It was not that Shang-guan lacked perspective. She had entered show business at a young age and had learned its nature. She knew what she was doing. She was thirty-five years old when she met Mao. She had her own plan. Her career as a screen actress had peaked and she was looking for an alternative. She took up with Mao when Kang Sheng convinced her that Jiang Ching was out of favor and was unsuitable as a political wife. Kang Sheng's analysis was thorough and inspiring. The idea of becoming Madame Mao made Shang-guan Yun-zhu abandon her husband and career.
Shang-guan left Shanghai, stepped into Mao's palace and put on the costume of Lady Xiang-fei. However, she soon discovered that she was not the only one Mao kept.
Shang-guan had wanted to get out, but Kang Sheng's private eyes were everywhere. It is a national affair you are conducting, he warned her. We must guard you twenty-four hours a day. You ought to have no reason to be bored. Making yourself available to the Chairman should be the only goal in your life.
But Mao hasn't shown up for a long time! He has lost interest and has turned away, don't you see?
It is your duty to wait, the cold voice continued.
She waited, through the long winter and summer. Mao never came. When the Cultural Revolution began and Shang-guan Yun-zhu saw the picture of Mao and Jiang Ching standing shoulder to shoulder on the Gate of Heavenly Peace, she knew she was doomed.
Shang-guan's thought pauses. In front of a long mirror, she smiles wearily. Her residence has been quiet this morning. It is a single mansion sitting in rich meadows. A suburb of Beijing. Two nights ago Shang-guan discovered that her guards had been removed. A platoon of new men came.
Tomorrow has already begun to run its course, she mutters. Tomorrow will finish all my trouble. The feather of my imagination finally gets caught.
Shang-guan sits down and begins to write a letter to her husband. She resents him for giving her up. Although I understand that you were under pressure and had no option, I can't forgive you. My life is so hateful that I think it's better to stop it. But then she feels that she is not being honest. Mr. Woo was never her choice in terms of love. It was she herself who was lured by the idea of becoming Madame Mao.
She tears up the letter.
Shang-guan gets up and goes to the garden to lock the gate. She walks quickly and holds her breath as if to avoid the scent of spring. She hurries and slashes through the blooming plants. Her gown drags the petals along. She walks back into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. She looks around. Two windows facing east stand symmetrically like giant eyes without eyeballs. The dark gray rolled-up curtains look like two bushy eyebrows. A redwood ceiling-high closet stands between the windows. The floor is covered with a noodle-colored carpet. The room makes her think of Mao's face.
Shang-guan paces elegantly. She holds herself as if in front of a camera. She remembers how at ease she was with the most difficult camera movements. The sophisticated technical demands were never her trouble. She had good instincts and was always on line and on cue. The lighting and camera directors adored her. She lived up to the expectations of the audience and critics as well. The reviewers said it was her confidence that made her glamorous and her restrained performance that moved hearts.
She can feel the weight of her fake eyelashes. She has applied a rich layer of creams and powders. In the mirror, she rehearses the act. With her chin up she holds a distant expression. The breath of death hits her cheeks as she paints her lips for the last time. Afterwards, she takes a white blanket and covers the mirror with it. She stops in front of the closet. Opening the doors, her hand reaches in. She pulls a drawer and takes out an indigo-blue ceramic bowl, which is covered with brown waxed paper. A yellow string is tied around the rim. She unties the string and lifts the cover. Inside, a pack of sleeping pills.
Carefully, Shang-guan presses the edge of the paper. She folds it into a diamond shape. She then presses it flat again before she throws it into a waste bin under the table. She goes to the kitchen holding the bowl. She takes out a glass and a bottle of half-finished shaoju from the cupboard and mixes the liquor with the pills. She stirs and grinds, and takes time with her act. Afterwards she goes back to her bedroom and remakes her bed. She smoothes every wrinkle from the sheet. From underneath the bed she pulls out a black suitcase and takes out a set of dresses and a pair of shoes. She changes her blouse into a peach-colored dress-a gift from Mao. Then changes her mind. She takes off the dress and replaces it with a navy blue garment which she bought from a nun on location near Tai Mountain. She changes her slippers into a pair of black cotton sandals. She puts the peach dress and the slippers into the suitcase and pushes it back under the bed.
Shang-guan gulps the drink down. There is no hesitation. She washes her hands and rinses her mouth. She then goes to lie down on her bed, spreading her limbs evenly.
Her mind begins to empty itself. The people she used to know come into focus, then fade like smoke, among them Mao Tse-tung and Jiang Ching. She feels that fate is finally releasing her. She is running into the earth's wilderness where peace opens its arms. As the pain comes and her breath grows thin, she exhales a whisper, a line she favored when playing Lady Taimo:
Can anyone reconstruct a string of jasmine from a pot of tea?
21
KEEPING UP WITH MAO has exhausted me although the tactics of the game have become simpler. The struggle to get ahead has come down to three parties. Premier Zhou, Marshal Lin Biao and I have become the only rivals. In April 1968, my strategy is to ally with Lin and isolate Zhou.
It is not that I enjoy the slaughter game. Given a choice I'd rather be with Yu and spend time in film studios and theaters. But my rivals are waiting to knock me out. I smell blood in the air of Beijing.
She tries to break down Premier Zhou's system. Her first objective is to replace Zhou's National Security Bureau, run by the old boys, with her own. Mao plays a delicate role here. He encourages and backs both sides. He believes that only when the warlords are involved in constant infighting will the emperor achieve peace and control.
With Mao's silent permission she allies with Lin Biao and the two finally paralyze Zhou's National Security Bureau. Pleased, Mao asks if Jiang Ching can crack the rest of the country. Excitedly she accepts the challenge. Although Premier Zhou tries every way to derail her action, she is aggressive and powerful.
The tragedy of her life begins officially. Blinded by passion she keeps going, unaware that her role is being set up to be destroyed. She has never completely given up faith that she will one day win Mao's love back. For that she refuses reality, refuses to believe that Mao will eventually sacrifice her.
When Madame Mao's forces grow too fast and too strong, Mao bends toward Premier Zhou and the old boys. In July Mao gives permission to Zhou to publish within the Party the numbers of the dead killed in the fights among factions of the Red Guards. It's time to beat the wild dogs before they become a threat to the nation. Zhou's action to reestablish order follows.
I have been kept in the dark. And I have no idea why Mao is displeased with me. He won't speak to me although I have been trying to reach him. Has Premier Zhou been the evil hand behind this? Sometimes Mao can be so insecure that he senses a storm in a breeze. And Zhou's words have an effect on him. The last time he saw me he quoted a saying, The taller the tree, the longer its shadow. I regret that I didn't pay attention. I hope that it is only his hysteria. Once it runs its course his mind will be back on its track.