
All these years later, my relationship with Nuharoo was best expressed in the saying "The water in the well does not disturb the water in the river." To survive, it had been necessary for us to watch out for each other. At times this seemed impossible, especially regarding Tung Chih. Nuharoo's status as senior wife gave her authority over his upbringing and education, something that rankled me. Our fight over how to raise Tung Chih had stopped after he ascended the throne, but my bitterness over how ill prepared the boy had been continued to poison our relationship.
Nuharoo pursued contentment in Buddhism while my own discontentment followed me like a shadow. My spirit kept escaping my will. I read the book Nuharoo had sent me, The Proper Conduct of an Imperial Widow, but it did little to bring me peace. After all, I was from Wuhu, "the lake of luxurious weeds." I couldn't be who I was not, although I spent my life trying.
"Learn to be the soft kind of wood, Orchid," Mother taught me when I was a young girl. "The soft blocks are carved into statues of Buddha and goddesses. The hard ones are made into coffin boards."
I had a drawing table in my room, with ink, freshly mixed paint, brushes and rice paper. After each day's audience I came here to work.
My paintings were for my son-they were given as gifts in his name. They served as his ambassadors and spoke for him whenever a situation became too humiliating. China was forced to beg for extensions on payments of so-called war compensation, imposed on us by foreign powers.
