The Last Empress - Anchee Min [7]
By now my eunuchs, servants and ladies in waiting stood against the walls with their hands folded. They stared at An-te-hai as he put on his show. Over the years, he had become a master of illusion. With Yung Lu and me as his actors, he staged a clever drama of distraction.
Yung Lu threw himself on the mat and knocked his forehead lightly on the ground and wished me good health.
I uttered, "Rise."
As Yung Lu stood, An-te-hai slowly pulled away the mat, attracting all the attention to himself while Yung Lu and I exchanged glances.
Tea was served while we sat like two vases. We began to talk about the aftermath of the prosecution of Governor Ho and exchanged opinions on the pending Sheng Pao case. Yung Lu assured me that my decisions had been sound.
My mind leapt as I sat beside my love. I could not forget what had happened four years before, when the two of us shared our only private moment, inside the tomb of Hsien Feng. I longed to know if Yung Lu remembered the event as I did. I could find no evidence as I looked at him. A few days earlier, when he took a seat at an audience and looked straight in my direction, I questioned whether our shared passion had ever taken place. As Emperor Hsien Feng's widow, I would have no future with any man. Yet my heart refused to stay in its tomb.
Yung Lu's position as the commander of the Bannermen constantly took him away from the capital. With or without his troops he moved where he was needed, making sure China's armies were fulfilling their duty to the empire. As a man of action, it was a life that suited him; he was a soldier who preferred the company of other soldiers over the ministers at court.
Yung Lu's frequent absences made my longing easier to bear. Only with his return would I realize the depth of my feeling. Suddenly he would be in my presence, reporting on some urgent matter or offering counsel at a critical moment. He might stay in the capital for weeks or months, and during those times would dutifully attend court. Only during these periods could I say that I looked forward to the daily audience.
Outside the audiences, Yung Lu avoided me. It was his way of protecting me from rumor and gossip. Whenever I expressed a desire to see him privately, he would decline. I kept sending An-te-hai anyway. I wanted Yung Lu to know that the eunuch was available to lead him through the back door of the audience hall to my chamber.
Although Yung Lu had reassured me of the rightness of my decision regarding Sheng Pao, I still worried. True, the evidence against him was damning, but the general had many allies in court, among them Prince Kung, who I'd noticed was keeping his distance. When Sheng Pao was finally escorted to Peking, my brother-in-law suddenly reappeared in my presence, insisting that Sheng Pao be sent into exile instead of being executed. I reminded Kung again that the original order for Sheng Pao's execution had been issued by Emperor Hsien Feng. Prince Kung didn't budge. He saw my insistence as a kind of declaration of war.
I felt vulnerable and scared when petitions for Sheng Pao's release arrived from the far corners of China. Once again Yung Lu came to my defense and steadied my hand. He gave me courage and the composure to think. Very few knew that Yung Lu had his own reasons to see Sheng Pao to his end: Yung Lu took offense when Sheng Pao slaughtered wounded soldiers. To Yung Lu, it was a matter of principle.
My strategy was simple: I assured Sheng Pao's subordinates that I would not behead Sheng Pao if a majority of them believed that he deserved to live. I also changed the rules so that those in Sheng Pao's clan would not be punished along with their leader. Relieved, the people could now vote with their hearts, and they wished Sheng Pao dead.
Sheng Pao was sent to the Board of Punishment, where he was put to a quick end. A sense of sadness and failure washed over me. For days I had the same dream: My father was standing on a stool at the end of a dark hall surrounded by steep walls.