TUN-HUANG Page 3

  One fine day, when the early summer sun was filtering through the elm trees onto the city’s great highway, he received a notice from the Personnel Board to sit for his final examinations: in physical abilities, rhetoric, calligraphy, and literary style. These tests demanded physical strength and beauty, fluency and precision in speech, boldness and style in writing, and elegance and logic in composition. If he passed these he faced only an oral examination with the emperor regarding political affairs. The top three candidates were ranked First, Second, and Third, and all the candidates who passed were assured brilliant futures.

  Hsing-te was certain that no one surpassed him in knowledge, and he had ability enough to support this confidence. He came from a family of scholars and had been studious from early childhood. Up to this year, his thirty-second, he had constantly surrounded himself with books. The examinations that he had taken so far had been easy for him. At each test, thousands of competitors had been screened and eliminated, but not for one moment had Hsing-te doubted his own success.

  That day, when Hsing-te went to the examination hall, the candidates were already gathered in an inner courtyard enclosed by corridors on four sides. One after another they were called by an official and then led through a long corridor toward the examination room. While awaiting their turn, the men lounged in chairs placed around the courtyard or walked about. A gentle breeze stirred the hot, dry air. At first Hsing-te waited impatiently for his name to be called, but after a while he resigned himself to the wait and sat down at the foot of a large huai tree. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the tree and then settled into a more comfortable position. In time he became drowsy and slowly his eyes closed. From time to time new names were called out; then the voice grew fainter and fainter.

  Before he was aware of it, Hsing-te had fallen asleep and was dreaming. In his dream, he had been led into the emperor’s chamber. The room was lined on both sides with rows of high-ranking dignitaries in their official robes. In the center of the room was a chair. Hsing-te strode fearlessly to it and seated himself. About six feet in front of him was a raised dais veiled by a thin curtain.

  “What do you think of Ho Liang’s Frontier Security Proposal?” The question had come from behind the veil of the dais in an unexpectedly booming voice. This Security Proposal had been submitted thirty years previously to the former emperor, Chen Tsung, by Ho Liang, Commander of the Yunghsing army. At that time the government had been seriously harassed by the raids of the tribes of the western border, the Hsi-hsia, who had long before threatened the newly-founded Sung dynasty. By the time Ho Liang had inspected the border colony of Ling-chou and made his recommendation, the frontier situation had become critical. No solution had been found since that time and the problem of the Hsi-hsia tribes still remained.

  Hsi-hsia was a small country in the eastern part of the Wuliang territory. It had been settled long before by the Tangut people of Tibetan origin. Besides the Tanguts, numerous other barbarian tribes, such as the Turfans and Uighurs, also lived in the area. Several of them had formed small kingdoms, but only Hsi-hsia had become powerful. Not only did it oppress the other tribes but it also repeatedly invaded the western frontiers of China. Officially, Hsi-hsia declared its vassalage to Sung China, yet at the same time conferred in secret with Khitan, which had long been China’s enemy. This flagrant insubordination had been a thorn in China’s side for years. The Ling-wu area, which bordered on Wuliang, was devastated almost annually by the Hsi-hsia cavalry, and the situation was so serious that a year before Ho Liang had presented his proposal to the court, voices were raised to abandon Ling-wu.

  At the start of his Frontier Security Proposal, Ho Liang had listed the previously suggested countermeasures against the Hsi-hsia, criticized their shortcomings harshly, and rejected them all as being impracticable.

  These countermeasures had been first to abandon Lingwu, second to attack Hsi-hsia, and third to engage in guerrilla warfare. However, if Ling-wu were abandoned, Hsi-hsia would increase her territory and perhaps unite with other western tribes. In addition, the horses bred in the Wu-liang territory would no longer be available to China. An attack on the enemy would present many difficulties; there was a shortage of frontier troops, and supplies were lacking. If small units were sent out, their supply route could easily be cut off by the enemy. If large armies were dispatched, the civilian population would have to shoulder the terrible burden of supporting the troops. If guerrilla soldiers were used, there might be hope for eventual peace, but on the other hand, Hsi-hsia, with its insatiable thirst for power, might subjugate a number of small tribes scattered about Wu-liang and so become a great menace to the future of China. Actually, Sung China would be falling into Hsi-hsia’s trap if it were to engage in guerrilla fighting.

  At the end of the report, Ho Liang presented the following specific plans for dealing with the current situation: “Build a fort in the fertile plains near an area where Hsi-hsia might establish a front-line base during its western invasion. Lie in wait for their army, and then attack. Until now,” he wrote, “we have not been able to win in battle with the Hsi-hsia because we have not had the chance to fight with its main army, but have been forced into the desert in pursuit, needlessly dispersing our own troops. If the enemy were to challenge us to battle, annihilation would not be difficult. If Hsi-hsia does not invade, build another fort, and use one as a walled town and the other as a garrison. To maintain a single fort would be prohibitively expensive, but with two forts, we could use the destitute natives in the area to make the outpost self-sustaining. Then a competent commander could be selected to oversee defense operations, and by treating the natives well, we could win them over.” This, then, had been Ho Liang’s final plan thirty years before.

  Hsing-te began, “The rulers at the time did not listen to Ho Liang, and chose guerrilla warfare. Because of their stupidity the frontier problem still remains unsolved. In reviewing the situation, I see regretfully that events have turned out just as Ho Liang predicted.” As he spoke in support of Ho Liang’s proposal, Hsing-te noted that his voice wavered with emotion. He heard chairs being knocked over, desks being pounded and angry, abusive voices seething around him, but he felt compelled to finish what he had started to say.

  “At the moment Hsi-hsia has conquered all the neighboring barbarians, is gaining strength, and is on the verge of becoming a great threat to the future of China. For this reason China has been forced to keep a huge army of eight hundred thousand troops in readiness, and their maintenance has become an enormous expense. The source of military mounts is also in enemy hands, and there is no way for us even to replenish our present supply.”

  Suddenly and violently, the curtains in front of the emperor’s dais were flung open. The next moment many men rushed toward Hsing-te. He tried to rise from his chair, but for some inexplicable reason his legs felt paralyzed. He could not move. Then he fell forward.

  Just then Hsing-te awoke from his dream to find that he had fallen face down on the ground. He hurriedly picked himself up, then looked around. The glaring sun beat down upon an almost empty courtyard. An official was watching him from one corner. Hsing-te brushed the dust from his hands and straightened his clothing. The inner courtyard, which had been brimming over with candidates until just a short while before, was now completely empty.

  “What happened to the examination?” Hsing-te asked as if murmuring to himself. The man merely frowned at him contemptuously and did not bother to reply. Hsing-te realized then that he had lost his chance to take the crucial examination by falling asleep. His name must have been called, but he had been too soundly asleep to hear.

  He walked to the gate and out into the quiet, unpeopled streets of the government district. He roamed from street to street as if in a trance. The examination at the palace… the banquet with high officials after passing it … the glory of wearing the white robes of high officialdom … being called Your Excellency … all, all this had been reduced to the ashes of a dream.

>   Unexpectedly, a four-line poem by Meng Chiao drifted into his mind.

  Elated by the spring breeze

  My horse quickens its pace.

  In but one short day

  Do I view all the peonies of Ch’ang-an.

  Meng Chiao had composed this in celebration of the official notice that he had passed the Palace Examination at the age of fifty.

  For Hsing-te there would be no peonies. Only the relentless summer sun enveloped him as he stood there crushed with despair. He would have to wait another three years before the next examination would be held. Hsing-te walked on and on. Only in walking could he dissipate his emotion. Before he was aware of it, he had entered the marketplace outside the walled city. As dusk approached, shabbily dressed men and women thronged the narrow road. Food shops lined both sides of the street. Shops selling boiled or fried chicken and duck stood in a row. The odors of burnt oil, sweat, and dust intermingled, and the air was heavy with strange smells. Smoked lamb and pork hung from the eaves of some shops. Hsing-te felt hungry. He had not eaten anything since breakfast.

  After crossing several roads he came upon a crowd of people. The narrow lane was full to begin with, but here it was completely blocked. He peered over their shoulders and looked beyond.

  He caught a glimpse of the bare legs of a woman lying on a thick board placed on a wooden box. Hsing-te pushed his way forward through the crowd. Looking over their shoulders, he could see the rest of the woman’s body. She was completely naked. At a glance Hsing-te could tell that she was not Chinese. Her skin was not very fair, but she possessed a certain voluptuousness which he had never seen before. In her face he could detect high cheekbones, a pointed chin, and rather deep-set, dark eyes.

  He pushed further forward. Standing beside the woman was a coarse-looking, half-naked man wielding a large knife and glaring savagely at the spectators.

  “Come now, which part do you want? Sale! Sale!” So saying, he leered at the crowd. Only then did people stir, but they could not take their eyes off this strange scene.

  “What’s come over you? I have never seen such a spineless bunch! Isn’t there anyone with enough guts to buy this?”

  The man shouted again, but no one answered. Just then Hsing-te stepped forward from the crowd and asked, “Tell me, what happened to this woman?” He was filled with curiosity and the words came out despite himself.

  The knife-wielding barbarian stared at Hsing-te and replied, “This woman is from Hsi-hsia. After sleeping with a man, she tried to kill his wife—the whore! I’m going to sell her piecemeal. If you like, I’ll give you any part—ears, nose, breasts, thighs—any part you want. The price is the same as pork.” He was not Chinese either. His eyes had a bluish tinge, and the hair on his chest shone gold. His tanned, fleshy shoulders were tattooed with strange, grotesque symbols.

  “Has the woman agreed to this butchering?” In response to Hsing-te’s question, the woman unexpectedly spoke up.

  “Yes, I have agreed.” Her words were rough, but her voice was high-pitched and penetrating. There was momentary confusion among the crowd when she spoke. Hsing-te couldn’t tell whether she had resigned herself to her fate or was just being contrary.

  “You miserable creatures! How long are you going to stand around like this? If you can’t afford to buy, then I’ll fix it so you can. How about a finger? A finger?”

  The next instant the man’s knife glittered. The sound of the knife hitting the board resounded and, simultaneously, a cry which was neither a scream nor a moan escaped from the woman’s throat. When he saw blood spurting, Hsing-te thought the woman’s arm, which she had raised toward her head, had been cut off. But her arm was intact. Two fingertips of her left hand had been severed. The spectators were aghast and involuntarily drew back, widening the circle around the woman.

  “All right, I’ll buy her.” Hsing-te called out before he could stop himself. “I’ll buy all of her.”

  “Do you really mean it?” The man wanted to be sure. As this conversation took place, the woman suddenly sat up, supporting herself on the board with her bloody hand. With flushed cheeks she faced Hsing-te and said, “I’m sorry, but we will not sell all. Please don’t misjudge the women of Hsihsia. If you want to buy me, buy me piecemeal.” Then she lay down again. At first Hsing-te could not grasp the meaning behind the woman’s words. Then, realizing that she had misunderstood his intentions, he reassured her. “Oh, I mean to buy you, all right, but I have no personal designs on you. After I buy you, you’re free to go wherever you like.”

  Hsing-te bargained with the man. Not much money was involved, and the two quickly agreed on a price. Hsing-te took out the sum asked by the man, and placing the coins on the board, ordered the woman to be freed.

  Grasping the money greedily, the barbarian turned toward the woman and berated her furiously in a strange tongue. Slowly she rose from the board. Hsing-te made his way through the circle of spectators, who stood there amazed at the turn of events. He left the scene and walked away. When he had gone about fifty feet, Hsing-te heard someone calling him and he looked back. The woman came running toward him. She was now dressed in the rough clothes of North China, and her left hand was bandaged. As she approached, she said, “I don’t want you to spend money without giving something in return. Please take this. It’s all I have.”

  So saying, she gave him a small piece of cloth. Her face was pale, no doubt from the loss of blood. Hsing-te unfolded the cloth and saw some strangely shaped symbols, resembling letters, written on it in three lines, ten symbols to a line.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “I can’t read it either, but I think it is probably my name and birthplace. We have to have this in order to enter Urgai. I have no further use for it, so I’ll give it to you.”

  “What is Urgai?”

  “You haven’t heard of Urgai? Urgai is Urgai. It means ‘Jewelled City’. It’s the capital of Hsi-hsia.” The woman’s dark, deep-set eyes glittered as she spoke.

  “And where is the barbarian from?” Hsing-te continued his questioning.

  “He’s a Uighur. Of all scoundrels, he is the worst.” With that, she left the cloth in Hsing-te’s hand and quickly vanished into the crowd.

  Hsing-te resumed walking. As he strode along, he realized that something had changed within him. He could not define the change, but somehow a part of his inner being had been completely altered. Hsing-te could not help thinking how ridiculous it had been for him to have been so unhappy about the Palace Examination just a short while before; in retrospect his despair over the lost chance seemed comical. The incident he had just witnessed was completely unrelated to academic learning or books. With his present limited knowledge, it was difficult for him to comprehend the meaning of that experience. And yet, what he had just seen and heard was of an intensity to shake him to the core of his being…in his way of thinking and in his outlook on life.

  What had that young Hsi-hsia woman been thinking as she lay on that board? Did death mean nothing to her? What had made her object to selling her whole body? Was it from modesty? He could not possibly understand the mind of a man who would try to sell a human being piecemeal and could brutally chop off the woman’s fingertips. And she had not even flinched! These strange thoughts caught Hsing-te’s imagination with an overpowering force and drew him irresistibly into their web.

  That night, after Hsing-te returned to his quarters, he reexamined the cloth, holding it up against the light. The few characters, only thirty in all, resembled Chinese, and yet they were different. He had never seen such ideographs before. So this was the writing of Hsi-hsia, the country that had produced that remarkable woman. This was the first inkling Hsing-te had had that the Hsi-hsia had their own writing system, used solely for communicating among themselves.

  As he toyed with the cloth fragment, Hsing-te recalled the head official in the examination hall. He had been an elderly man, in his sixties, and Hsing-te felt that he must have been a very important personage to ha
ve been chosen to head the examination board. Judging from some brief remarks Hsing-te had overheard, the official’s knowledge appeared to be prodigious. Hsing-te had seen the man many times at the examination hall, and although he was not personally acquainted with him, he thought that the official might be able to decipher the strange symbols for him.

  The next day, Hsing-te learned that the man he sought was the director of the Board of Procedures and went to see him. The shock he had received from missing the oral examination had strangely dissipated. On his third attempt, Hsing-te was allowed to see the director. He showed the elderly man the cloth and asked him to decipher the writing. The man stared at it with a surly expression and did not look up. Hsing-te explained how it had come into his hands. Only then did the director take his eyes off the cloth and remark, “No wonder I didn’t recognize the writing. I am familiar with Khitan and Uighur writing, but I was not aware that the Hsi-hsia had their own script. It must have been made up fairly recently. These letters are worthless imitations of our Chinese characters.”

  Hsing-te countered, “Regardless of their worth, isn’t it a great achievement for a people to have their own writing? If Hsi-hsia becomes a great power in the future, then all the books which come from the west will be rewritten in Hsi-hsia. Culture, too, which until now has merely passed through Hsi-hsia, will be kept within its borders.”

  The older man was silent for some time, and then remarked, “I don’t think we have much to be concerned about. It’s unlikely that Hsi-hsia will become very great.”

  “But isn’t having their own writing proof that Hsi-hsia has in fact become a nation to contend with?”