Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [151]
In the morning fog I watched the Imperial Guards being drilled. Hundreds trotted and marched over packed dirt. They reminded me of hopping toads in a rice field during a drought. The air was crisp and the sun was yet to fully rise.
“Watch out for Tung Chih,” I told the bearers, and asked to be let out of the palanquin. My shoes collected dew as I slowly walked along a side path. Then I saw him, the commander, on his mount. I took a moment to compose myself.
He sat unmoving on the horse but stared in my direction. The fog between us made him look like a paper-cutout warrior.
I approached him with An-te-hai by my side.
The warrior tapped the animal’s flank, and it cantered toward me. I gazed at him under the shadows cast by the rising sun.
The moment he recognized me, he slipped off the horse and threw himself on the ground. “Your Majesty, Yung Lu at your service.”
I knew that I was supposed to say “Rise,” but my tongue faltered. I nodded and An-te-hai interpreted: “You may rise.”
The man in front of me stood. He was taller than I remembered. The sunlight sculpted his figure and his face looked like a hatchet.
I didn’t know what to say. “Tung Chih wanted to visit the woods,” I said after a pause, and then added, “He is chasing a rabbit.”
“That is very nice,” he said, and then he too ran out of words.
I glanced at his men. “How … are your troops doing?”
“Almost ready.” He was relieved to find a topic.
“What are you trying to achieve exactly?”
“I am working to build my men’s endurance. At present they are capable of staying in formation for about half a day, but the parade with the coffin will last fifteen days.”
“May I trust that you are not overworking your men or yourself?” I said. Immediately I caught the softness in my tone. I realized that I had just asked a question, which etiquette forbade.
He seemed to be aware of it. He looked at me and then quickly looked away.
I wished that I could dismiss An-te-hai, but that would not be wise. Being seen alone with Yung Lu would be dangerous.
“May I have Your Majesty’s permission to check up on Tung Chih?” An-te-hai asked, reading my mind.
“No, you may not.”
Tung Chih was disappointed: he hadn’t found the rabbit. When we returned to the palace, I promised to have a wooden one made for him. An-te-hai explained my idea to the court’s best craftsman. The man asked for five days to produce the rabbit. Tung Chih waited eagerly.
On the evening of the fourth day, a fantastically crafted wooden rabbit with white “fur” was presented to Tung Chih. The moment my son saw it, he fell in love. From then on he no longer touched any other toys, no matter how fancy they were. The wooden rabbit had the cutest red eyes of chiseled rubies. Its fur was made of cotton and silk. The best part was that the rabbit had movable legs with a string winder. When Tung Chih placed the rabbit on the floor it could hop like a real one.
For the next few days Tung Chih was completely occupied by the rabbit. I was able to work with Nuharoo on the court documents delivered by Su Shun. My floor was piled with papers and I had no space to move around.
Nuharoo soon resented coming to work with me. She began to make excuses for not showing up. She wanted us to abide by the ancient Chinese philosophy that “the wisest man should appear the most confused.” She believed that if we did so, Su Shun would leave us alone: “Fool and disarm him without using a weapon.” She smiled, charmed by her own words.
I did not understand Nuharoo’s fantasy. We might fool others, but not Su Shun. For me it was harder to deal with Nuharoo than with my son. When she was tired, her temper tantrums rose. She complained about everything—the noise of crickets, the taste of her soup, a dropped stitch in her embroidery. She would insist that I help