The study had transformed into a courtroom, and Ying Zheng was on trial for the sanity of his own mind. Dr. Lenoir, the French physician, continued his relentless interrogation, his questions, filtered through the nervous translator, were like a barrage of precisely aimed arrows. Each one was designed to expose a flaw in the young Emperor's psyche, to pathologize his unusual intelligence and foresight as symptoms of a mental malady.
Ying Zheng felt the trap closing around him. Cixi's strategy was brilliant in its execution. She was using the West's own logic, its own "science," as a cudgel to beat him into submission. A diagnosis of "mental delusion" or "juvenile hysteria" from this arrogant foreigner would be a political death sentence. It would give Cixi the ultimate justification to sideline him forever, to dismiss his influence over Prince Gong and Ci'an as the ravings of a lunatic. He had to pivot his strategy immediately.
He could not be the mysterious, prophetic Emperor. He could not be the weak, sickly child. He had to become something else, something the French doctor could understand, even if it defied his expectations. He had to become a prodigy. A small, brilliant, and utterly rational mind trapped in a child's body.
Dr. Lenoir leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a diagnostician closing in on a diagnosis. "Let us return to your 'dreams,' Your Majesty," he said, his tone condescending. "You spoke to your tutor of a 'white bear' tearing at the western edge of a map. Do you often see animals in your dreams that speak to you or represent great nations?"
This was a critical question, aimed directly at the heart of the "prophecy" that had led to Zuo Zongtang's appointment. Ying Zheng did not hesitate. He looked at the doctor, his expression not one of a mystic, but of a student patiently explaining a simple concept to a slow-witted teacher.
"Doctor," he began, his voice calm and logical, "before I had this dream, my tutors had been instructing me on the geography of the empire's borders. We had been looking at maps of the western territories." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "The tutor mentioned the Russian Empire, which borders us there. He described their land as a vast expanse of snow and ice. The color of snow is white. A bear is a well-known animal that lives in their untamed lands. Is it not logical that my sleeping mind, a thing which I am told sorts and combines the images of the day, would simply merge these concepts? A white bear. A map. A tearing motion to represent a border dispute. It is not a vision, Doctor. It is a common function of dreams, is it not?"
He delivered the explanation with such simple, unassailable rationality that Dr. Lenoir was momentarily taken aback. The boy had just provided a perfect, almost Freudian, analysis of his own dream symbolism.
The French doctor regrouped. "And the incident of the marble boat? You played a game that conveniently mirrored the political debates of the court. Another heavenly vision?"
Ying Zheng shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face, as if he were sad that the doctor was failing to keep up. "I am the Emperor. I live in this palace. I may be a child, but I am not deaf. I hear the eunuchs whisper. They speak of the court's arguments. They spoke of Prince Gong's anger about the fleet's budget, and they spoke of the Empress Dowager's beautiful new gardens at Kunming Lake."
He picked up two teacups from the table. "Even a child understands that you cannot spend the same coin in two different places. If the money is being spent on gardens, it cannot be spent on ships. My 'game' was not a prophecy. It was a simple, logical conclusion based on overheard gossip."
Dr. Lenoir stared at him, his professional skepticism warring with a growing sense of astonishment. He had come here expecting to find a pampered, delusional child, a victim of court superstition and intrigue. Instead, he was conversing with a mind of stunning, almost alarming, clarity and reason.
"And the matter of Li Fengbao?" Cixi interjected, her voice sharp. She could feel the narrative slipping from her grasp. "How did a child who is only taught the classics know the name of an obscure diplomat with naval expertise?"
Ying Zheng turned his calm gaze to her. "I practice my calligraphy every day, as you know, Huang A Ma," he said, using his respectful title for her. "My tutors have me copy the names of officials to learn the hierarchy. The eunuchs who prepare my lessons sometimes talk. I heard one of them complaining to another that men of real talent, like this Li Fengbao who had studied in France, were often overlooked in favor of men with better connections. The name was unusual, so I remembered it. When it came time to practice, I chose his name because it was more interesting than the others. It was a coincidence."
Every explanation was plausible. Every "prophecy" was deconstructed and revealed to be a simple act of logic, observation, or coincidence. He was systematically dismantling the very foundation of Cixi's attack. He was not claiming to be divine; he was claiming to be intelligent.
Dr. Lenoir, the man of science, found himself utterly convinced. The boy was not mad. The boy was a genius. A prodigy of the highest order, whose intellectual development was so far beyond his physical age that it appeared, to the superstitious minds of the court, to be supernatural. The diagnosis was shifting rapidly from "delusional hysteria" to "alarmingly precocious."
This was not the result Cixi had wanted. A mad emperor could be locked away and forgotten. A boy-genius was a different kind of problem. A prodigy could learn, could grow, could become a true threat. Her plan to use Western science to discredit him was backfiring spectacularly. The doctor was now more fascinated by the Emperor's mind than concerned by his "illness." He was no longer a tool for her political agenda; he was an independent observer who had just stumbled upon a scientific marvel. The battle of wits was won, but Ying Zheng knew the war was not over. He had defended himself, but now he had to turn the attack back on his enemy.