A Thousand Pieces of Gold (2 page)

Chapter 15

Plot to Sow Discord and Create Enmity

Chapter 16

The Heart of the People Belongs to Han

Chapter 17

The Human Heart Is Difficult to Fathom

Chapter 18

Devising Strategies in a Command Tent

List of Proverbs

Bibliography

C
hinese is a pictorial, not a phonetic, language. Words are pronounced differently in different provinces, even though they are written in the same way and have the same meaning. This was true even during the time of the Warring States (475-221
B.C.E
.). The historian Sima Qian began the biography of the assassin Jing Ke with these words: “Jing Ke was born in the state of Wei [present-day Henan Province]. The natives of Wei knew him as Master Qing, but those from the State of Yan [present-day Hebei Province] called him Master Jing.”

After the Communists conquered China in 1949, they standardized the phonetic spelling of Chinese characters throughout China according to the Beijing dialect (or Mandarin) and called it
pinyin.
Pinyin is defined as “the phonetic alphabetic spelling of Chinese writing.”

I would like to introduce a few famous figures from Chinese history to Western readers using pinyin. Chinese surnames come at the beginning, before the given name. Thus Deng Xiaoping’s surname is Deng and his given name is Xiaoping.

INTRODUCTION

Deng Xiaoping is pronounced
Dung Shiaoping
because
x
is pronounced
sh.

Zhuang Zi is pronounced
Jwaang Tze
because
zh
is pronounced
j.

King Zheng is pronounced King
Jung.

Qin is pronounced
Chin
because
q
is pronounced
ch.

Zhao is pronounced
Jow
because
zh
is pronounced
j.

Qi is pronounced
Chee.

CHAPTER
1

Sima Qian is pronounced
Sima Chien.

Ren is pronounced
Run
because
en
is pronounced
un.

Li Si is pronounced
Lee Ss
(like the hissing sound of a snake).

Zhou dynasty is pronounced
Jo
dynasty.

CHAPTER
2

Xianyang is pronounced
Shianyoung
because
x
is pronounced
sh.

Zhong Kui is pronounced
Jong Kwei.

CHAPTER
3

Xi is pronounced
She.

CHAPTER
5

Han Feizi is pronounced
Haan Faytze.

Jiang Qing is pronounced
Jiang Ching.

CHAPTER
7

Xu Fu is pronounced
Shü Foo.

Zhang Liang is pronounced
Jaan Liang.

Qin Shihuang is pronounced
Chin Shihwang.
The name means “Founding Emperor of the Qin Dynasty” or “First Emperor.”

CHAPTER
8

Zhao Gao is pronounced
Jow Gow.

Meng Yi is pronounced
Mung Yee.

Hu Hai is pronounced
Who Hi.

Meng Tian is pronounced
Mung Tien.

Fu Su is pronounced
Foo Soo.

CHAPTER
9

Xiang Yu is pronounced
Shiang Yü.

Liu Bang is pronounced
Liu Baang.

Zhang Han is pronounced
Jaang Haan.

Sima Xin is pronounced
Sima Sheen.

CHAPTER
12

Xiao He is pronounced
Shiao Huh.

CHAPTER
13

Fan Kuai is pronounced
Faan Kwai.

CHAPTER
14

Hahn Xin is pronounced
Hahn Shin.

CHAPTER
16

Kuai Tung is pronounced
Kwai Tung.

The word
Haan
in the State of Haan during the Warring States period is the same character as the surname of General-in-chief Hahn Xin. The word
Han
in the Han dynasty is an entirely different word from the other two. However, all three are pronounced Han and are spelled identically—as Han—in the Chinese-English pinyin dictionary and in history books. To distinguish them and avoid confusion, I have chosen to spell them differently in this book.

Unlike in the Western world, Chinese surnames are pronounced first, to be followed by the given names. For instance, my maiden surname is Yen and my given name is Junling. Thus my Chinese name is Yen Junling.

My husband Bob’s surname is Mah. When I married Bob, my Chinese name became Mah Yen Junling, whereas my English name became Adeline Yen Mah.

In a similar vein, Deng Xiaoping’s surname was Deng. His given name was Xiaoping.

Mao Tse-tung’s surname was Mao, and his given name was Tse-tung. Sima Qian’s surname was Sima, and his given name was Qian.

A
s a little girl in Shanghai, I remember coming home from school in the afternoons and running up the stairs. The first thing I did was to dash into Grandfather Ye Ye’s room to see what he was doing. His room was next to mine, which I shared with Aunt Baba, Ye Ye’s daughter and the older sister of my father. When Ye Ye was in a good mood, he would be practicing calligraphy and humming a tune from Beijing opera.

One day I asked him, “Ye Ye, what are these words that you are writing?”

“They are proverbs.”

“Why do you write proverbs when you practice calligraphy?”

He rested his brush on his inkstand and looked at me. “That is an excellent question!” he answered. “Tell me, what is a proverb?”

“A wise saying,” I replied.

“Where do proverbs come from?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“The best proverbs,” he explained, “come from our history. History describes the behavior of people who lived in the past. Those people were our ancestors. We Chinese probably revere our ancestors and our history more than any other people. To us, history is not only a record of what has happened before, it is also a guide to educate children like yourself, giving you examples that will teach you how to live your life. Proverbs mirror the past to benefit the present.

“Now, do you recognize the four characters that I am practicing today? If you do, you can have a choice: a piece of candy from my jar or the legend behind these four words.”

With some difficulty, I read aloud the four characters: “
Jiu niu yi mao,
‘one hair from nine oxen.’”

Ye Ye was delighted. “Since I’ve never told you stories from history before, today you get both the story and the candy. But only today! From now on, you’ll have to choose between the two.”

I nodded eagerly, sat on the floor by his chair, and put the candy in my mouth as he began. The narrative he related was so fascinating that soon I forgot about the candy. From then on, I often chose to listen rather than satisfy my longing for sweets.

My Ye Ye passed away many years ago, but his proverbs and the history behind them have remained with me. On one of the last occasions we were together, he said to me, “No matter what else people may steal from you, they will never be able to take away the knowledge of these proverbs from your mind.”

In this book, I would like to share my knowledge, as well as my love of proverbs, with you.

When I first wrote the story of my Chinese family, I chose my grandfather’s favorite proverb for its title.
Falling Leaves (return to their roots)
is actually the second half of a couplet first published during the Song dynasty (960-1279
C.E
.).

Nowadays, the first half of the couplet is seldom used and only the second half is cited. “Falling leaves return to their roots” symbolizes the return of the wandering child to her ancestral home. Grandfather used to tell me that this proverb is a reminder that as a person gets older, he tends to go back to his beginnings.

In the 1980s, when Britain’s Margaret Thatcher and China’s Deng Xiaoping signed the agreement that would return Hong Kong to China in 1997, Deng was asked by reporters to make a public statement. Instead
of a lengthy speech, Deng righted the wrongs of 150 years of Chinese humiliation by uttering the four simple words
luo ye gui gen,
“falling leaves return to their roots.”

On that historic occasion, at a moment when the future of Hong Kong was decided, Deng Xiaoping chose to express his sentiments, as well as the sentiments of over one billion Chinese, through an evocative proverb.

On many other occasions it is recorded that Chinese leaders have based their decisions on lessons learned from proverbs.

In the 1930s China was ruled by Chiang Kai-shek, leader of the Nationalist Party. Instead of fighting the Japanese who had invaded China, Chiang was preoccupied with annihilating the fledgling Communists led by Mao Tse-tung. Pressured by the United States to drive out the Japanese before tackling the Communists, Chiang refused, saying, “The Japanese are only
xuan jie zhi ji,
‘a disease of the skin,’ but the Communists are
xin fu zhi huan,
‘a malady of the heart.’”

In America, Chiang was much admired for his poetic eloquence. What his Western audience did not realize was that Chiang’s statements were not original. He was merely quoting an ancient proverb.

When the Vietnam War escalated and Ho Chi Minh asked for aid from Communist China, Mao Tse-tung agreed to do so and quoted the proverb
chun wang chi han,
“when the lips are gone, the teeth are cold.” The proverb stems from an incident during the early Warring States period when China was divided into many states. One state wished to invade another state and asked for safe passage through a third one in order to do so. The prime minister of the third state advised his king not to grant the request, warning him that if the second state were conquered, they themselves would be the next target because
chun wang chi han,
“when the lips are gone, the teeth are cold.” The proverb signifies interdependence between two parties and was first written by Zhuang Zi (born 330
B.C.E
.)

While doing research for this book, I was amazed to come across the same proverb quoted in a memorial written 2200 years ago by Li Si, a high-ranking official in the government of King Zheng of Qin. In the year 233
B.C.E.
, Li Si was sent by his sovereign to the neighboring state of Haan. At that time the state of Zhao was planning to attack Qin and was asking for safe passage through Haan. Like Mao Tse-tung, Li Si quoted
the proverb “when the lips are gone, the teeth are cold” in an attempt to dissuade the King of Haan from granting the army of Zhao safe passage. He added in his memorial, “Qin and Haan suffer the same perils. The misfortune of one is the misfortune of the other. This is an obvious fact.”

Substitute the state of Zhao for the United States, Qin for Vietnam, and Haan for Communist China, and we have Mao Tse-tung in 1963 thinking the same thoughts and using the same language as Li Si twenty-two centuries earlier.

In September 2000 I read of the execution of two high-ranking Chinese officials for corruption: one was the vice chair of China’s National People’s Congress, and the other was the deputy governor of a large province. The Chinese newspaper reported that before their crimes were discovered, both had already prepared escape routes in the tradition of the proverb
jiao tu san ku.
However, they were caught before they could put their flight plans into action.

That proverb
jiao tu san ku
means “a cunning rabbit has three warrens.” It originates from an ancient history book titled
Intrigues Between the Warring States,
written over two thousand years ago. The proverb relates the story of a man named Meng who was prime minister to the King of Qi during the fourth century
B.C.E.
Meng sent his advisor Feng to his fief to collect debts. Instead of doing so, Feng forgave all the loans, telling the villagers that he was doing this on the prime minister’s orders. Meng was displeased, but the deed was done. A year later, Meng fell from favor and had to return to his native village. When he was still one hundred
li
away, the local people, young and old, all came out to welcome him. Meng was greatly moved and praised Feng for his far-sightedness, but the latter said, “
Jiao tu san ku,
‘a cunning rabbit has three warrens.’ You have only one. I am going to build you two more.” Feng then obtained a fallback offer for Meng as prime minister of the Kingdom of Wei. Hearing of this, the King of Qi reinstated Meng as his prime minister. Feng told Meng, “Now that all three warrens are in place, you may relax and live in peace.”

Commenting on the behavior of the two corrupt officials, the Chinese newspapers reported that two common “rabbit warrens” for corrupt politicians were obtaining foreign passports for themselves and moving family members, loved ones, and money overseas. The executed vice chairman
had secretly deposited 5 million American dollars in bribes in a Hong Kong bank account for himself and his mistress, whereas the executed deputy governor was quoted as having advised his son to get a green card in the United States so that “you’ll have permanent residence there and I’ll have somewhere to go when I emigrate there myself.”

This true story illustrates the importance of proverbs in influencing behavior and forming opinions in China today.

How do the Chinese think? Why do we think that way? Do people in the West think in a different way?

All of us think with words. Therefore, every form of thought is related to the language, culture, and history of a particular thinker, conditioned since birth in his or her own national category. Westerners and Chinese have different views of the world that sometimes differ or even contradict each other, and yet both may be right.

For example, to an English person, Israel is the Middle East and China the Far East, whereas to a Chinese, Israel is the West and England the Far West. Depending on the viewpoint, the conclusions are different but both parties are correct.

For Westerners to understand Chinese reasoning, it is essential to realize that more than any other nation, China takes its rationale from the roots of its lengthy and well-documented past. A Chinese view of the world is highly dependent on the lessons learned from our forebears. Traditionally, this wisdom of the ages is often encapsulated in the form of four characters and is presented as a proverb.

Many Chinese proverbs originate from ancient history, literature, poetry, letters, and other writings. Based on actual events, they carry philosophical or moral implications that make them significant in contemporary life. At best, they radiate a glow that mirrors the Chinese mind, recalling incidents from bygone eras that define the Chinese way of thinking. They keep alive the memory of fabled legends and, following centuries of repetition, have evolved into coded messages that are integrated into routine speech. Used correctly, these proverbs illustrate aspects of human behavior that capture the essence of everyday existence. They link past and present, providing a stay against chaos. There is no doubt that ancient proverbs still shape the thoughts and behavior of Chinese people today. Lessons learned from conflicts and battles that happened hundreds if not
thousands of years ago continue to serve as a backdrop for many Chinese decisions.

Written Chinese is a pictorial language. Most of the words originated from pictures of actual objects, not mental concepts. Because of this, the Chinese are used to viewing life in terms of concrete examples, using specific incidents to illustrate abstract concepts. Historical precedents act as illustrations of different types of human behavior. The citation of proverbs summarizing legends has a particularly emotive appeal for the Chinese and plays a large part in the expression of Chinese thought.

Everyday conversation between ordinary Chinese people is studded with quotes from ancient historians, poets, and philosophers. The use of proverbs is often viewed as a barometer of a Chinese person’s knowledge of history, level of education, and depth of wisdom. In the psyche of many Chinese lurks the conviction that scholarship is more admirable than money. Nothing impresses a Chinese more than to hear someone quote an appropriate proverb in a timely fashion.

The Chinese language has no alphabet and there is no connection between speech and writing. A person may be capable of understanding written Chinese without knowing how to read aloud or speak a single word. Each word is a different symbol and must be memorized separately. As the Chinese language developed, metaphors (figures of speech) and proverbs (short sayings based on previous experience) became increasingly important in the expression of Chinese thought.

In America and Britain, new metaphors are also being born daily before our very eyes, just as in China. Some examples are
hot seat
(for the electric chair),
gun moll
(for the gangster’s girlfriend),
Pearl Harbor
(for sneak attack),
meeting one’s Waterloo
(for defeat),
jousting windmills
(for fighting useless battles),
paydirt
(for reward), and
pan out
(for successful result). The last two terms came from the California Gold Rush.

Walt Whitman once said, “Into the English language are woven the sorrows, joys, loves, needs, and heartbreaks of the common people.” The same can be said regarding Chinese proverbs and metaphors.

Whereas Shakespeare has been hailed for the last four hundred years by most English-speaking people as the greatest English writer who ever lived, very few Westerners have heard of Sima Qian (145–90
B.C.E.
), a Chi
nese historian who lived during the Han dynasty. In his lifetime he wrote only one book, a book of history called
Shiji (Historical Record).
Published a few decades after his death,
Shiji
has been a bestseller in China since that time and is still in print. Many Chinese feel that it is the greatest book ever written. Its influence on Chinese thought has been immense throughout the last two millennia. Many of the proverbs we use today came from this ancient tome.

Westerners too have been captivated by the charm of Chinese proverbs. When I was a medical intern at the London Hospital in the 1960s, I had the privilege of looking after the renowned British poet Philip Larkin. He once described Chinese proverbs as “white dwarfs” of literature because each was so densely compacted with thoughts and ideas. He told me that white dwarfs are tiny stars whose atoms are packed so closely together that their weight is huge in relation to their size. He said that the enormous heat radiated by these small stars is equivalent to the vast knowledge and profound wisdom contained in certain sayings gleaned from China.