The Last Empress - Anchee Min [88]
But one morning Yung Lu came to me to request permission to leave his current position as commander in chief of the army to head up the nation's navy. I granted his wish, knowing that he must have thought through the decision, but I warned him that many would regard his transfer as a demotion.
"I never live by others' principles" was his response.
"The navy has been having great difficulty since Li Hung-chang's departure abroad," I reminded him.
"That's exactly why I want the job."
"Li had said to me, 'It takes a man of Yung Lu's stature to influence the navy.' Did he suggest your move?"
"Yes, he did."
I tried not to think that Yung Lu's new duties would take him even more often away from Peking.
"Who will be your replacement?" I asked.
"Yuan Shih-kai. He will report to me directly." I was well aware of Yuan's qualifications, of course. As a young general he had fought the Japanese and succeeded in keeping peace in Korea for ten years.
"Then you will be working two jobs."
"Yes, I will." He smiled. "So are you."
"I won't feel safe with you gone."
"I'll be in Tientsin."
"That's hundreds of miles away."
"Compared to Sinkiang, it is no distance."
We sat quietly sipping tea. I looked at him, his eyes, nose, mouth and hands.
27
Guang-hsu asked me to move with him to Ying-t'ai, the Ocean Terrace Pavilion, which stood on an island in the South Sea lake next to the Summer Palace. The seclusion, he said, would help him concentrate.
Ying-t'ai was a paradise that had long been unoccupied. Its elegant buildings, which were in need of repair, were linked to the mainland by a narrow causeway and a drawbridge. The pavilion had marble terraces dropping straight into the water, with canals spanned by pretty bridges between them.
In the summer the surrounding lakes were covered by flotillas of green lotus. By August large pink flowers would shoot up from the green mats. The views were astonishing. When the restoration work started, I was asked to rename the living quarters. I chose the names Hall of Cultivating Elegance, Chamber of Quiet Rest, Study of Reflection on Remote Matters and Chamber of Singleness of Heart.
I was beginning to realize that there could be dignity without friends. I found myself becoming more attracted to Buddhism. Its promise of peace was appealing, and it did not discriminate against women, as did Confucianism. The Buddhist pantheon included women, prominent among them the goddess of mercy, Kuan-yin, with whom I felt a special affinity. The truth was that I had nowhere else to turn.
I believed in mercy, but I was losing faith in the people around me. For example, I had thought that my fairness toward house eunuchs would assure their honesty and gain their loyalty, but with a piercing look straight in the eyes I would catch a liar.
I had asked my eunuch Chow Tee to send a honey-nut cake to Li Lien-ying, who was away on vacation for the first time in twenty-nine years. When Chow Tee reported Li Lien-ying's thanks to me, I asked, "Did you deliver the cake yourself?"
"I did, of course. I ran, so Chief Li could have the cake while it was still hot."
"It's raining outside, isn't it?" I asked.
"Yes."
"How is it that your clothes are completely dry?"
In the end, the liar suffered ten strokes of a bamboo stick.
Trying to calm myself, I looked at the blooming camellia outside my window. The trees were loaded with fat buds. It was hard to believe that Li Lien-ying had turned fifty. He was thirteen when An-te-hai first brought him to me.
I was now sixty-one and had become suspicious of others and increasingly questioned my own judgment. I repeatedly warned that I would tolerate no liars, but lying had always been a part of the life of the Forbidden City. Since our war with Japan, I had never received a single report of a military loss. The only news the court sent was of victory, for which I foolishly awarded promotions and bonuses.
On impulse, I would pick a moment to test my eunuchs and ladies in waiting. I felt sick at heart, yet