A Thousand Pieces of Gold (16 page)

The image depicted by this proverb
( jie gan er qi)
is that of a knight-errant who rises from the ranks to lead a band of poor and weary peasants in revolt against injustice. In answer to his call, many adherents gather about the rebels, bringing them food and weapons and following them as shadows after a form. The revolutionaries eventually destroy the ruling house and establish a brave new regime.

More recently in the twentieth century, Sun Yatsen led a popular uprising that deposed the Qing emperor and ended imperial rule in 1911. After Sun’s death, Chiang Kai-shek assumed leadership as head of the Nationalist Party. Then in 1949, Mao Tse-tung rose from obscurity, drove out Chiang Kai-shek, and established Communist rule in China. Although a span of 2200 years separated these three men from Chen She, the grassroots movements led by all three have occasionally been described in Chinese history books as
jie gan er qi.

During his reign Mao Tse-tung encouraged the Chinese press to equate Chen She’s revolt with his own, calling them both large-scale peasant uprisings. “Wherever there is tyranny or oppression,” he wrote, “there is opposition. Because of relentless economic exploitation by the landlord class, large numbers of peasants took their bamboo poles and joined the ranks of resistance. The various forces eventually came
together and became a powerful peasant army. Chen She’s success and ours both prove that the people and the people alone are the moving forces of world history.”

Within a month, Chen She’s original army of 900 had swelled to 20,000 infantry, 600 chariots, and 1000 horsemen. They captured district after district on their way north toward the capital. Chen’s fame spread throughout the land. He named himself King of Chu. Ambitious men who had suffered under the Qin regime saw their opportunity, murdered their superiors, incited their friends to rebel, and allied themselves with him. They were welcomed by the people as liberators but soon set themselves up as kings of the districts under their control. Chen sent various armies to attack the Qin forces, including one to take over Xianyang, capital of Qin.

The state of Qin was called the Land Within the Passes because it was surrounded by mountains and rivers and was easily defended. There were only two approaches, the Wu Pass in the south and the Hangu Pass in the east.

In no time at all Chen She’s men had entered the Hangu Pass and were threatening the heartland of the Qin empire. The Second Emperor was greatly alarmed and consulted with his officials, searching desperately for a plan of action.

The privy treasurer Zhang Han came forward and said, “The rebels are at our doorstep. There is no time to transfer troops here from the other districts. Since there are at present over 700,000 convict laborers still working on the Afang Palace and the First Emperor’s tomb at Mount Li, I suggest that they be pardoned and given arms so that they may protect Your Majesty’s capital from the bandits!” Zhang tactfully did not mention that there was also a dearth of capable military generals and magistrates because the best ones, such Meng Tian and his brother Meng Yi, had already been executed.

The Second Emperor agreed. He ordered an amnesty, supplied the exconvicts with arms, and appointed Zhang as their general. With over 700,000 well-armed troops under his command, Treasurer Zhang led an attack that routed Chen’s forces. Meanwhile, Wu, whom Chen had made his acting king, was murdered by one of his own subordinate generals.

Much of China was aflame. The deposed nobility of the six states now rose from the villages and byways in response to Chen’s call to arms, hoping to restore their previous status. Although Zhang Han was able to defeat
some of Chen’s most important generals, he could not be everywhere at the same time.

In the twelfth month of the year 209
B.C.E.
, barely six months after the start of the uprising, Chen was murdered by his own carriage driver as he fled eastward after the defeat of his main army. But his death did not stop the rebellion in any way. Many others set up revolts of their own, called themselves kings, and dreamed of setting up their own imperial dynasties. Among them were Xiang Yu and Liu Bang.

Although Chen’s fame and fortune lasted for barely six months at the end of his life, his name became legendary and his exploits emerged as a major influence after his death. He is now remembered for having led the first peasant uprising in China and for possessing the self-confidence to proclaim early on the democratic belief that kings and generals are made, not born.

Chen’s ideas probably arose from the teachings of Confucius. Even as a penniless peasant, Chen had lofty ambition and high aspirations, exemplified by the proverb
yan que yong you hong hu zhi,
“little sparrow with dreams of swans.” Confucius taught that rulers should exist only for the welfare of the people. If a ruler abuses his power, then his mandate of Heaven will be withdrawn and given to someone else. During the early twentieth century, Dr. Sun Yatsen’s revolutionary party was once described as the Association for Changing the Mandate of Heaven.

Why did a poor peasant like Chen She with hardly any education or military expertise succeed against the same Qin forces that had defeated the armies of all six former states?

Chen’s success took place against the backdrop of the heavy taxation and exactions wielded by the Second Emperor. The Qin monarchs never understood that success in conquering a nation does not automatically mean success in ruling that nation. As long as the First Emperor was still alive his government was tolerated and he was personally admired for his many accomplishments. This changed at his death.

Although the Qin officials feared the Second Emperor, they also held him in contempt because of his incompetence, extravagance, and total reliance on Zhao Gao. Circumstances surrounding the suicide of Prince Fu Su were widely perceived as being suspect. All three participants of the plot at Sand Hill had corrupted themselves. In order to silence dissent, they could only resort to terror.

Chen started by fabricating miracles to legitimize himself as a leader. His rebellion was at first directed not at the Second Emperor but only at his own immediate superiors. It proved to be just the catalyst needed to ignite a wholesale uprising. The outcome probably surprised no one more than Chen. Conditions at that time were ripe for mutiny, and his timing could not have been more perfect. Far from being endowed by Heaven, Chen was merely present at the right place, doing the appropriate thing at the correct time.

In his Gettysburg address of 1863, Abraham Lincoln declared that government should be for the people. Over 2000 years before the birth of Lincoln, Confucius was already teaching that the enlightened ruler must serve the needs of the people. “A good government,” he declared, “is one that makes the people happy.” Like Lincoln, Confucius believed that there were times when force must be used by moral men to prevent the world from being enslaved. In this regard, it is interesting to note that one of Chen She’s advisers was a direct male descendant of Confucius.

Confucius’s concept that “any man might be a
jun zi,
‘moral man,’ depending on his conduct,” is essentially the same as Thomas Jefferson’s declaration that “all men are created equal.” This was the belief underlying the proverb
yan que yong you hong hu zhi,
“little sparrow with dreams of swans,” which prompted Chen She to “hoist the bamboo pole as a banner of revolt.” The same notion motivated me into first entering the playwriting competition and then emigrating to America. In this great country founded upon democracy, I was finally given an even chance.

Po Fu Chen Zhou

L
ooking back, I see three occasions in my life when my back was against the wall and I felt compelled to
po fu chen zhou,
“destroy the cooking cauldrons and sink the boats,” or “make a last, desperate gamble for victory.”

The first happened when I was fourteen. After my grandfather died, I was sent home from boarding school to attend his funeral. Afterward my stepmother, Niang, called me to the living room. Looking at me with loathing and contempt, she coldly informed me that I was to leave school at the end of the summer term and get a job as a secretary.

I was terrified, remembering how Lydia had never finished high school but was forced into an arranged marriage at the age of seventeen. I knew this was probably in store for me. I begged to be allowed to go to university like my three older brothers. My parents ignored my request. I became extremely anxious about my future
and spent many sleepless nights gazing at the giant ships dotting the bay of Hong Kong harbor, wondering what was to become of me. I felt that I had arrived at an impasse and needed to make a drastic decision. I remember repeating the proverb
po fu chen zhou,
“destroy the cooking cauldrons and sink the boats,” over and over as I sat by myself with clenched fists on the balcony of my school dormitory under a dark starry sky. One night I decided to run away. I planned to get enough money somehow for a train ticket to Shanghai, join my aunt, and enter college there.

Fate intervened in the nick of time. Unknown to me, my name appeared in the newspapers for having won first prize in the playwriting contest I had entered some months previously. Because I had given my father “face” in front of the whole of Hong Kong, he deemed me worthy enough to be sent to university in England despite my stepmother’s objections. If I had gone back to Shanghai at fourteen, I probably would have led an entirely different existence in Communist China.

Twelve years later I reached the second landmark in the journey of my life. I was twenty-six and practicing medicine in Hong Kong. My stepmother was still trying to control every aspect of my life, professional as well as personal. It was an impossible situation. I had a feeling of déjà vu, knowing that I had to get away and repeating the proverb
po fu chen zhou
every time I wavered. In spite of my parents’ refusal to lend me money for a plane ticket, a compassionate American stranger indirectly enabled me to escape to Philadelphia and achieve my American dream.

The final incident was when I learned I had been unexpectedly disinherited. I could not believe the extent of my stepmother’s cruelty, continuing even from beyond the grave. It also devastated me to realize that my brother James and my eldest sister, Lydia, had conspired against me. For a long time I found it difficult to reconcile myself to James’s betrayal, hoping against hope that he would come to me with a plausible explanation. I also knew that he did not wish me to write my book.

The yearning for James’s approval kept me away from publishers for almost two years. I wrote my brother long letters, hoping for a reply. But he would not answer me. Once we bumped into each other accidentally in a Japanese restaurant in Hong Kong. Throughout our stilted conversation about children and health, the memory of Niang’s funeral lay like a monstrous rock between us, slimy and untouchable. He could not wait to get away, while I longed desperately to recapture our childhood harmony.

As he waited for his bill, he asked about my job. “I’ve been thinking of quitting medical practice,” I told him.

“Why? What will you do?”

“Write the book that I’ve always wanted to write ever since I was a child. The biography of our stepmother, Niang.”

He signed the receipt for his lunch and placed his credit card in his wallet. As he rose to go, he said to me in a voice that I had never heard before, “Do that, and I’ll sue you!”

A chill went through me. “Sue me? I haven’t even begun writing yet…” I protested, but he had already left.

That night I had a dream. James and I were children again, playing together in the garden in front of Father’s big house in Shanghai. We were burying my pet duckling, PLT, who had just died after being mauled by Father’s German shepherd the evening before. James was wearing a white cap and tying a white handkerchief around my hair while telling me that white was the color of mourning. I could smell the sweet scent of magnolia blossoms in the fresh morning air as we dug a big hole under the magnolia tree with all its flowers in bloom. “Go get a milk bottle from the kitchen while I pick some flowers,” he was telling me. “Might as well get a rice bowl and put some rice in it. I’m going to dig up a couple of worms and pour in some water. PLT will have a great dinner because that’s what she likes to eat….”

I woke up with a jerk, and the wish to please James was stronger than ever. I wanted to write my book, but my big brother would not endorse it. I longed to go to him and say, “If I don’t write Niang’s story and I continue to work as a doctor in order to please you, will you promise that the real James will come back again, the way he used to be?” Sadly, a part of me knew that the James of my childhood had vanished forever.

Still, I hesitated. A lifetime of trust and dependence on a brother’s loyalty was hard to relinquish. Back and forth I vacillated. Then the familiar feeling of “do or die” returned.
“Po fu chen zhou!”
I told myself.
“Po fu chen zhou!
‘Destroy the cooking cauldrons and sink the boats!’ Time is running out. If you don’t write your book now, it will never be written!” I was a solitary little girl again, terrified but determined, hanging on with gritted teeth against all odds. Muttering the proverb over and over, I finally summoned enough courage to hand in my resignation and walk away from my busy medical practice. This was how I began my writing career at the age of fifty-six.

Undoubtedly, there are episodes of
po fu chen zhou
in everyone’s life. However, the actual incident of “destroying the cooking cauldrons and sinking the boats” from which the proverb arose was a story first told by Sima Qian. In
Shiji,
the ancient historian described the many brilliant escapades and
ferocious battles fought by the dashing young warrior Xiang Yu.
Po fu chen zhou
was one of the desperate gambles taken by the twenty-five-year-old Xiang Yu during his meteoric rise to becoming the most powerful man in China.

Xiang Yu was descended from a noble family in the state of Chu that had produced many distinguished generals. His grandfather was Xiang Yan, the same legendary commander whose name was falsely assumed by the frontier guard Wu Guang when he revolted. At that time the memory of Xiang Yan was idolized throughout Chu because of his loyalty and bravery during the war of annexation in 223
B.C.E.
Refusing to surrender when surrounded by Qin troops, he fought to the bitter end and finally committed suicide on the battlefield rather than be taken prisoner. Members of the Xiang family were already renowned for their military prowess even before Xiang Yan. After many generations of faithful service, the King of Chu had granted them the governance of the city of Xiang. Eventually, the family adopted Xiang as its surname.

When Xiang Yu was a child, his father died and he was brought up by Xiang Liang, the fourth younger brother of his father. The two had a close relationship, and Xiang Yu regarded Xiang Liang as his surrogate father, calling him Fourth Uncle. Xiang Yu was not a good student. Reprimanded by Fourth Uncle, Xiang Yu replied defiantly, “Studying books is merely another term for memorizing names, while learning how to use a sword only enables one to fight against a single enemy. Neither is worthy of my time. What I would like to master is the art of conquering tens of thousands of men.” From then on his uncle began teaching Xiang Yu the art of war.

During the First Emperor’s last imperial tour, he visited the Wuzhong area (present-day Suzhou, sixty miles west of Shanghai) in Chu. Xiang Yu and his uncle were among the throngs of people watching the spectacle of the grand royal procession. The First Emperor was accompanied by eighty-one teams of horse-drawn carriages, with his own coach positioned in the center. Far from being intimidated, Xiang Yu turned to his uncle and said, “Yes! It is possible to
qu er dai zhi,
‘step into the emperor’s shoes and replace him’!” Fourth Uncle hurriedly covered Xiang Yu’s mouth and muttered, “Hush! Don’t talk nonsense! Rash remarks such as this are going to get us the death penalty—not only for you but for our entire clan!” Although he successfully silenced his nephew, Fourth Uncle secretly marveled at the youngster’s ambition and audacity.

Xiang Yu grew to a height of over six feet. Besides being
cai qi guo ren,
“exceptionally quick-witted,” he was so strong that he could lift a
ding
(heavy three-legged bronze cauldron) above his head with ease. All the young men of Wuzhong were in awe, and a little afraid, of him. (Ability to lift a
ding
of a certain weight was a measure of a man’s strength in ancient China. Recently, a Qin dynasty
ding
made of bronze was unearthed at a burial site. It weighed 467 pounds.) A photo of it was published in the October 2001 issue of
National Geographic
magazine.

After the frontier guards’ revolt in the summer of 209
B.C.E.
, the news spread throughout the empire and the whole of China was aflame. Two months later the governor of the province that included Wuzhong decided to join the revolution. He summoned Fourth Uncle and said, “There have been armed uprisings in many places. It is Heaven’s will that the Qin dynasty should fall. I have heard it said that
xian fa zhi ren,
‘he who strikes first will gain control of others,’ whereas he who follows will be dominated by others. Therefore I am joining the revolution and hereby appoint you and Huan Chu as my generals.” Huan Chu was a condemned rebel warrior who was then in hiding.

Fourth Uncle replied, “The only one who knows the whereabouts of Huan Chu is my nephew Xiang Yu. He is waiting for me outside. Let me go and find him.” He went out and instructed Xiang Yu to unsheathe his sword and await his signal. Reentering the governor’s headquarters, Fourth Uncle sat down calmly opposite the governor and said, “Your Highness should order Xiang Yu to come in now and go in search of Huan Chu.”

The governor summoned Xiang Yu. Almost immediately after his nephew entered the room, Fourth Uncle flashed him the previously arranged go-ahead sign, striking first according to the spirit of the proverb
xian fa zhi ren,
“he who strikes first will gain control of others.” Xiang Yu swung his sword and beheaded the governor on the spot with one stroke. Fourth Uncle strode out holding the governor’s head aloft in his right hand while wearing the beheaded dignitary’s seal of office on his belt. All the officials who saw him were alarmed, and some were angry. Pandemonium broke out, but this was quickly quelled by Xiang Yu, who ruthlessly killed almost one hundred men. Everyone was cowed into silence and groveled on the ground without daring to get up.

Fourth Uncle sent for the army commanders, ministers, and other men of influence whom he had befriended in the past. He informed them
that he was revolting against the Second Emperor and invited them to join him. Soon he had a force of 8000 men with his twenty-four-year-old nephew, Xiang Yu, as second in command. Because the name Xiang was revered throughout Chu, uncle and nephew were soon joined by other rebel armies who subordinated themselves to the pair, including the army under the command of Liu Bang.

Liu Bang was from a peasant family in the district of Pei, a few hundred miles from Wuzhong but still part of the former state of Chu. Born in 257
B.C.E.
, he was twenty-four years older than Xiang Yu. He had a distinguished appearance with a prominent nose, broad forehead, and luxuriant beard on his cheeks and chin. Legend has it that the first time his future father-in-law set eyes on him, he was so impressed by Liu Bang’s physiognomy that he gave him his beloved daughter as his bride.

Huo da da du,
“generous and big-hearted,” Liu Bang was open-minded and always surrounded by friends. As a young man, he tended to be lazy and
bu shi jia ren sheng chan,
“refused to do the kind of work performed by his father and brothers,” such as farming and carpentry. Although he had grand ideas and many interests, he did not know what he really wanted to do. He liked wine and women and, much to his father’s despair, lived off his family during his youth and spent much time drinking in wine shops and buying wine on credit. Finally, at the age of thirty, he passed the tests for becoming a government official and was made an administrator, or chief, of a
ting.

A
ting
was a unit composed of 250 to 500 families, and as chief, Liu Bang was in charge of both military and civil affairs. The laws of Qin were strict, and many people had been arrested for violations. The First Emperor would sentence these convicts to forced labor on his massive building projects. After the First Emperor’s death his son, the Second Emperor, continued this policy.

One of Liu Bang’s duties as chief was to escort convicts from his
ting
in the district of Pei to the capital city of Xianyang to work on the First Emperor’s palaces and tomb. Thus he had ample opportunity to observe the pomp and grandeur surrounding His Majesty. Awed and inspired by the spectacle, he once sighed deeply and muttered, “Ah! This is how a real man should live!”

In the year 209
B.C.E.
there was general unrest throughout China and
min bu liao sheng,
“the common people had few means of livelihood.” Like everyone else, convicts from the district of Pei were also aware of the many rebellious armies being formed in Chu and other areas. About that time Liu Bang was escorting a levy of convicts from Pei to Mount Li to work on the First Emperor’s tomb. Under Qin law, Liu Bang as chief was personally responsible for each prisoner and would receive severe punishment if anyone escaped.