Sherlock Holmes and The Nine-Dragon Sigil

Chapter VIII I Receive an Urgent Summons from the Empress Dowager

I was about to settle in for the night when I received an urgent summons to attend the Empress Dowager. I was to be carried in the dark the six miles to the Marble Boat on the grounds of the Summer Palace, the porters’ feet muffled with sackcloth to dull their noise in the empty streets. It turned out to be less a boat than a concrete two-story lakeside pavilion with fake paddlewheels on each side, imitating the sailing boats of the former Emperor Qianlong. Large mirrors were fixed on each deck to enable Cixi to watch dragonflies floating over the pink chalices and velvet leaves of the lotus flowers as she sipped her afternoon tea according to the season, Dragon well green tea for spring, Jasmine Green tea for summer and Puer tea for winter.

I was hurried aboard to find the Empress Dowager bending over the still body of a pug. Her voice trembling with emotion she begged, ‘Dr. Watson, can you bring ‘Shadza’ back to life?’

In answer to my quick questioning, the Empress said the Pekingese had shown signs of distress over a period of two or three days, with prolonged convulsions, severe metabolic acidosis and respiratory distress.

The breed was of exceptional importance to the autarchs of China. Teams of eunuchs looked after the little dogs and bathed them. They were fed the highest grade rice and meat. They slept in marble kennels lined with silk cushions, guarded by their own eunuch.

Over the centuries the Palace bred them smaller and smaller until the owners could carry the tiny creatures concealed in the billowing sleeves of their owners’ silk robes. In the 2nd Century Emperor Lingdi of Han conferred a scholarly title on his favourite ‘Lion Dog’, making it a member of the nobility, and thereby starting a centuries-long trend of honouring imperial dogs with noble rank. If an ordinary person happened to cross paths with a Lion Dog he had to bow to it.

I bent down and pressed on Shadza’s rib-cage. There was only the slightest response. A cursory examination indicated the creature was beyond resuscitation. The symptoms pointed to a powerful toxin. Even while I kneeled at the dog’s side shaking my head there came the sound of breath exhaling and the animal was dead. The eunuch escorted me back along the passage and launched me back into the outer world. Such was the Empress Dowager’s grief, she ordered the entire High Court to go into three days of mourning.

Back at our lodgings Holmes’s lanterns were still lit. I knocked on his door and put my head in. He had a copy of the North China Herald in his hand. Even here in China he read the English-language press avidly and took cuttings.

‘The Empress Dowager’s favourite dog Shadza,’ I said.

The snick of office shears continued.

‘What about it?’

‘It’s died,’ I said. ‘Just now. Most likely poisoned. What’s so idiotic is they let it suffer for three or four days.’

The Herald lowered.

I continued, ‘If I’d been called in at once I could have emptied the creature’s stomach in time to save it and perhaps discover what toxin it ingested.’

‘And?’

Holmes was staring at me with an unusually alert expression.

‘That’s it. It’s dead. I offered to perform an autopsy to find out what killed it. The Old Buddha seemed quite put out at the idea of cutting it open. Presumably even the Palace dogs need to be intact when they mount the Dragon-chariot for the journey to canine afterlife. There were,’ I added, ‘some bodily fluids on the dog’s hair. I said by swabbing them I might be able to throw light on why it died. She refused even that.’

With the Palaces in official if insincere three-day mourning for Shadza I was able to decide my movements for myself. Wang Feng had noticed my impatience to return to England. He suggested a photographic subject for the ‘off-duty’ afternoon. Would I please bring the Lizars 1/4 Plate Challenge camera. He wanted to show me a display of purple bamboo set in a mountain-water landscaped garden near the Imperial Canal.

I found him at the water’s edge in conversation with a man holding a large Saker falcon with a bell attached. The acquaintance was from Huailai where falcons and goshawks are trained to hunt hares and game birds.

‘He’s on his way to the Palace,’ Wang explained. ‘Falcons bred in Hebei Province have been a part of aristocratic culture here for more than 600 years. This bird has been constantly exposed to people and human surroundings, and dogs used in the hunt. My friend will get the best price through Chief Eunuch Li. In turn Li will sell it on to a member of the Royal Court for five times more.’

I beckoned Wang to a nearby bench. Before photographing the purple bamboo I wanted to question him about the Empress Dowager. I knew he was more at ease away from the prying eyes and hidden ears of the Forbidden City. Inside the city walls it was as though behind every stall, every partition, lurked a sharp-eared eunuch ready to report our words to the Summer Palace. Nevertheless, he picked his words carefully.

‘She is revered by millions,’ he replied. ‘They call her ‘the Dragon Lady’. Dragons have the characteristics of nine other creatures: a lion’s mane, scales like a fish, a long tail like a snake, claws like a hawk, eyes like a shrimp, antlers like a deer, a big mouth like a bull, a nose like a dog, a beard like a catfish. I must show you the Nine-Dragon Wall. Through their prowess, their ferocity, their beauty, and the harmony of the opposites, dragons excite awe and admiration. They live at the bottom of seas, rivers, lakes, or anywhere with water. Chinese dragons don’t have wings but they can fly into the sky. They don’t breathe fire but can summon rain. And like the tiger, if they so wish they embody the spirit and drive to achieve and make progress. They are regarded as one of the four super-intelligent creatures. The other three are the tiger, the phoenix and the tortoise. All people of the Middle Kingdom consider themselves the descendants of the Chinese dragon.’

‘Is the Dragon Lady’s reputation for pitilessness deserved?’ I asked.

‘Many say so,’ came the reply. ‘Certainly she has become fiercer since the outside Powers intervened to put down the Boxer Rebellion seven years ago. She fled in disguise. She was lucky to survive. The loss of Miàn zi - Imperial Face - was terrible. She never wants that to happen again. Since then she has feared every day for her life. It’s said she no longer pays proper attention even to the people’s Memorials. If so it’s very bad for China - and for her. Without question she is most dangerous when her fears reach a crescendo. It is then she seeks blood.’

‘Does she have good reason to be fearful?’ I pursued.

‘In her mind she does. Many dissidents favour the restoration of the Kuang-hsü Emperor’s power because he is ready for change. She has set her face against change. She has disappointed many people, especially the young. Secret associations such as the Dragonflower Society conspire against her. Exiles everywhere - in Japan, America, Europe - are organising high-level assassination groups. The ones in Japan have formed connections with Russian anarchists who teach them how to make bombs. Even your and Sir Sherlock’s lives are at risk whenever you are with her.’

He pointed at a small steamer moored on the far bank.

‘That was a present from Japan. Her Majesty named it Yong-he - Forever Peace. Once upon a time she took it every day for the journey between the Summer Palace and the city. But she hasn’t stepped aboard since a well-known conspirator by the name of Tiejun found his way back to Peking from exile and clambered unseen up the anchor chain in the night, intending to attack her. He was spotted, arrested, transported to General Yuán’s garrison in Tianjin and eliminated in secret. Her Majesty can be very cruel. It’s said he died a very slow and painful death.’

‘But you say it was General Yuán who ordered the execution?’ I asked.

Wang smiled wryly. A hand flicked towards the distant Summer Palace.

‘He gave the order but nobody is killed in such a terrible way without trial except on the explicit say-so of the Summer Palace. It is said, ‘Come bounteous dew and rain, or come the thunderbolt of wrath, all proceed alike from the Imperial will’. No-one feels safe. Even the eunuchs are beaten for little reason except to keep them in a state of watchfulness and fear. You see them walking around the Forbidden City with rubber mats around their backsides, just in case.’

‘Do you feel safe?’ I probed.

‘I?’ Wang replied. ‘Why not? What have I done to upset the Great Ancestress?’

We began to wend our way along the canal to the small forest of purple bamboo. I asked, ‘You say the Empress Dowager no longer pays attention to the people’s Memorials - what are these memorials?’

‘Communications written by provincial governors and sent direct to the Empress Dowager herself, with no mediation by the court or palace officials. They tell the truth about the bad conditions and official corruption. The secret memorials are transported under lock and key. The locks are from Europe.

It’s dangerous that she ignores them now. How else can she or the Ch’ing state adjust policies to ensure the popular welfare?’

Just as we were saying goodbye Wang’s usual enigmatic expression changed. With a conspiratorial air he said, ‘I forgot to tell you. All may not be right with the Empress Dowager’s health.’

My ears pricked up.

‘Why do you say that?’ I asked.

‘Because of what I saw this morning. I am still making payment for my mother’s coffin, 10 taels every month...’

His voice tailed away as he looked carefully in each direction. ‘When I was at the coffin-maker early this morning making my latest payment a covered wagon arrived with a load of costly wood, thick sandalwood from Mukden and hardwood of the Phoebe nanmu tree from southern China. They say the wood has been curing in a concealed room in the Summer Palace. The moisture content will be low, ready for use.

The wagon driver told me that during the night the wood had been placed in temples around the Forbidden City to be sanctified. I asked the coffin-maker who the auspicious boards (that’s what the Palace calls an Imperial coffin) were for. He shook his head and looked away. I commented the person must be very rich and powerful. He said that was obvious. I pressed him. He would only say the order had come with no prior warning and was to be completed with the utmost urgency. His box-makers were about to apply the first coat of lacquer. The coffin-maker had heard the best tailors were under orders to work through the night to make grave clothes and satin cockcrow pillows. For three nights in a row eunuchs had been sent out to the provinces to muster twenty thousand bearers. Tradition calls for that number to convey a Royal catafalque to the Eastern Tombs. He refused to tell me more, under, he said, pain of both our deaths.’

Wang gestured towards the Palace.

He said, ‘Surely - the auspicious boards can only be for one person in the whole of the Forbidden City - the Great Ancestress herself!’

On the journey home I pondered Wang’s revelations. If his speculation proved true it must be through some sixth sense the Empress Dowager believed her death was imminent. She looked in excellent health at our last meeting.

My thoughts turned to the young Emperor and the power he would presumably regain. I recalled my first impression of his slight and elegant figure the day after my arrival in the Forbidden City. Above all the long thin expressive hands. Later in a surprisingly intimate chat at the far side of the room from the Empress Dowager he told me, ‘Ten years ago, for a hundred days I set China’s face towards the dawning morning of the future. But,’ he gave a gesture indicating his aunt, ‘she prefers a land which faces always and everywhere towards the darkness of a remote past. She has always hated me. She tells everyone I lack filial respect towards her. She launched a Coup d’Etat. Yet it is I as Emperor who am divinely appointed, not the Empress Dowager.’

Bitterness radiated from his face as he added ‘It is I, as Emperor, who mediates the cosmic forces.’

Angrily he spoke of his imprisonment at a nearby artificial lake, kept totally isolated from the rest of the Court.

‘In the middle of the Winter Palace Lake is an island, Ying Tai, or ‘Ocean Terrace’. That’s where the Divine Mother locked me up,’ he said with a shudder. ‘In a cold and soulless palace. All my faithful servants but one were put to death or banished. I saw no one except four guards and my wife who I knew was spying on me for Her Imperial Majesty.’

The reference to his wife as more in the Empress Dowager’s service than his explained why she was never present when we met.

At that point the Empress Dowager turned her face in our direction as though picking up some conspiratorial character to our conversation. I quickly asked whether the reforms he had tried to introduce would ever again be attempted. He replied sotto voce, ‘We have a saying, ‘Though a tree grow ever so high, the falling leaves return to the ground’.’

His head inclined as he whispered, ‘Therefore the circumstances might one day return, once ‘the tree’ falls to the ground.’

With the saddest expression I have ever seen on a human face he continued, ‘I was the second son of the Prince Ch’un. It was the Empress Dowager, she whom we call huang taihou - Papa Dearest - who reached out and selected me for the Throne. Yet while she rides in a palanquin I am carried on a mule litter. When she gets angry with me she says ‘The price of coffins is rising’ by which she means I would do well to commit suicide before a worse fate overtakes me. Like an evil spirit, she has stolen into my life, filling my days with dark forebodings and my nights with terror. If she had her way, two servants carrying plumped-up cushions and a silken cord would follow me into my bedroom the moment you leave my presence.’

Tears flowed down his cheeks.

‘Dr. Watson, my soul would be left orbate in the Hall of Hades. As yet I have no heir to perform the ancestral sacrifices and worship at my shrine.’

I asked, ‘If Your Royal Highness does come to the end of your time on earth without producing a successor, who have you selected to succeed you, to take on the Mandate of Heaven?’

He gave a wan smile.

‘It is well known she has already chosen. The choice has been taken from me. If a violation of the ancestral and House-laws is required, she isn’t a woman to hesitate. The name is written on three pieces of paper. There is a plaque in Manchu and Chinese over the throne in the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Behind it is a secret niche. One mandate is hidden there, in a small casket. Another she always keeps on her Sacred Person.’

‘And the third?’ I asked.

‘It can only be found after she mounts the dragon. She will place it inside the Imperial pillow in her death chamber. On her departure, the name on each of the three documents will be compared. If in agreement with each other the person inscribed will be announced heir.’

‘And you have no idea who it is?’

‘I have not been consulted,’ the Emperor replied.

‘So you have no idea at all?’ I persisted.

His voice was growing weak. I bent nearer.

‘There is a clue.’

He motioned towards the wizened, vigilant Chief Eunuch Li at the Empress Dowager’s side.

‘They say Li is busy. Even at this moment he is seeking out special wet-nurses. That can only mean one thing. She expects me at any time to become a guest on high, and that Hsuan-T’ung, the infant son of Prince Ch’un, is her favoured successor to the Throne of Heaven.’

A cold, hard look had come over the Emperor’s face as he stared across at the Chief Eunuch.

‘Li delighted in humiliating me during my imprisonment, keeping me ill-clad and hungry. When I regain an Emperor’s rightful power, all those who treated me with such disdain know they will be beaten to death in the courtyards of the Palace. Therefore Li can hardly wait to clad me in the Robes of Longevity and pack me off to the ‘Nine Springs’.’

The crestfallen Emperor reached out and took hold of my arm. His voice was now without much pitch definition, the face pale, the eyes heavy. He seemed to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil which no foresight or precautionary measure can guard against.

‘Unless...’

He failed to complete the sentence. We heard the sound of a raised voice. The Empress Dowager was dispatching Li to join us. Speaking urgently, the Emperor said, ‘Dr. Watson, our people do not believe in the concept of the divine right of kings. They believe a Dynasty lasts for as long as it has the Mandate of Heaven. The Mandate of Heaven has no time limitations, depending instead on the just and able performance of the ruler and his heirs. An emperor has to be a sage king. Before us the Ming and the Yuán and the Western Xia ran their course, exhausting the Heavenly decree. Am I now ill-starred? Has the time come for dragons to take flight and a new Son of Heaven to appear? Are we too looking at the fall of a dynasty, the Great Ch’ing?’

Li was almost upon us. It was time for me to leave.

‘One request, Dr. Watson,’ came a whisper. ‘Which of your cases remains the most vivid in your memory?’

‘The Hound of the Baskervilles,’ I replied.

His eyes flickered towards the approaching Chief Eunuch.

‘Be telling me about it as Her Imperial Majesty’s Chief Eunuch arrives,’ he commanded.

Quickly I began, speaking loudly.

‘A member of England’s landed gentry by the name of Sir Henry Baskerville found that one of a pair of boots had gone missing from outside his London hotel room. He had left them for the boot-boy to wax. Soon this unassuming matter would lead Holmes and me to the Devon moors, the most mysterious and atmospheric part of England. ‘I put them both outside my door,’ said Sir Henry, ‘and there was only the one the next morning.’ He had only bought the pair the previous day, at Walker Bros., and had never had them on.’

Li was now at my side, his smile watchful.

‘I have a copy of The Hound with me,’ I told the Emperor.

‘May I read it?’ came the request.

I said I would return to my quarters and place the book in a clamshell box for delivery to the Palace. I nodded at Li and took my exit.

The next morning I did a bunk away from appointed companions. The temple priests were striking their brass drums for morning prayer when four hired porters carried me on a litter back to the gate into the Tartar City, the Ch’ien-men. We progressed through bright courtyards flanked by rows of vermillion columns. Representations of the Double Dragons and the Flaming Pearl were everywhere, on the Imperial pennant, cut into stone, carved in wood, painted in pictures.

At an intersection the porters halted to allow a group of horsemen to dash past, a splendidly attired young Prince riding in their midst on a red-saddled, handsomely caparisoned steed with purple reins and silver trappings. Around us Chinese and western society women stopped to watch, in hats of rice straw or blue harebell straw trimmed with costly ostrich plumes, velvet bows, osprey feathers and lace. On the return leg I filmed a torch- and lantern-lit procession and glowing tableaux in which a pair of illuminated dragons writhed into the court and struggled for the ‘flaming pearl’ which flitted around beyond their grasp with elusive, fantastic movements.

With our time in China coming to an end, I began to plan our sea-route back to England. An old Dutch sea-dog doing the sight-seeing rounds of the Capital told me it was 11,713 nautical miles from Shanghai to Southampton.

‘If the weather’s fair all the way, which is most unlikely,’ he opined cheerfully, ‘and if pirates don’t board you off Ceylon or the Red Sea, or the Gulf of Aden, or the Arabian Sea, which they might well, and if you manage a steady ten knots, which you won’t if you hit buffeting storms in Biscay... which you will, or go adrift off the Isle of Wight like the Spanish Armada, it’ll take you the best part of fifty days.’

Back at my lodgings a tall Chinaman had established himself in an easy-chair in the principal reception room. The absurd eyeglasses caught my attention, the lenses four inches or so in diameter, more like bull’s eye lanterns than rational spectacles. At his side lay a conical hat made from black felt, the rim turned upwards for about two inches all round, topped with a long tassel of red silk. At the end of his stretched out legs were black velvet boots coming up to his knees, with a thick white sole.

He observed me in silence, his gaze solemn.

‘Holmes!’ I exploded incredulously, ‘are you about to take part in a performance of Gilbert & Sullivan’s ‘Mikado’? You don’t expect me to fall for that idiotic disguise twice in as many months! Those ludicrous spectacles are a give-away. No respectable Chinaman would dream of putting them on his nose. Why,’ I continued, convulsing with laughter, ‘you’ve forgotten the slab of teeth you wore in your Fortune Teller disguise. And what of the extra thumbs! As to that hat,’ I pointed at the floor, ‘you look like one of the witches in Shakespeare’s Macbeth!’

It transpired it was not Holmes but a ranking Mandarin sent hot-foot from the Summer Palace. The period of mourning for Shadza was over. Would I meet Her Imperial Majesty on the morrow, in the Garden of Virtue and Harmony? She had something she wished me to see. The gentleman in front of me would escort me to her after breakfast.

My embarrassment abated only slightly with the visitor’s departure. I considered the many times Holmes had fooled me with his remarkable ability to alter his appearance. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part he assumed. His new Chinese soothsayer disguise would work wonders in London. None of the criminal underworld would have seen him in it.

Her Graceful Majesty was in the Throne-Room when I arrived. It could have been ‘Il Divino’ Michelangelo’s 16th century studio in Rome. Her diadem was composed from the snowy blooms of the fragrant jasmine, set with leaves and other small flowers instead of the real jewels they faithfully imitated. She was stirring a great bowl of India ink. Eunuchs had prepared large sheets of yellow, red and pale green paper. When the consistency and fluidity of the ink suited her, she was handed a large short-handled brush. The Princesses stood around, watching with interest.

The hall fell silent. The Empress dipped into the ink. On some sheets she wrote the character ‘Shou’ (Long Life) and on others ‘Fu’ (Prosperity). She appeared to take great pride in her firmness of touch and the accuracy of line. On another sheet, with beauty in the stroke, she painted a single great character some four feet long.

Chief Eunuch Li appeared at my side. He said, ‘As you see, Dr. Watson, Her Imperial Majesty is remarkably clever with her fingers.’

A short while later, at a signal, Li packed the entourage out of the room like a herding dog shooing sheep. I was now the only person with the Empress Dowager in the immense Audience Hall. Our greetings completed, she began, ‘Dr. Watson, I wish to be alone with you, to tell you things, to explain things. If I hesitate to say the things that are in my mind, how shall I face the spirits of the sacred ancestors when they greet me in the hall of Hades? By day and by night, in the seclusion of my palace, my thoughts dwell only upon my people’s plight. My advisers tell me I am too good-natured and tender-hearted, that my extreme mildness of disposition puts my Dynasty in real danger. I should stamp hard on the secret societies which threaten me with death - especially the Dragonflower Society and the so-called Society of Justice.’

With a troubled look she continued, ‘I am beset by enemies. They would throw away the Empire as one who casts away a worn-out shoe. Their incorrigible wickedness renders them one and all deserving of death. The leniency I have shown them has but increased their arrogance. The number of these evil-doers has grown by reason of the tolerance extended to them. They circulate terrible pamphlets about me. They say the Manchus usurped the Chinese throne, stealing the country from its people, plunging China into stagnation and backwardness. The people say a non-Manchu life is of no more value to me than the life of a beetle or a fly. On the contrary, I think long and hard before I order someone’s execution. I never order Death by a Thousand Cuts. I consider it cruel.’

She paused, tears in her eyes.

‘I know there are those who would overthrow me, even force me to kill myself by swallowing a lump of gold. They say I must be got rid of, or our country will perish. ‘Our’ country! How many of our subjects do they have dependent on their judgement? A handful at most. And I? 400 million. Such evil people refer to me as ‘The old rotten...’.’

With great reluctance she added ‘deadbeat’.

She continued, ‘I cannot imagine why those double-faced villains call me a...’ again she struggled with ‘deadbeat’. ‘We who are cheetahs, lions, while those who would replace us are jackals and hyenas. I sigh and weep tears of blood over this. I cannot tell you why they use that disgraceful word. We are at a loss to find the aim of such language as this. It is language altogether false and evil.’

She pointed to an ornate yellow silk casket displaying a range of imperial seals made from white jade, agate, crystal and nephrite.

‘They even forge my Decrees and smuggle them out of the Zijin Cheng sewn into belts. Now I have ordered all my decrees to be printed on special Imperial yellow paper and their contents made known throughout the length and breadth of my Empire.’

She brushed her eyes.

‘These people are red-turbaned bandits, beetles enjoying a meal of snake’s brains. They are rats feasting on excrement. Ten years ago certain evil-disposed persons bamboozled the young and impetuous Emperor, self-proclaimed visionaries who indulged in the wildest notions. They wished only to force him to distort and discard the old virtues. For a while we listened to the siren-call of these so-called Modernists. We were in favour of reforms. We permitted certain energetic measures, especially ones intended to put an end to the many and increasing abuses of peculating officialdom which exist all over my Empire.

These hooligans say they are the vanguard, but the vanguard of what? I ask you, is there one word from them concerning reverence for parents, or the cultivation of virtue and respect for the nine canons of rightful conduct? No! Is there one word from any of them as to the observance of ceremony, as to duty, integrity and a proper sense of shame, the four cardinal principles of our nation? No! It shows a will most incorrect to heaven. They would foster an indiscriminate assimilation of foreign things in their place, put new wine into old skins. Their polemics and warnings consume an enormous amount of rice paper.

What do they care for the Canons of the Sages, they who mock the virtues of loyalty and filial piety?’

She swung an arm down as though stabbing at the invisible enemy.

‘They are demonic soldiers who fight for darkness against the light. I pray the God of Thunderbolts strikes them dead.’

Her voice deepened with scorn.

‘They proclaim the Ch’ing body has expired, that it’s time for the soul of the Manchu to hie back whence it came. Yet it is they, not we, who are the ne’er-do-wells. They drive the tiger out by the front while the wolf is admitted by the back. Like thieves hating their masters they spin intrigues to close our eyes and ears, to fetter our hands and feet, to cloud our mind.

These visionaries, these Modernists! They are like the poem of the six blind men of Indostan - one grasped the elephant’s trunk, another the tusk, another the ear, others a leg, belly and tail. And what was the result?’

To my amazement, in a high pitch she began to recite from the poem, turning her eyes to the sky.

In a harsh voice she continued, ‘Dr. Watson, you may say my emotion is out of proportion but I cannot find it in myself to say a kind word about them. Even bees and ants know how to obey and follow. And what, you may ask, has led to this deplorable state of affairs, this degradation of our Dynasty’s reputation? I shall tell you. When the Kuang-hsü Emperor was very young I was implored by all to stay in the High Court, to share the reins of power with the Emperor. A Coalition Throne. For as long as he lived, Imperial authority and responsibilities should be shared between the Emperor, the princes and ministers, and me. I assented reluctantly. I would put off a happy and peaceful retirement.

But our nation’s strength was being eroded by this arrangement. Peking lost the willingness and ability to rule actively. Instead the Coalition Throne merely attended to the daily Court routine. It behaved like the ant who cannot see the size of the sky.

We became divided into the ti-tang - the Emperor’s faction - and the hou-tang - my faction. We mired ourselves in precedents and antiquated rules instead of exploring policy possibilities. We ourselves undermined and depleted the very essence of leadership. Everything was referred to board ministers and ad hoc court conferences for discussion. This delegation of power reached as far down as the ‘shu-li’, the low-ranking clerical staff. Their whims in turn shaped the Throne’s deliberations. The Emperor, whenever he saw my back turned, connived to open the avenue of opinion to the lowest and humblest of our people when he is no more than an imperial apprentice aspiring to the master’s supremacy. It was a shirking of responsibility on the part of the Imperial decision-makers.

This was never the way of the Ch’ing Dynasty. I ask you, Dr. Watson, if you had run your affairs that way, with so many cliques and parties and factions, would England have conquered a quarter of the world from your tiny island, penetrated with your guns far into Africa and South America and now our territories, and forced your trade upon us? Wouldn’t your Good Queen Bess turn in her grave at the very thought? China too has only been respected as an equal by the peoples of the West during those periods when she is under the sway of a Dynasty able to compel the allegiance of all sections of the country. Over Canton as much as Peking. South of the Yellow River as well as north of the river.’

I looked around. To my surprise, so attentive had I been to the torrent of words, I realized we had quit the Palace and were now outside in a beautiful garden.

Suddenly a direct question came my way.

‘Dr. Watson, my entourage observed you speaking in lowered tones with His Imperial Majesty. May I ask what you discussed?’

I knew her Chief Eunuch had caught only the last part of my conversation with the Emperor.

I replied, ‘His Majesty wanted to know more about Sir Sherlock’s famous cases. I recommended The Hound of The Baskervilles. I had my copy delivered to him that same evening.’

‘I see,’ came the reply.

For a moment she was silent, brooding. Then she pointed at a magnificent lotus pond, about an acre in extent.

‘If I am taken away, how long do you think that will remain?’

She spoke witheringly.

‘What do they care for beauty? Within a month they would turn that pond into a paddy-field. Soon these secluded paths would be covered by mallow-weeds and wild oatgrass. And those flower beds. Return tomorrow and turn your film camera on them so the world will have something to remember them by - within a week of my death they would become cabbage patches.’

She pointed at a distant edifice.

‘I have something to show you over there, at the Hall of Bathed Virtue. My porters will take you there. I shall join you within the hour.’