The Last Empress - Anchee Min [107]
I would lose everything if Guang-hsu's reforms were to miscarry. I would be forced to replace him, and it would cost me my retirement—I would have to start all over again, choosing and raising another infant boy who would someday rule over China.
What frustrated me equally was that the consequences of Li Hung-chang's dismissal began to show. The hoped-for industrialization of the country had now ground to a halt. Everything awaited Li Hung-chang, the only man with the international and domestic connections necessary to get things done.
Yung Lu continued his duty on the military front, but only because I intervened at the last minute to stop my son from firing him. Under the spell of the reformer, Guang-hsu was becoming even more radical in his actions. It grew more and more difficult for me to comprehend his logic.
The Emperor went on insisting that progress was being impeded by Yung Lu and Li Hung-chang. "But most of all," he said with angry tears in his eyes, "it is because your shadow still sits behind the curtain!"
I quit explaining. I could not make Guang-hsu see why I had to stay engaged. I had given him permission to fire Li Hung-chang but had immediately begun to lay the groundwork for his return. It was only a matter of time before the Emperor would discover that he couldn't function without Li and would need to mend his relationship with him, as well as with Yung Lu. I would serve as the glue, so that neither party would risk the loss of face and reputation. As it turned out, no matter how much my son angered and humiliated them, the two men always came back.
"The failure of a thousand-mile dike starts with an ant colony." So began a message from Li Hung-chang in the fall of 1898 that warned of a foreign conspiracy against me. The goal was to make Guang-hsu a puppet king.
I couldn't say I was surprised. I was aware that my son had been carried away by his vision of a new China, reinvigorated by his own hand. Yet I chose ignorance because I couldn't stand fighting him anymore. I wanted to please him so he would think of nothing but my love.
While I was admiring the lotus flowers swaying in the gentle breeze at Kun Ming Lake, reformer Kang Yu-wei secretly contacted General Yuan Shih-kai, Yung Lu's right-hand man in the military. I had no idea that Guang-hsu's permission for Kang's "unlimited access to the Forbidden City" extended to my bedroom door.
A week after the scurrilous attack on me in the foreign press, I received a formal letter from Guang-hsu. Seeing the familiar seals and opening the envelope, I couldn't believe what I read: a request that the capital be moved to Shanghai.
I was not able to stay calm. I summoned my son and told him that he'd better give me one good reason for such an outrageous idea.
"The feng shui in Peking works against me" was all he could say.
I tried to block a loud "no" from rolling out of my chest.
Guang-hsu stood by the door as if getting ready to escape.
I paced the room, then swung around to look at him. Sunlight hit his robe, making his accessories glitter. He was pale.
"Look me in the eyes, son."
He couldn't. He stared at the floor.
"In history," I said, "only the Emperor of a fallen dynasty, such as the Soong, relocated the capital. And it didn't save the dynasty."
"I have an audience waiting," Guang-hsu said flatly. He no longer wanted to listen. "I must go."
"What are you going to do about the Tientsin military inspection? It has already been scheduled." I chased him to the gate.
"I am not going."
"Why? You can learn what Yung Lu and General Yuan Shih-kai are doing."
Guang-hsu stopped. He pivoted his body at an odd angle, and his hands went to the wall. "You are going, aren't you?" He looked at me nervously, blinking his