I remembered that she was silent, but her expression clearly told me that she disapproved of my behavior. She was shocked when I finally decided to get out and walk side by side with the bearers. She let me know that she felt insulted, which forced me back inside the palanquin.
“Don’t look at me as if you have discovered a new star in the sky,” she said, fastening her hair into a base. “Let me share with you a Buddhist’s teaching: To truly have something is to not have it at all.”
It didn’t make any sense to me.
She shook her head in pity.
“Good night and rest well, Nuharoo.”
She nodded. “Send Tung Chih over, would you?”
I desperately wanted to spend the night with my son after being separated for so long. But I knew Nuharoo. When it came to Tung Chih, her will ruled. I stood no chance. “May I send him after his bath?”
“Fine,” she said, and I made my exit.
“Don’t try to climb high, Yehonala,” her voice came from behind. “Embrace the universe and embrace what comes to you. There is no significance in fighting.”
Leaving me to finish the last part of the decree indicting Su Shun, Prince Kung departed Peking for Miyun. The town was fifty miles from the capital and the procession’s last stop before it. Su Shun and Hsien Feng’s coffin were scheduled to arrive at Miyun by early afternoon.
Yung Lu was ordered to go back to Su Shun and remain close to him. Su Shun assumed that everything was going the way he had planned and that I, his biggest obstacle, had been removed.
Su Shun was found drunk when the procession reached Miyun. He was so excited by his own prospects that he had already begun celebrating with his cabinet. Local prostitutes were seen running around the Imperial coffin stealing ornaments. When Su Shun was greeted by General Sheng Pao at the gateway of Miyun, he announced my death with great elation.
Receiving a cold response from Sheng Pao, Su Shun looked around and noticed Prince Kung, who stood not far from the general. Su Shun ordered Sheng Pao to remove Prince Kung, but Sheng Pao remained where he was.
Su Shun turned to Yung Lu, who stood behind him. Yung Lu made no move either.
“Guards!” Su Shun shouted. “Take the traitor down!”
“Have you a decree to do so?” Prince Kung asked.
“My word is the decree” was Su Shun’s reply.
Prince Kung took a step back, and General Sheng Pao and Yung Lu moved forward.
Su Shun woke up to what he faced. “Don’t you dare. I am appointed by His Majesty. I am the will of Emperor Hsien Feng!”
Imperial Guards formed a circle around Su Shun and his men.
Su Shun shouted, “I’ll hang you, all of you!”
At a signal from Prince Kung, Sheng Pao and Yung Lu took Su Shun by the arms. Su Shun struggled and called for Prince Yee’s help.
Prince Yee came running with his guards, but Yung Lu’s men intercepted them.
From his sleeve Prince Kung took a yellow decree. “Whoever dares to contest the order of Emperor Tung Chih will be put to death.”
While Yung Lu disarmed Su Shun’s men, Prince Kung read what I had drafted: “Emperor Tung Chih instructs that Su Shun be arrested immediately. Su Shun has been found responsible for organizing a coup d’état.”
Locked up in a cage on wheels, Su Shun looked like a circus beast when the Parade of Sorrow resumed its journey from Miyun to Peking. In the name of my son I informed the governors of all the states and provinces of Su Shun’s arrest and his removal from office. I told Prince Kung that I considered it crucial to win the moral ground as well. I needed to know the feelings of my governors in order to reassert stability. If there was confusion, I wanted to take care of it right away. An-te-hai helped me with the task, even though he had been released from the water chamber of the Imperial prison only days before. He was wrapped in bandages but was happy.
Comments regarding the arrest of Su Shun came from all over China. I was greatly relieved that the majority of the governors sided with me. To those in doubt, I encouraged honesty. I made it clear that I would like to be approached with the absolute truth no matter how it might contradict my personal view of Su Shun. I wanted the governors to know that I was prepared to listen and was more than willing to make my decision regarding Su Shun’s punishment based on their recommendations.
Shortly afterward two grand secretaries, who represented civil justice and were originally in Su Shun’s camp, denounced Su Shun. It was then that General Tseng Kuo-fan and the Chinese ministers and governors expressed their support for me. I had called them the fence-sitters, because they had carefully observed both sides before committing themselves. Tseng Kuo-fan criticized Su Shun’s “gross historical impropriety.” Following Tseng, governors from the northern provinces came forward. They voiced their disagreement regarding Su Shun’s exclusion of Prince Kung and proposed that power be vested in Empress Nuharoo and me.
A trial began as soon as Su Shun arrived in Peking. It was presided over by Prince Kung. Su Shun and the rest of the Gang of Eight were found guilty of subversion of the state, which was one of the ten abominations of Ch’ing law, second only to rebellion. Su Shun was also found guilty of crimes against the family and the virtue of society. In the decree I had composed, I pronounced him “abominable, unpardonable and irredeemable.”
Prince Yee was “granted” a rope and was “permitted” to hang himself. He was escorted to a special room where a beam and a stool awaited. In the room was a servant who would assist Yee to climb onto the stool in case his legs failed him. The servant was also expected to kick the stool out from under Prince Yee once his head was in the noose.
It sickened me to order such a sentence, but I realized I had no choice.
Over the next few days, more of Su Shun’s allies, including Chief Eunuch Shim, were stripped of their power and rank. Shim was sentenced to death by whipping, but I interceded on his behalf. I told the court that I believed the new era should begin in mercy.
Su Shun’s sons were beheaded, but I spared his daughter, bending the law in her case. She was a bright girl who once served me as a librarian. Nothing like her father, she was kind and reserved. Although I didn’t wish to continue our friendship, I felt she deserved to live. Su Shun’s eunuchs were all sentenced to death by whipping. They were the scapegoats, of course, but terror was needed in order to make a statement.
As for Su Shun himself, death by dismemberment was recommended by the judicial authority. But I determined that it be commuted. “Although Su Shun fully deserves the punishment,” my decree to the nation read, “we cannot make up our mind to impose the extreme penalty. Therefore, in token of our leniency, we sentence him to immediate decapitation.”
Three days before Su Shun’s execution a riot broke out in a district of Peking where many of his loyalists lived. The complaint was heard that Su Shun was Emperor Hsien Feng’s appointed minister. “If Su Shun has no virtue whatsoever and deserves such a harsh death, should we doubt His Late Majesty’s wisdom? Or should we suspect that His Majesty’s will is being violated?”
Yung Lu brought the riot under control. I demanded that Prince Kung and Yung Lu secure Su Shun’s execution. I pointed out that we must be extremely careful because Manchu Bannermen had in the past rescued the condemned as a way to start a rebellion.
Prince Kung paid little attention to my concerns. In his eyes, Su Shun was already dead. Believing that he had the full support of the people, Prince Kung proposed to change the place of execution from the vegetable market to the bigger livestock market, a space that could accommodate a crowd of ten thousand.
Feeling uneasy about the plans, I decided to investigate the background of the executioner. I sent An-te-hai and Li Lien-ying to do the job, and they returned quickly with distressing news. There was evidence that the executioner had already been bribed.
The man appointed by the court to behead Su Shun went by the name of One-Cough—he performed his job with reflexive speed. I had no idea that
it was a tradition to bribe the executioner. In order to make a profit, the members of this gruesome trade, from the executioner down to the ax sharpener, worked in concert.
When a convict was brought to prison, he would be treated miserably if his family failed to properly bribe the right people. For example, invisible, undetectable injury could be done to bones and joints, leaving the prisoner handicapped for life. If the prisoner was sentenced to a lingering death by dismemberment, the executioner might take as long as nine days to carve him into a skeleton while keeping him breathing. If the executioner was satisfied with the bribe, his knife would go straight to the heart, ending the suffering before it began.
I learned that when it came to a beheading, there were levels of service. The condemned’s family and the executioner would actually sit down and negotiate. If the executioner was dissatisfied, he would chop the head off and let it roll away. With the help of his apprentices, who would hide among the crowd, the head would “disappear.” Until the family delivered the money, the head would not be “found.” Afterward the family would have to pay a leather worker to sew the head back onto the body. If paid enough, the executioner would make sure that the head and the body stayed attached by a flap of skin. This goal was difficult to achieve, and One-Cough was considered greatly talented in this area.
I asked Yung Lu to interview One-Cough for me. I wanted to hear with my own ears how he prepared himself to perform the beheading of Su Shun. I wanted to speak to One-Cough myself, but the law forbade this. So I observed One-Cough from behind a folded panel.
“The word ‘hack’ or ‘slaughter’ is incorrect in describing my job,” One-Cough began in a surprisingly soft tone. He was a small-headed, stocky-framed man with short, thick arms. “The correct word is ‘slice.’ That’s what I do. Slice. I’ll hold the knife backwards by the handle—that is, with the dull edge near my elbow and the blade facing out. When I receive the action order, I’ll push the knife right in from behind Su Shun’s neck. Most people awaiting death aren’t able to stand on their feet by the time they are brought to me. Nine out of ten have problems kneeling straight. So my assistant will keep the guy’s shoulders up by grabbing his queue. I’ll be standing behind Su Shun, a little bit to the left so he won’t see me. In fact, I will begin observing him the moment he is escorted onto the stage. I’ll study his neck in order to locate a spot where I can cut in.
“When I start, I’ll first tap his right shoulder with my left hand. I only have to tap lightly—he’s jumpy enough. The point is to alarm him so his neck will stick up, and I will immediately push my elbow. The blade will go right in between his spinal knuckles. And I will shove my knife to the left all the way, and before the edge comes out, I’ll raise my leg and give a kick to the body so it falls forward. I have to kick fast, otherwise my clothes will get drenched in blood, which my profession considers bad luck.”
The day of Su Shun’s execution came. Yung Lu told me later that he had never witnessed so many people at a beheading in his life. The streets were packed, as were the rooftops and trees. Children had filled their pockets with rocks. They sang songs of celebration. People spat on Su Shun as his cage went by. When he arrived at the place of execution, his face was covered with saliva and his skin was torn by rocks.
One-Cough emptied a bottle of liquor before he got on the stage. He could hardly believe that he was beheading Su Shun, for in the past he had taken orders from Su Shun to behead others.
As for Su Shun, he called his own failure “a boat turned upside down in sewage.” He shouted to the laughing crowd that “there is a salacious affair going on between the Empresses and the Imperial brother-in-law Prince Kung.” In no time Su Shun’s head rolled like a common felon’s.
I was haunted by the execution. The images Yung Lu described were vivid in my head. An-te-hai told me that I cried loudly in my dreams and said that all I wanted was to give birth to a dozen children and live the life of a peasant woman. An-te-hai said that in my sleep my neck wouldn’t stop twisting from side to side as if I were dodging the blade.
Su Shun’s immense fortune was divided among the royals as compensation for the abuse they had suffered. Overnight Nuharoo and I became wealthy. She purchased jewelry and clothes, and I paid for spies. The attempted assassination on me had shattered my sense of security. With what money was left I bought Su Shun’s opera troupe. In my lonely life as an Imperial widow, the opera became my solace.
The court voted and passed a proposal I submitted in the name of Tung Chih granting the promotion of Yung Lu and An-te-hai. From that moment forward Yung Lu held the highest position in China’s military. He was responsible for protecting not only the Forbidden City and the capital but also the entire country. His new title was Commander in Chief of Imperial Forces and Minister of the Imperial Household. As for An-te-hai, he was given Chief Eunuch Shim’s job. He earned a second rank, that of court minister, which was the highest a eunuch was allowed to achieve.
After all the tumult, I needed a few days of quiet. I invited Nuharoo and Tung Chih to join me at the Summer Palace, where we floated on Kunming Lake, away from the wreckage caused by the invaders. Surrounded by weeping willows, the lake surface was covered with flowering lotus. After the summer the fertile fields resembled the countryside south of the Yangtze River, the region of my hometown of Wuhu.
Tung Chih insisted on staying in Nuharoo’s large boat, which was filled with guests and entertainers. I floated by myself, with An-te-hai and Li Lien-ying in charge of the oars. The complete beauty of the place washed over me. I was so relieved that my troubles seemed finally to be over. I had visited the Summer Palace many times before, but always with the Grand Empress Lady Jin. She had so gotten under my skin that I had no idea of what the palace really looked like.
It had originally been the capital of the Northern Sung Dynasty in the twelfth century. Over the years, emperors of different dynasties added numerous pavilions, towers, pagodas and temples to the grounds. In the Yuan Dynasty the lake was expanded to become part of the Imperial water supply. In 1488, the emperors of the Ming Dynasty, who were fond of natural beauty, began building the Imperial residence by the lake. In 1750, Emperor Chien Lung decided to duplicate the scenery he admired around West Lake in Hangchow and in Soochow to the south. It took him fifteen years to build what he called a “town of poetic charm.” The southern architectural style was faithfully copied. When it was finished, the palace was transformed into a long living scroll painting of unrivaled beauty.
I loved walking the Long Promenade, a covered corridor divided into two hundred sections. I began at the Invite-the-Moon Gate in the east and ended at the Ten-Foot Stone Pavilion. One day when I stopped to rest at the Gate of Dispelling Clouds, I thought of Lady Yun and her daughter, Princess Jung. Lady Yun had forbidden me to speak with her daughter when she was alive. I had seen the girl only at performances and birthday parties. I remembered her as having a slim nose, a thin mouth and a slightly pointed chin. Her expression was absent and dreamy. I wondered if she was well and if she had been told about her father’s death.
The girl was brought to me. She had not inherited her mother’s beauty. She was wearing a gray satin robe and looked pitiful. Her features had not changed and her body was stick-thin. She reminded me of a frosted eggplant stopped in the middle of its growing. She dared not sit when invited to. Her mother’s death must have cast a permanent shadow on her character. She was a princess, Emperor Hsien Feng’s only daughter, but she looked like a child of misfortune.
But it was not just that she had Hsien Feng’s blood, or that I had any guilt about her mother’s ill fate. I wished to give this girl a chance. I must have already sensed that Tung Chih would turn out to be a disappointment, and I wanted to raise a child myself to see if I could make a difference. In a way, Princess Jung offered me consolation after my loss of Tung Chih.
Even though Princess Jung was Tung Chih’s half-sister, the court wouldn’t allow her to live with me unless I officially adopted he
r, so I did. She proved to be worthy. Scared and timid as she was at the beginning, she gradually healed. I nurtured her as much as I could. In my palace she was free to run around, although she barely took advantage of her freedom. She was the opposite of Tung Chih, who thrived on adventure. Nevertheless, she got along with my son and served as a form of stability for him. The only discipline I requested of her was that she attend school. Unlike Tung Chih she loved to learn and was an excellent student. The tutors could not stop praising her. She bloomed in her teens and wanted to reach out. I not only encouraged her but also provided her with opportunities.
Princess Jung grew into quite a beauty when she turned fifteen. One of my ministers suggested that I arrange a marriage for her to a Tibetan tribal chief—“as intended by her father, Emperor Hsien Feng,” the minister reminded me.
I discarded the proposal. Although Lady Yun and I had never been friends, I wanted to do her justice. She had spoken of her fear that her daughter would be married to a “savage.” I told the court that Princess Jung was my daughter, and it was up to me, not the court, to decide her future. Instead of marrying her off in Tibet, I sent her to Prince Kung. I wanted Jung to have a private education and learn English. When she was done, I intended for her to be my secretary and translator. After all, the day might come when I would personally speak to the Queen of England.
Twenty-four
THE PREPARATIONS for my husband’s burial were finally complete. It had taken three months and nine thousand laborers to build a special road to carry the coffin to the Imperial tomb. The bearers, all of the same height and weight, practiced day and night to perfect their steps. The tomb was located in Chihli province, not far from Peking. Each morning a table and chair were placed on top of a thick board weighing the same as the coffin. A bowl of water was placed on the table. An official climbed over the shoulders of the bearers to sit on the chair. His duty was to watch the water in the bowl. The bearers practiced marching until the water no longer spilled from the bowl.