reluctantly. Mei and Shun-sheng had never discussed what had happened,
had never said a word about who he truly was after he had returned, and she
never knew for certain if he had been responsible for the deaths of the Emperor
and the Empress Dowager, the official stories never to be trusted when it came
to these things.
But now
he wanted his son to know.
Zedong
looked at her, his red eyes filled with curiosity.
“What is
it, Grandmother?”
Mei
smiled and reached across his father with her spare hand, and took his. She
looked at her grandson, then her son, as she held both their hands, and they
held each other’s. It was a moment of truth. A moment that could change things
forever.
It was a
moment she feared Zedong may never be able to reconcile, what with his
political beliefs. She had heard rumors he was pushing for democracy, for those
in power to be elected by the common man, and for the adoption of Western ways,
but not Western leadership.
Mei
smiled at the young man in front of her, then squeezed both hands she held.
“You know that this is my home.”
“Of
course, you grew up just down the road.”
“But it
wasn’t always my home.”
Zedong’s
eyes narrowed. “No?”
Mei
shook her head. “When I was ten I was taken to the Forbidden City, to serve the
Emperor. When I was fifteen, I was given charge of his newborn son.”
Zedong
smiled. “Grandmother, for this to have happened when you say it happened, you
must be speaking of the Tongzhi Emperor, and I know for a fact he had no sons.”
Mei
looked at the boy with pride. “You know your history well, little one, but
history is written by those who control the pen, and when my emperor, whose
name I am forbidden to say, yet you say so boldly, died, I was there. And I was
in charge of his son.”
Zedong
sunk to the floor slightly, still holding his father’s hand, and hers. Mei
gripped him a little tighter.
“My
emperor’s mother, the Empress Dowager Cixi, had him murdered, because an heir
had been born, and my emperor dared to challenge her power. He was dead within
a day, and horrible rumors spread to discredit his memory.”
Zedong
looked at his father.
“Is he—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Mei
nodded. “Your father is that baby. Your grandfather, who was in the Emperor’s
Guard, and I, were the only ones to survive the betrayal that took place that
day. In fear for your father’s safety, we married, and told everyone, including
my parents, that he was our son. Your father did not know the truth until he
was much older—after you were born in fact—and now you know the truth.
No one else alive today knows what I have just told you.”
Zedong
suddenly stood, letting go both their hands.
“You
mean to tell me that I am imperial blood?”
She
nodded.
“That if
my grandfather hadn’t been murdered, I would be Emperor after my father died?”
Again,
Mei nodded.
Zedong
paced the room, his chin in his hand, and a bearing that she recognized from
her Emperor. His shoulders were more squared than usual, his posture, near
perfect, his stride, long and confident, though confined to three steps before
he would be forced to spin on his heel and again cover the territory crossed
moments before.
And
there was a look in his eye that she recognized as well.
It was a
lust for power, for control. It was an overwhelming will to seize what was
rightfully his, and to command his people, and rule his country, like he
deserved to, like he was always meant to.
But she
feared it was the ambition of a young man told the girl he had lusted over, but
was now married, had secretly lusted over him as well. She was no longer
available; she was now out of reach.
Her son
gasped, and she turned her attention back to him as Zedong rushed to his side
once again.
“Does he
know?” asked Shun-sheng.
Mei put
her lips to his ear.
“He
knows, my son.”
Shun-sheng
nodded, then looked at his son.
“Now you
know who you are. Never let anyone hold
had never said a word about who he truly was after he had returned, and she
never knew for certain if he had been responsible for the deaths of the Emperor
and the Empress Dowager, the official stories never to be trusted when it came
to these things.
But now
he wanted his son to know.
Zedong
looked at her, his red eyes filled with curiosity.
“What is
it, Grandmother?”
Mei
smiled and reached across his father with her spare hand, and took his. She
looked at her grandson, then her son, as she held both their hands, and they
held each other’s. It was a moment of truth. A moment that could change things
forever.
It was a
moment she feared Zedong may never be able to reconcile, what with his
political beliefs. She had heard rumors he was pushing for democracy, for those
in power to be elected by the common man, and for the adoption of Western ways,
but not Western leadership.
Mei
smiled at the young man in front of her, then squeezed both hands she held.
“You know that this is my home.”
“Of
course, you grew up just down the road.”
“But it
wasn’t always my home.”
Zedong’s
eyes narrowed. “No?”
Mei
shook her head. “When I was ten I was taken to the Forbidden City, to serve the
Emperor. When I was fifteen, I was given charge of his newborn son.”
Zedong
smiled. “Grandmother, for this to have happened when you say it happened, you
must be speaking of the Tongzhi Emperor, and I know for a fact he had no sons.”
Mei
looked at the boy with pride. “You know your history well, little one, but
history is written by those who control the pen, and when my emperor, whose
name I am forbidden to say, yet you say so boldly, died, I was there. And I was
in charge of his son.”
Zedong
sunk to the floor slightly, still holding his father’s hand, and hers. Mei
gripped him a little tighter.
“My
emperor’s mother, the Empress Dowager Cixi, had him murdered, because an heir
had been born, and my emperor dared to challenge her power. He was dead within
a day, and horrible rumors spread to discredit his memory.”
Zedong
looked at his father.
“Is he—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Mei
nodded. “Your father is that baby. Your grandfather, who was in the Emperor’s
Guard, and I, were the only ones to survive the betrayal that took place that
day. In fear for your father’s safety, we married, and told everyone, including
my parents, that he was our son. Your father did not know the truth until he
was much older—after you were born in fact—and now you know the truth.
No one else alive today knows what I have just told you.”
Zedong
suddenly stood, letting go both their hands.
“You
mean to tell me that I am imperial blood?”
She
nodded.
“That if
my grandfather hadn’t been murdered, I would be Emperor after my father died?”
Again,
Mei nodded.
Zedong
paced the room, his chin in his hand, and a bearing that she recognized from
her Emperor. His shoulders were more squared than usual, his posture, near
perfect, his stride, long and confident, though confined to three steps before
he would be forced to spin on his heel and again cover the territory crossed
moments before.
And
there was a look in his eye that she recognized as well.
It was a
lust for power, for control. It was an overwhelming will to seize what was
rightfully his, and to command his people, and rule his country, like he
deserved to, like he was always meant to.
But she
feared it was the ambition of a young man told the girl he had lusted over, but
was now married, had secretly lusted over him as well. She was no longer
available; she was now out of reach.
Her son
gasped, and she turned her attention back to him as Zedong rushed to his side
once again.
“Does he
know?” asked Shun-sheng.
Mei put
her lips to his ear.
“He
knows, my son.”
Shun-sheng
nodded, then looked at his son.
“Now you
know who you are. Never let anyone hold
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