never forgot.
Fourteen
A MONTH AFTER I was out of his sight, Emperor Hsien Feng took in four new concubines. They were of Han Chinese origin. Since the Imperial rules didn’t permit non-Manchu women in the palace, Nuharoo made arrangements to smuggle them in.
It was hard for me to speak about the pain this caused me. It was like a slow drowning: the air was being shut out of my lungs and death had yet to arrive.
“Their teeny lotus-shaped feet have enthralled His Majesty,” An-te-hai reported. “The ladies were a gift from the governor of Soochow.”
I supposed that it was not difficult for Nuharoo to hint to the governors that the moment had come to please their ruler. An-te-hai discovered that Nuharoo had housed the new concubines in the Emperor’s miniature town of Soochow, within the largest Imperial garden at the Summer Palace, located several miles from Yuan Ming Yuan. The Summer Palace, with its little Soochow, had been built around a lake and was made up of more than three thousand structures on almost seven hundred acres.
Would I be any different if I were in her shoes? What was I crying about? Hadn’t I shamelessly gone to a whorehouse in order to learn man-pleasing tricks?
Emperor Hsien Feng had not visited me since I had left. My longing for him drove me to thoughts of white silk ropes. The little kicks inside my belly brought me back and steeled my will to survive. I reflected on my life, struggling to maintain my composure. Hsien Feng had never been mine to begin with. It was simply the way things were. The irony was that the Emperor was supposed to stay sober and refrain from lovemaking for three months after his mother’s death. He honored only the traditions that suited him. I could not imagine my son being raised the way his father had been. I needed to convince Nuharoo that I would be no threat to her so that I would always be close to my child.