Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [173]
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 her, 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