The Last Empress - Anchee Min [45]
One afternoon Li Lien-ying came to me, a terrified look on his face. "His Young Majesty has destroyed the grand clocks!"
"Which ones?" I asked.
"The Emperor Hsien Feng Clock and the Tung Chih Clock!"
I went to check and found that the clocks had been taken apart, the tiny pieces scattered over the table like chewed-up chicken bones.
"I trust that you have a plan to put the clocks back together," I said to Guang-hsu.
"What if I can't?" Guang-hsu asked, holding a small screwdriver in his hand.
"I will give you credit for trying," I encouraged.
"Would you be mad if your favorite bird clock no longer sings?"
"Well, I can't say I would be happy, but a clock expert must learn to put the broken parts together too."
15
Yung Lu stood before me in his purple satin court robe. My heart's ice began to melt in the spring sun. Like ghost lovers, our meeting places had been in our dreams. At dawn we would slip back into our human skin, but the dreams continued. In my costumes and makeup, I would imagine my head against his chest and my hands feeling his warmth. I walked the steps of a gracious empress, yet I felt the passion of a village girl.
I had no one to share my thoughts of Yung Lu after An-te-hai's death. When I turned forty, I accepted the fact that Yung Lu and I would not consummate our passion. We lived under the eyes of our nation. Newspapers and magazines made their living selling gossip about us.
There was nowhere Yung Lu and I could be with each other without exposing ourselves. The money offered for information about my private life tempted eunuchs, maids and the lowest-ranking servants to lurk, to pry, to tell tales.
Yet moments like this reminded me of how impossible it was to deny my love. My emotions found a home in Yung Lu's presence. The look in his eyes rescued me from fear and prevented me from falling into self-destructive thoughts. Whatever misery I was experiencing, he assured me that he was with me. At audiences and court I relied on his judgment and support. He was my harshest and most honest critic, guiding me to see all sides of whatever issue was before me. But once I had made a decision, he saw to it that my orders were carried out.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I..." His expression was of a reluctant executioner. He gathered his breath and pushed the words out of his chest. "I ... am going to get married."
I resisted the feelings that assaulted me. Making a tremendous effort, I pressed back my tears.
"You don't need my permission," I managed to say.
"That is not why I am here." His voice was low but clear.
"Why are you here, then?" I turned to look at him, angry and terrified.
"I request your permission to move away," he said quietly.
"What does that have to do with—" I stopped, because I understood.
"My family will go with me," he added. "Where are you going?" I heard myself ask.
"Sinkiang." Sinkiang was in the far northwest, a Moslem state, a remote desert region, as far from the capital as could be.
I didn't mean to break down, but I began to lose control. "Do you really think that I can survive without you?"
He stood in silence.
"You know who I am. You know what I am made of, and you know the reason I show up every morning for audiences."
"Your Majesty, please..."
"I want ... to be informed that you are safe so that I will be able to rest."
"Nothing has changed."
"But you are leaving!"
"I will write letters. I promise..."
"How? Sinkiang is impossible to reach."
"It will not be easy, Your Majesty. But ... it will be good for you if I leave," he insisted.
"Convince me."
He glanced around the room. Although the eunuchs and maids had made themselves unseen, they were not gone. We could hear their movements in the courtyard.
"Moslems have led uprisings, Your Majesty.