The Last Empress - Anchee Min [75]
Before I could answer, she went on. "My younger brother died last night. My parents sold him this morning. I wonder which family is eating him."
Suddenly my knees gave way and I collapsed.
"I am leaving for Hefei, Orchid."
The last thing I remembered was Grasshopper thanking me for the feces from my family's manure pit.
The giant trees surrounding my palace made a wave-like sound. I lay in the dark, still unable to sleep. Leaving the past, I stumbled again into the present and thought about Li Hung-chang, the man from He-fei. Hefei, in fact, was his nickname. He too, I assumed, knew the hunger of peasants, and this had much to do with our mutual understanding and ambition to bring change to the government. It had come to bind us. I both looked forward to and dreaded audiences with Li. I didn't know what additional bad news he had to bring me. The only sure thing was that it would come.
Li Hung-chang was a man of courtesy and elegance. He brought me gifts, exotic and practical; once he presented me with reading glasses. The gifts always came with a story, about the place of their making or the cultural influences behind their design. It was not hard to imagine why he enjoyed great popularity. Besides Prince Kung, Li was the only government official that foreigners trusted.
I still could not sleep. I had a feeling that Li Hung-chang was on his way again. I imagined his carriage rambling through the dark streets of Peking. The Forbidden City's gates opening for him, one after another. The guards' whispers. Li being escorted through the mile-long entrance, along hallways and garden corridors and into the inner court.
I heard the temple's bell strike four times. My mind was clear but I was tired, and my cheeks were burning hot, my limbs cold. I sat up and pulled on my clothes. I heard the sound of footsteps, recognized the shuffle of soft soles and knew it was my eunuch. In the shadow of the moon Li Lien-ying came in. He lifted my curtain, a candle in his right hand. "My lady," he called.
"Is it Li Hung-chang?" I asked.
Li knelt before me wearing his prized double-eyed peacock-feather hat and yellow silk field marshal's riding jacket. I was afraid of what he would say. It seemed only a short while since he had brought me the terrible news of Korea's Queen Min.
He stayed on his knees until I asked him to speak.
"China and Japan are at war" was what he told me.
Although not surprised, I was still shaken. For the past few days the throne had ordered troops, under the leadership of Yung Lu, moved north to help Korea contain its revolt. Guang-hsu's edict read, "Japan has poured an army into Korea, trying to extinguish what they call a fire that they themselves have lit."
I had little confidence in our military might. The court wasn't wrong in describing me as one who "got bitten by a snake ten years ago and has since been afraid of straw ropes."
I lost my husband and almost my own life during the 1860 Opium War. If England and its allies were superior then, I could only imagine them now, more than thirty years later. The possibility that I would not survive was real to me. Ever since his return from Sinkiang, Yung Lu had been working quietly with Li Hung-chang on strengthening our forces, but I knew they had far to go. My thoughts were with Yung Lu and his troops as they made their way north.
Li was in favor of allowing time for the joint efforts of England, Russia and Germany, who, under Li's repeated pleading for support, had agreed to persuade Japan to "put out the war torch."
"His Majesty Emperor Guang-hsu is convinced that he must act," Li said. "The Japanese fired two broadsides and a torpedo, sinking the troopship Kowshing, which was sailing out of Port Arthur with our soldiers on board. Those who did not drown were machine-gunned. I understand His Majesty's rage, but we can't afford to act on emotion."
"What do you expect me to do, Li Hung-chang?"
"Please ask the Emperor to be patient, for I am waiting for England, Russia and Germany to respond. I am afraid any wrong move on our part