A Thousand Pieces of Gold (11 page)

Chinese thinking has changed remarkably little in the last 2200 years. Whenever I brought home a good report card to show my Ye Ye, he would quote the proverb
le ji sheng bei,
“excessive happiness will lead to sorrow”
(le ji sheng bei
was a phrase first coined by Sima Qian in
Shiji).

Ye Ye believed in the dualist theory of yin and yang, which teaches that happiness and sorrow (like “day and night” or “summer and winter”) are complementary and interdependent and represent two faces of the same coin. Since the two are each other’s counterparts, one will eventually transform into the other.

“Don’t rejoice too much!” Ye Ye would say, “Be modest and content! What rises will fall and what falls will rise.”

Li Si was voicing the same sentiments 2200 years ago when he wondered about his ultimate destiny during the lavish banquet he gave at the height of his happiness to celebrate the homecoming of his successful son.

Historical figures in China are frequently reinterpreted according to the politics of a given time. This is nowhere more true than in the case of the First Emperor during the rule of Mao Tse-tung.

The two had many similarities. They were both intelligent, incisive, hardworking, charismatic, and natural leaders. However, both were also autocratic, cruel, megalomaniac, and paranoid. The First Emperor unified the empire, while Mao Tse-tung established the People’s Republic of China. Their achievements were such that they both regarded themselves as superhuman.

Like the First Emperor, Qin Shihuang, Mao also became a man of infinite power, having triumphed over all his enemies, imagined or otherwise. Nicknamed “Qin Shihuang the Second,” he could rewrite every law, imprison any citizen, bed the prettiest maidens, suspend the education of every Chinese youth, and uproot the entire nation by a wave of his hand.

For over 2000 years the First Emperor had been roundly condemned for being the bloodthirsty tyrant who
fen shu keng ru,
“burned the books and buried the scholars.” After Mao took power in 1949, however, the official view gradually changed. Articles began appearing in Communist journals such as
Red Flag, Peking Review,
and
People’s Daily
praising the First Emperor. During the Cultural Revolution, it became dangerously incorrect in China to castigate the First Emperor in any way whatsoever. His cruelty was now considered to have been essential in crushing the “counter-revolutionaries” within his court, and he was praised for his “enlightened policies.”

As Mao’s power and prestige grew in China, he identified more and more with the First Emperor. He often compared himself directly with the ancient monarch and would find him lacking. During the Communist Party’s Central Committee Meeting in May of 1958, Mao made a speech in which he personally praised the First Emperor for being an authority on “emphasizing the present while discounting the past.” Further on in the same speech, Mao said, “Who is Qin Shihuang anyway, and what did he do? So he buried 460 scholars alive. We have ‘buried’ at least 46,000! Haven’t we silenced that many counter-revolutionary intellectuals during our anti-rightist campaigns? In discussions with members of the minor democratic parties, I’ve said to them, ‘You accuse us of being Qin Shihuangs. You are incorrect. Actually, we have outshone him a hundred times. You accuse us of being dictators. We have never denied this. You should have gone further in your accusations because now we have to supplement them.’”

It was recorded in the minutes that Mao’s remarks were greeted with roaring laughter.

Following the failure of Mao’s economic policy known as the Great Leap Forward, he began purging senior ministers of his cabinet, such as Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping, who criticized him. Like the First Emperor two millennia earlier,
Mao was also determined to eliminate those who dared to attack him. His method of
feng shu keng ru,
“burning books and burying scholars,” was to abolish education for all children and silence his opponents by condemning and persecuting them as counter-revolutionaries. All this was carried out during the Cultural Revolution.

After our tour of Vietnam, Bob and I visited the city of Qufu, in Shandong Province (ancient Qi), where Confucius (Kong Fuzi), or Master Kong, was born and buried. Inside the Confucian Temple, we saw a genealogical chart of Confucius’s family. Nothing I have ever seen before or since has impressed me more than this simple document to illustrate the continuity and span of Chinese history. Starting with Confucius, the names of all his direct firstborn male descendants have been recorded, together with their years of birth and death. Confucius’s descendants lived consecutively at the mansion for almost 2500 years, totaling seventy-seven generations. In 1940
C.E.
the last male heir of the line fled to Taiwan to escape the Japanese and never returned. However, the surname Kong is so common in Qufu that more than one-third of the local telephone directory is dedicated to it.

Twenty-one hundred years ago, the Grand Historian Sima Qian also visited Qufu. In
Shiji
he wrote,

A solitary wall in a courtyard within the Confucian temple is known as the Lu Wall. During the book-burning phase of the First Emperor, a ninth-generation descendant of Confucius hid his forefather’s books within this very wall. Several decades later, during the Han dynasty (206
B.C.E.
–220
C.E.
), the books were rediscovered when part of the wall was demolished to build an extension.

In a separate courtyard closer to the entrance is the Thirteen-Stele Pavilion, which contains many stone tablets with engraved comments from different emperors commemorating their visits. They date from the Tang dynasty (618–907
C.E.
) to the first half of the twentieth century, a span of thirteen hundred years. Many of the beautiful tablets show deep cracks and scratches across their surface where Red Guards wantonly tried to destroy them. An old tour guide at the temple told us
sadly that he tried to hide and protect the slabs from the “young hooligans” but was beaten savagely for his pains. Like the First Emperor, Mao Tse-tung also wished to destroy the civilization of the past and start afresh. In many ways the Cultural Revolution was an eerie replay of
fen shu keng ru,
“burning books and burying scholars.” It was Mao’s bid to increase his personal power at the expense of his old comrades, who had dared to challenge him.

In his bloody purges, Mao was at first ably and wholeheartedly assisted by the war hero, General Lin Biao, who was named defense minister and Mao’s designated successor. After four years Lin became increasingly powerful as he went about replacing the old veterans with his own men in key military positions. Feeling threatened, Mao tried to curtail Lin’s influence in the crucial Central and Military Affairs Committees. A struggle ensued between the two, which eventually led to the notorious affair known as Project 571.

In 1971 Lin Biao entered into a conspiracy with his son to murder Mao. The younger Lin drafted a plan called Project 571 in which he accused Mao of being the worst feudal tyrant in history and named him the “contemporary First Emperor (Qin Shihuang).” Lin’s coup called for the rapid seizure of military power in Shanghai, Beijing, and Canton. Mao was to be assassinated by missiles launched against his train while he was on an inspection tour.

The plot was revealed to Premier Zhou Enlai in the nick of time by Lin Biao’s daughter Dou Dou, who had always felt neglected by her parents and been jealous of her brother. The premier immediately informed Mao, who aborted the scheme. While fleeing, Lin Biao, his wife, his son, and five aides were all killed in a plane crash in Mongolia. There were rumors that the plane was shot down by surface-to-air missiles.

Since Lin’s Project 571 was anti-Mao and anti–Qin Shihuang, it became expedient, even mandatory, to view the First Emperor favorably from then on. There is a proverb that says, “The enemy of one’s enemy is one’s friend.” Eminent historians throughout China began publishing articles revising their opinions of the First Emperor and conforming to the eulogistic Maoist view that has persisted up to the present.

To the Chinese, there is no rigorous distinction between ancient history and current events. Continually, analogies are drawn and identification made between historical characters and contemporary figures. History is regarded as a mirror of the human condition, a timeless parable from the past, to aid in governing lives not only here and now but for countless generations to come. It is interesting to note, however, that like his namesake, Mao too was unable to find happiness as he neared the end of his life.

Wang Guo Zhi Yan

A
fter visiting Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius, Bob and I flew west to Xi’an, the capital of Shaanxi Province. In ancient times, Shaanxi was called Qin because it encompassed approximately the same territory as the state of Qin. The First Emperor’s ancient capital of Xianyang is located about thirty-five miles northwest of Xi’an, on the northern bank of the Wei River. It was from Xianyang that the First Emperor launched the expeditions that eliminated the six rival states, swallowing them, according to
Shiji,
like a silkworm devouring mulberry leaves.

Even today, we can see traces of ruins of the First Emperor’s legendary palaces on the outskirts of this still-existing ancient city. They endure as earth mounds with outlines of the zigzagging corridors that linked one building to another. Relics of hollow bricks, tiles, baths, water tanks, drainage pipes, and stairways have been excavated
as well as slabs of walls decorated with images of stallions, chariots, hunting scenes, birds, and animals in various colors. These are probably the earliest palace murals to have been discovered in China. The floor tiles of the main hall of one palace were painted red. It thrilled me to imagine that the legendary assassin Master Jing might have stood on these very tiles and gazed at the same frescos we were seeing as he waited to present General Fan’s head to the emperor.

The First Emperor’s tomb is situated about twenty miles northeast of Xi’an. We were amazed both by its magnitude and by the fact that the tomb protruded upward like a small, grassy mountain. We had expected it to be hidden underground but were told that originally it was even higher but had weathered down after 2200 years to a height of a twenty-five-story building. So far, Chinese archeologists have not dared open the grave for fear of damage and pollution.

Shiji
records that the First Emperor started constructing his mausoleum soon after ascending the throne at the age of thirteen. He chose a site for his tomb at the foot of Mount Li and immediately began digging. When he unified China twenty-six years later, he transported 700,000 men, many of them convicts, from all over the empire to work on the project. They dug through three underground springs and oriented the massive necropolis according to the four points of the compass. The underground chambers were lined with brick, but the outer coffin was lined with bronze. The tomb contained a huge relief map of China made of bronze representing the features of the earth. The Yangtze and Yellow Rivers and many others were reproduced as channels twelve feet deep and filled with mercury. Machines were installed to keep the mercury in motion. Myriad treasures were placed within the sepulchre: replicas of magnificent palaces and grand pavilions containing flocks of silver and gold animals; priceless dishes, plates, lamps, and furniture made of jade and bronze; lacquer boxes, musical instruments, weapons, money, and “books” written on bamboo or silk. Above was a huge copper dome representing the night sky with the moon and starry constellations in pearls. Lamps were fueled by whale oil, set to burn for a long time. The tomb was protected by crossbows and arrows set as booby traps to slay would-be grave robbers.

What
Shiji
did not record and perhaps the historian Sima Qian did not know is that there are over 500 satellite tombs and subterranean chambers in the immediate vicinity of the main tomb. In 1974 peasants digging for well water a short distance from the First Emperor’s tomb accidentally stumbled upon a vast clay army contained in one of these underground chambers, undisturbed for 2000 years. Thousands of life-sized, individually crafted, terra-cotta soldiers were found in three separate vaults together with hundreds of archers and horses and chariots.

We entered the largest chamber, known as Vault One. It is rectangular in shape and is built of earth, with brick floors and timber supports. Bob and I stood on the elevated walkway erected over the site and could hardly believe what we were seeing. Called the eighth wonder of the world, it is truly a magnificent sight. Row upon row of life-sized warriors are lined up neatly in battle formation, poised to fight on behalf of their emperor. When first discovered, they were carrying real metal weapons such as swords, halberds, dagger axes, spears, and spikes, which were made of a special alloy that had not rusted after two millennia. The cavalrymen wore caps with chin straps while the officers and charioteers had on more ornately designed headgear. Their long hair was either plaited or pulled up on top of the head and tied. Their tunics were double layered and belted at the waist, with a thick roll of fabric around the neck to protect against chafing from their leather armor. Below the knee, they wore leggings and square-toed shoes. Each soldier has his own distinctive facial features; no two look alike. Their average height is five feet, ten inches, the same as Bob’s.

Vault Two is L-shaped and smaller. It appears to contain an elite unit of special troops and consists of a few hundred kneeling archers, cavalrymen, horses, and charioteers as well as some infantry.

Vault Three is smaller still and resembles an army’s command headquarters. Besides a chariot there are sixty-eight figures, mostly lined up as guards of honor and holding ceremonial weapons. This was the base where the general in chief would consult with his advisers in devising strategies of attack or defense. The remains of animal bones have been found in this vault, which suggests that ritual sacrifices were performed here, as was the custom before going into battle.

Adjacent to Vault Number Two is a separate chamber with two imperial bronze chariots, each drawn by four horses and driven by a charioteer.

In October of 211
B.C.E.
, the First Emperor set off on what was to be the fifth and last tour of his empire. His entourage included the elderly prime minister Li Si, then about seventy years old, Meng Yi, the younger brother of General Meng Tian, and Zhao Gao, a palace eunuch and minor official of low rank. Just before departure, the emperor’s youngest son, Prince Hu Hai, who was then twenty years old and much loved by his father, begged to tag along and was allowed to go.

The Meng family had served the Qin kings faithfully for three generations. The emperor respected their ability and held them in esteem. At
that time, General Meng Tian was supervising 300,000 troops in building the Great Wall. Prince Fu Su, the emperor’s oldest son, had been banished to join Meng Tian after protesting his father’s harsh policy of
fen shu keng ru,
“burning books and burying scholars.” Meng Yi, the younger brother of General Meng Tian, was a high-ranking minister in charge of internal administration, sacrificial rites, and ancestor worship. The First Emperor was particularly close to Meng Yi. At court, Meng Yi was allowed to stand in the imperial presence. Outside, he often rode in the same carriage as the emperor. With Meng Tian entrusted with the bulk of the Qin army and Meng Yi constantly at the emperor’s side, the Meng brothers were well regarded and treated with deference by the other ministers.

The eunuch Zhao Gao’s family originally came from Zhao, distantly related to the House of Zhao. According to
Shiji,
his father had committed a crime and was punished. His mother became a slave and was imprisoned. While in prison, she had illicit relations and bore her sons, all of whom were born in prison and were made eunuchs. As a eunuch, Zhao Gao was allowed to enter into service within the palace. Intelligent and diligent, Zhao Gao rose from obscurity to become a minor official with the title of keeper of the chariots. At one time he assisted Li Si in standardizing the written script and came to know the prime minister well. Later he was put in charge of the royal seal as well as of dispatching the emperor’s edicts. His knowledge and understanding of the law made a favorable impression on the emperor, who appointed him tutor to Prince Hu Hai, his youngest son. In no time at all, Zhao Gao became his student’s mentor and was able to exert almost total control over the weak and sensuous young man.

Sometime in the past, Zhao Gao had committed a serious offense. His case was referred to Meng Yi, who had found him guilty and sentenced him to death. For some reason, perhaps as a result of pleading from Prince Hu Hai, the emperor had remitted his sentence and given him a special pardon. From then on, Zhao Gao had borne a secret grudge against the Meng family.

This was the background of the imperial entourage that set off on its fateful journey. Records show that the First Emperor sailed down the Yangtze River and visited his eastern territories, including present-day Hangzhou, Zhejiang, and Jiangsu. After offering sacrifices to ancient kings and erecting stone memorials to extol his own virtue, he meandered along
the coast of the Yellow Sea. One night he had a dream about a physical fight with a sea monster. He was told that a giant fish-demon was patrolling the waters and keeping him from reaching the immortals who were in possession of the magic elixir of eternal life. He went out to sea with his men and killed a whale in the waters of the former state of Qi (present-day Shandong Province) with crossbows and arrows. He then traveled westward along the seashore. Nine months went by, and it was the height of summer. One thousand miles away from home, the emperor suddenly became ill. Although no one around him was allowed to mention the word
si
(death), he knew in his heart that he was about to die.

Shiji
relates that the emperor commanded Zhao Gao to appear before him and instructed the eunuch to write the following imperial edict to his oldest son, Prince Fu Su:

The letter was sealed but not yet given to the messenger when the emperor died in Shaqiu (Sand Hill in present-day Hebei Province) on July 20, 210
B.C.E.
He was forty-nine years old and had been on the throne for thirty-six years. At that time, besides Zhao Gao, Prince Hu Hai, and Prime Minister Li Si, only five or six trusted servant-eunuchs knew of the emperor’s demise. Meng Yi had been ordered to return to the capital a few days earlier to carry out sacrifices to the mountains and rivers.

Fearing unrest and rebellion because a crown prince had not been named, the prime minister deliberately concealed the emperor’s sudden death. He swore everyone to secrecy and behaved as if the emperor were still alive but merely resting in his chariot. Various officers continued to submit documents and the trusted eunuchs would pretend to transmit the emperor’s approvals. They also went on serving food and administering to the emperor’s daily needs as before.

In China it is not unusual for a leader’s death to be deliberately concealed during times of political crisis. When Mao’s designated successor, Lin Biao, was killed in a plane crash on September 12, 1971, while fleeing after failing to assassinate Mao, no public announcements were made. The October 1971 issue of
People’s China,
China’s widely read picture magazine, featured a large photo of Mao Tse-tung and
Lin Biao on its cover. For over a month after Lin’s death, big character posters continued to be pasted on the walls of Tiananmen Square exhorting readers to adhere to Lin’s words, and the people went on worshiping Lin along with Mao as before. The grand National Day ceremony held annually at Tiananmen Square on October 1 was canceled at the last minute, probably because Lin’s absence at Mao’s side would have drawn comments from the international press.

Although there were rumors of Lin’s death within China in late October, it was only on November 27 that the
Washington Post
released the news to the rest of the world. “Lin Biao Believed to Be Dead” read the headline that day.

Aunt Baba, who was then living in Shanghai, was attending a political meeting in January of 1972 when her group was instructed to tear out and destroy the first two pages of Mao’s
Little Red Book,
which contained Lin Biao’s foreword. Along with many other elderly men and women, my aunt was fearful of this new dictum.

“How is it possible,” one of the old ladies finally asked the cadre in charge after a long silence, “that Lin Biao, who was Chairman Mao’s designated successor and minister of defense, is now suddenly being called a double dealer, traitor, conspirator, and counter-revolutionary? By ordering us to tear out the first two pages of Mao’s
Little Red Book,
are you sure you are not saying
wang guo zhi yan,
‘words that would cause a nation to perish,’ and giving us advice that will lead to total disaster?”

Zhao Gao, who was in possession of the dead emperor’s last letter to Prince Fu Su as well as the imperial seal, saw his opportunity. He approached his former student, Prince Hu Hai, and said, “Your father, the emperor, has died without proclaiming a legitimate heir to the throne. All he left behind is this letter to your older brother. When Prince Fu Su meets us in Xianyang, he will be crowned as emperor while you will be left without a foot or even an inch of territory. Are you planning to do anything about this?”

Hu Hai replied dutifully, “I have heard that the enlightened ruler knows his subjects and the smart father understands his sons. Since my father died without proclaiming an heir, what can I do or say?”

“I beg to disagree,” the eunuch replied. “In fact, Your Highness, at present the fate of the empire rests in the hands of three people: you, the prime minister, and me. Please keep this in mind. Besides, when it is a matter of ruling others or being ruled by others, or a choice of making others one’s vassals or being the vassals of others, how can you even think of considering them in the same instance?”

Still the young prince resisted. “It is not right to displace an older brother and install a younger one in his shoes,” he protested. “It is also wrong not to pass on a father’s true wishes. Such acts are against the moral obligations of a son. When a person has limited skills and capability, it is reprehensible for him to take over the assignments of another who has proven himself through his achievements. These three acts are contrary to the correct behavior of a wise ruler, and the empire will not condone them. If I were to behave in such a manner, I would fall into danger and the spirits of the land would reject my sacrifices.”