The Western Flight of the Imperial Court

In the summer of 1900, as the Boxer Rebellion reached its climax and foreign armies marched toward Beijing, Empress Dowager Cixi made a desperate decision. She fled the capital with the Guangxu Emperor and a small retinue, beginning what would become known as the “Imperial Flight to the West.” What started as a modest caravan of three carriages soon swelled to over thirty, with dozens of attendants joining along the way.

The journey was anything but comfortable. Abandoning the main roads for safety, the procession wound through treacherous mountain paths. The empress dowager, normally known for her temper, remained uncharacteristically calm during the arduous trek. For the attendants, including palace maids and eunuchs, the strict palace protocols relaxed somewhat—a rare moment when they could even look directly at officials who were previously untouchable in the hierarchy.

The Boy Who Would Be Emperor

At the heart of this historical episode was a peculiar figure: Pujun, the “Great阿哥” (Crown Prince). Selected in 1899 at the age of 14, he was the son of Prince Duan, a notorious playboy known for his love of music, theater, and indulgence. His mother, a shrewd and charming woman, had ingratiated herself with Empress Dowager Cixi, paving the way for their son’s sudden elevation.

Pujun was an enigma—brilliant in some ways, utterly naive in others. He could mimic famous opera singers like Tan Xinpei with uncanny precision, dismantle and reassemble intricate toys, and play musical instruments with remarkable skill. Yet he lacked any understanding of human relationships or responsibility. In the Forbidden City, he would throw tantrums, wailing at the sky when displeased. He knew nothing of money, only demanding objects and leaving others to handle the transactions.

A Prince’s Strange Diversions

Confined to a palanquin for weeks on end, the teenage crown prince grew restless. To combat boredom, he filled his carriage with an eccentric menagerie:

– Musical Escapades: He played the erhu and even attempted the suona (a loud Chinese horn), nearly causing a scandal when attendants feared the empress dowager would mistake the music for a funeral procession.
– Animal Companions: He kept wild yellow rabbits (whose pungent urine annoyed everyone), ordinary stray dogs (dismissed by palace staff as “second-class” mutts), and cages of chirping crickets.
– Failed Experiments: He once tried breeding female katydids in an elaborate terrarium, only to watch in dismay as they turned on each other in cannibalistic frenzy.

The most prized possessions, however, were two “cricket-lizards” (油葫芦) from the Ming Tombs—a species famed for their melodic nighttime chirping. These insects, housed in exquisitely molded gourd containers, were delivered by a eunuch who carried them against his chest for warmth. For Pujun, these living treasures meant more than jewels.

The Iron-Winged Pigeons and a Legacy Forgotten

One day in northern Shanxi, the crown prince’s spirits soared when a local vendor sold him pigeons with jet-black heads and wings—a rare variant unknown in Beijing. He proudly showed them off to attendants, coining a phrase that would later enter Beijing slang: “Ten black pigeons, nine are bad; if you find one good one, it’s a treasure.”

This fleeting moment of joy was among his last as crown prince. After the court returned to Beijing in 1901, Pujun was stripped of his title. His subsequent life was a downward spiral: squandering family fortunes, succumbing to opium and blindness, and dying in obscurity during the Japanese occupation.

The Unraveling of a Dynasty

Prince Duan’s ambition to become “father of the emperor” had set these events in motion. By promoting the Boxers and encouraging anti-foreign hysteria, he and his allies brought disaster upon China. The crown prince’s selection was never about merit—it was a gambit for power, using a boy who neither understood nor desired the throne.

Today, few remember Pujun. His story is a footnote in the collapse of imperial China, a tale of how personal ambitions and systemic decay conspired to exploit a child. When autumn skies fill with migrating pigeons, one wonders if any still carry the genes of those “iron-winged” birds he once cherished—a silent legacy of the last Qing heir who preferred crickets to crowns.