Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [180]
“No! You will not.”
“If I can control myself, my lady. If I don’t love you enough.”
“Promise me, An-te-hai. Promise that you will not do that!”
“Hit me, then. Because it is my desire to see you smile again. You may think me crazy, but I must express myself. I want your love to take place as badly as I want to restore my manhood. I could not possibly let such a chance pass by.”
I paced back and forth inside the tent. I knew An-te-hai was right and that I needed to do something before the situation overtook me. It was not hard to see what my passion for Yung Lu would lead to—the defeat of my dream for Tung Chih.
I called Li Lien-ying. “Get hold of entertainers from a local teahouse,” I said.
“Yes, my lady, right away.”
“The midnight dancers.” An-te-hai said, making sure his disciple understood what I meant.
Li Lien-ying kowtowed. “I know a good place about a quarter of a mile away, the Peach Village.”
“Send three of their best girls to Yung Lu immediately,” I said, and then added, “Say that they are gifts from me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The eunuch left.
I lifted the curtain and watched Li Lien-ying vanish into the night. I felt an unbearable heaviness crushing down on me. My stomach felt as if it was filling up with stone. There was nothing left of the girl who had come to Peking in the dull light of a summer morning ten years before. She was naïve, trusting and curious. She was full of youth and warm emotions, and ready to try life. The years inside the Forbidden City had formed a shell over her and the shell had hardened. Historians would describe her as cruel and heartless. Her iron will was said to have carried her through one crisis after another.
When I turned back, An-te-hai was looking at me with a bewildered expression on his face.
“I am just like everyone else,” I said. “There was no place left where I could take refuge.”
“You did the impossible, my lady.”
There was no wind the next day. The sun’s rays filtered through thin clouds. I rode in the palanquin and my thoughts were calmer. I believed that I could now think of Yung Lu in a different way. I felt less stifled. My heart accepted what had been done and rose gradually from the ruins. For the first time in a very long while I felt a surge of hope. I would become a woman who had experienced the worst and so had nothing else to fear.
My heart, however, stubbornly cherished the old, as became clear when I heard the sound of hooves next to my chair. Instantly, my mind touched the familiar madness, crippling my will.
“Good morning, Your Majesty!” It was his voice.
Excitement and pleasure paralyzed me. My hand went as if on its own to lift the curtain. His face was in the frame. He was in his magnificent ceremonial uniform and sat tall on his horse.
“I enjoyed your gifts,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of you.” He looked darker. His lips were dry and his eyes unsmiling.
I was determined to conquer my emotion, so I said, “I’m glad.”
“Do you expect me to say that I understand your sacrifice and am grateful?”
I wanted to say no, but my lips would not move.
“You are cruel,” he said.
I knew that if I relented, even a little bit, it wouldn’t be long before I lost control.
“Time for you to go back to your duty.” I let down the curtain.
With the fading sound of his horse’s hooves, I wept.
Nuharoo’s words came to me, “Pain does good things. It prepares us for peace.”
• • •
We were at Hsien Feng’s tomb the next dawn. I waited three hours until the moment arrived to move the coffin into place. I was served porridge for breakfast. Then three monks swung their incense burners and walked in circles around me. The thick smoke choked me. Drums and music played and the wind distorted the sound. The landscape was bare and vast.
The bearers pushed the coffin with their shoulders inch by inch toward the tomb. I sat on my knees and prayed for Hsien Feng’s spirit to gain peace in his next life. Two hundred Taoist monks, two hundred Tibetan lamas and two hundred Buddhists chanted.