Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [146]
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Tung Chih expressed little interest when I told him stories of his ancestors. He couldn’t wait to finish a lesson so that he could be with Nuharoo, which made me jealous. I was becoming a tougher mother after his father’s death. Tung Chih couldn’t read a map of China, couldn’t even remember the names of most provinces. He was already a ruler, but his biggest interests were eating sugar-coated berries and fooling around. He had no idea what the real world was like and didn’t care to learn. Why should he when he was constantly made to feel that he was on top of the universe?
To the public, I promoted my five-year-old son as a genius who would lead the nation out of troubled waters. I had to do so in order to survive. The more people trusted the Emperor, the more stable the society. Hope was our currency. Behind closed doors, however, I pushed Tung Chih to live up to his role. He needed to rule on his own as soon as possible because Su Shun’s power would only continue to grow.
I tried to teach him how to conduct an audience, how to listen, what kinds of questions to ask, and most important, how to make decisions based on collective opinions, criticisms and ideas.
“You must learn from your advisors and ministers,” I warned, “because you are not—”
“Who I think I am.” Tung Chih cut at me. “In your eyes, I’m as good as a wet fart.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or slap his face. I did neither.
“Why do you never say ‘Yes, Your Majesty’ like everyone else?” my son asked.
I noticed that he had stopped calling me Mother. When he had to address me, he called me Huang-ah-pa, a formal name meaning “Imperial Mother.” But he called Nuharoo Mother, in a voice that was full of warmth and affection.
If Tung Chih had accepted my rules, I would have swallowed the insult, because all I desired was for him to be a fit ruler. He could interpret my intentions any way he wanted. My feelings would not be hurt even if he hated me at the beginning. I believed that he would thank me in the future.
But I underestimated the power of the environment. It was as if he were a piece of clay that had been molded and baked before I could touch it. Tung Chih scored poorly on his exams, and he had trouble concentrating. When his tutor shut him inside the library, he sent his eunuchs to Nuharoo, who came to his rescue. The tutor was punished instead of the student. When I protested, Nuharoo reminded me of my lower status.
An-te-hai was the one who pointed out that what was going on had nothing to do with being a parent. “You are dealing with the Emperor of China, not your child, my lady,” he said. “It is the entire culture of the Forbidden City that you are up against.”
I hated the idea of tricking my son. But when honesty failed, what choice did I have left?
When Tung Chih brought me his unfinished homework, I no longer criticized him. In an even voice I told him that as long as he felt that he had done his best, it would be fine with me. He was relieved and felt less compelled to lie. Gradually Tung Chih became willing to spend time with me. I played “audience,” “court room” and “battles” with him. Carefully, quietly, I tried to influence him. The moment he detected my true motives, he ran away.
“There are people who try to make the Son of Heaven a fool,” Tung Chih once said in the middle of a game.
Nuharoo and the master tutor Chih Ming wanted Tung Chih to learn the exclusive “Emperor’s language.” They also designed the lessons so that Tung Chih would focus on Chinese rhetoric and ancient Tang poetry and Sung verses, “so he can speak elegantly.” When I opposed the idea and wanted to add science, math and basic military strategy, they were upset.
“It is considered prestigious to own a language,” Master Chih Ming explained with passion. “Only an emperor can afford it, and that is the point.”
“Why do you want to deprive our child?” Nuharoo asked me. “Hasn’t Tung Chih, as the Son of Heaven, been deprived enough?”
“It is a waste of time to learn a language that he can’t use