Читать книгу A Thousand Pieces of Gold: A Memoir of China’s Past Through its Proverbs - Adeline Mah Yen - Страница 10

YI ZI QIAN JING

FOR THE FIRST TEN YEARS of my life, my Aunt Baba and I shared a room. We knew in our hearts that we were both viewed with contempt by the rest of our family, even though we never dared verbalise this, not even to ourselves. I was the lowest of the low because I was a girl and the youngest of five stepchildren. In addition, everyone considered me to be a source of bad luck because my mother had died giving birth to me. My Aunt Baba was also despised because she was a spinster and financially dependent on my father.

Aunt Baba was always like a mother to me. After the death of my grandmother, we grew even closer. She paid the greatest attention to everything about me: my health, my appearance and my personality. Most of all, she cared about my education and checked my homework every evening. Whenever I got a good report card, she would lock it in her safe-deposit box and wear the key around her neck, as if my grades were so many precious jewels, impossible to replace.

In those days, I already loved to write. On the evenings when I had no homework, I used to scribble kung fu stories in a special notebook and would bring them to school the next morning. It thrilled me to show my stories to my giggling classmates and watch them pass my writing illicitly from desk to desk during class.

When she was in a good mood, Aunt Baba read them too. She would pour herself a cup of tea, put on her glasses and chuckle over my narratives. If she came across one she particularly liked, she would smile and say, ‘Yi zi qian jing!’ (one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold), meaning ‘a literary gem!’

It was only when I was doing research for this book that I learned the origin of this proverb. The phrase was first used in unique circumstances in 241 BC to describe a book of essays collected by the true father of the First Emperor of China — the wily and immensely rich merchant Lü Buwei.

In 251 BC, old King Zao of Qin finally passed away after a reign of fifty-six years. His son, Crown Prince An Guo, succeeded him as King of Qin. Princess Hua Yang became Queen and Prince Zi Chu was officially named as Crown Prince. By that time, the political climate had changed so much that when Prince Zi Chu requested the return of his wife and son, the King of Zhao obliged by sending them to Qin under official escort. King An Guo was already fifty-one years old and ruled for only one year before succumbing to illness and dying too.

An Guo’s son, Prince Zi Chu became King of Qin. Merchant Lü Buwei was ecstatic that his dream of investing in a future king of Qin had been fulfilled. Far from forgetting his mentor, Prince Zi Chu made the ex-merchant his Prime Minister. Queen Hua Yang, whom Zi Chu had come to treat as a mother, was named Queen Dowager. The former courtesan Zhao Ji was named Queen of Qin and her son Prince Zheng became Crown Prince and successor to the throne.

As his father had predicted, Merchant Lü became richer and more powerful than he had ever thought possible. His financial reward was certainly greater than that which he might have reaped from any other investment. Zi Chu addressed him as ‘Brother’, ennobled him as a marquis and allowed him to keep the revenues of 100,000 households in Luoyang in Henan province. It was recorded that Lü Buwei employed 10,000 servants and engaged them in handicrafts, industry and commerce, thus further increasing his wealth.

After Zi Chu’s death from illness only three years later, thirteen-year-old Prince Zheng ascended the throne. He made Merchant Lü his regent as well as his Prime Minister and honoured him by giving him the title of zhong fu or ‘second father’.

Merchant Lü’s authority over the affairs of state was absolute during King Zheng’s teenage years. He resumed his sexual relationship with his former concubine, the beautiful Zhao Ji (now the Queen Mother), but kept it a secret from their son, the boy King. For the next eight years, Lü Buwei was the de facto ruler of Qin.

Ashamed of his merchant background, he emulated the practice of the four most renowned and cultured kings of that era (those of Zhao, Chu, Qi and Wei), by opening his home to visiting scholars regardless of their family background or origin. At the height of his fame and power, Merchant Lü maintained a household of three thousand guest scholars. Among them was the scholar Li Si, who had recently emigrated from the state of Chu. Merchant Lü introduced Li Si to King Zheng who took an instant liking to the well-educated scholar.

Merchant Lü assembled the best articles written by the scholars under his roof and compiled them into a book of 26 chapters, comprising 160 essays and 200,000 words. According to Shiji, ‘He claimed it to be an encyclopaedia of current knowledge, encompassing all matters pertaining to Heaven, the earth, natural phenomena, the past and the present.’

He entitled it Spring and Autumn Annals of the House of Lü, and had the words carved in stone and the tablets displayed at the city gate of Xianyang. One thousand pieces of gold were suspended above the text along with a notice proclaiming that the sum would be awarded to anyone who could improve the literary value of his book by adding or deleting a single word. Naturally, no one dared risk the displeasure of someone as powerful as the Prime Minister by challenging his writing. Merchant Lü’s book is still in print. The phrase yi zi qian jin (one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold) has become a proverb, used nowadays to describe any literary work of exceptional merit.

During the eight years that he ruled the country, Merchant Lü successfully waged war and annexed various territories from Han, Wei and Zhao, thereby increasing the size, wealth and prestige of Qin.

As Zheng approached manhood, Merchant Lü became fearful that the boy King would discover his liaison with the Queen Mother. So he decided to distance himself and look for someone who would take his place in the bedroom. He searched about until he found a man named Lao Ai who had the reputation of being very well endowed, and made him his servant. Shiji tells us that in order to arouse the Queen Mother’s interest, Merchant Lü ordered Lao Ai to parade around with a cartwheel made of paulownia wood balanced on his phallus while sensual music was played. Hearing of this, the Queen Mother expressed a desire to meet the servant. To avoid a scandal, Merchant Lü disguised Lao Ai as a eunuch by plucking his beard and eye brows.^* He then gave Lao Ai to Queen Zhao Ji as a servant in her private apartments. Lao Ai got along so well with the Queen Mother that they secretly had two sons together. Queen Zhao Ji lavished gifts upon her lover and referred all decisions to him. Ennobled as a marquis, he was assigned lands, built palaces, designated parks and hunting areas, and employed several thousand male servants. Many men approached Lao Ai hoping to attain government office.

In 238 BC King Zheng reached the age of twenty-one and began to take the reins of government into his own hands. Meanwhile, the ex-servant Lao Ai was becoming increasingly boastful while the besotted Queen Mother continued to shower him with riches and titles. At a dinner party, a drunken Lao Ai was heard openly bragging about his influence over the Queen Mother and claiming to be the stepfather of the young King. His comments were duly reported back to His Majesty.

King Zheng now learnt that Lao Ai was not a eunuch at all but his mother’s lover. ‘Your mother has borne Lao Ai two sons who are being kept hidden,’ he was told. ‘As soon as Your Majesty passes on, they have agreed between themselves that one of their sons will succeed you.’

The King investigated and discovered that the lovers had been brought together by Merchant Lü. He was still uncovering evidence when he set off to the ancient capital of Yong to undergo the capping ceremony (equivalent to the coronation), and to perform ritual sacrifices to his ancestors. While he was away from Xianyang, Lao Ai made his move. He seized the Queen Mother’s seal without her permission, forged the King’s seal, mobilised the army in the outlying counties and ordered them to rebel in the name of the Queen Mother. Swiftly and resolutely, King Zheng commanded his officers to attack the rebels. At the sight of the army under the young King’s flag, Lao Ai’s troops laid down their arms and refused to fight. The few who remained loyal to Lao Ai fled for their lives along with their ringleader.

King Zheng placed a price of one million copper coins on Lao Ai’s head if taken alive, and half a million if dead. Lao Ai and his supporters were captured while fleeing. Twenty of his fellow plotters were beheaded and their heads exposed in the market-place, while Lao Ai was torn in two by carriages and his entire family were executed to the third degree. The young King also put to death the Queen Mother’s two young sons by Lao Ai.

The Queen Mother was at first banished into exile. Later, King Zheng brought her back to Xianyang on the advice of his ministers, who recommended that he should keep up the appearance of being a filial son. He built his mother a palace but placed her under house arrest until her death seventeen years later.

As for Merchant Lü, King Zheng never forgave him for his part in the plot against the throne. Although there was no evidence that the ex-merchant was directly involved in the rebellion, his power was such that he must have had some knowledge that he never shared with the King.

Shiji says, ‘The King wished to kill the Prime Minister, but because he had done much for the preceding ruler, and because his retainers and scholarly supporters were numerous, the King did not allow the law to be applied.’

Merchant Lü was relieved of his office and ordered to retire to his fief in Luoyang (Henan province). In no time at all, emissaries and ministers from the other six states were beating a path to Lü’s door. So many came that their carriages were never out of each other’s sight on the road to Luoyang. They asked Lü for advice, pumped him for information, inundated him with offers of high office and tempted him with fresh opportunities. King Zheng was not pleased when he heard this, but found himself in a dilemma. He distrusted Lü and could never use him again but feared that the ex-Prime Minister knew too much that might prove useful to someone else.

After due deliberation, the King penned Merchant Lü a personal letter in 235 BC. The tone of his letter was accusatory and cold: ‘What have you contributed to Qin lately? Yet you have retained your noble title and continue to receive the revenue from one hundred thousand households in the province of Henan. I order you and your family to move to Shu [presently Sichuan province but at that time a remote, farming area] immediately.’

On reading this, Lü knew that King Zheng would never forgive him. Fearful of involving the other members of his family (who would also be punished if he were given the death penalty to the third degree), but unable to reveal that he was the young King’s true father, the merchant took the only path that remained. One chilly autumn morning, he drank a cup of poisoned wine and committed suicide.

Sima Qian frequently wrote a commentary at the end of his biographical sketches. In the case of Merchant Lü, he wrote, ‘Confucius said, “Famous men often give the appearance of virtue but act very differently in practice.” This comment can be aptly applied to the life of Merchant Lü, can it not?’

Isn’t it fascinating, in the year AD 2002 to be reading the remarks of a historian living so many years earlier, making comments on the writing of Confucius who lived four hundred years before him? Besides putting things in perspective, it brings home the concept that writing is immortal.

Among ancient tombs discovered in Shuihudi, Hubei province, in AD 1975, was one coffin from the third century BC that differed from the rest. Besides the usual assortment of precious objects such as bronzes, gold, jade, silks, lacquered vessels and pottery, this tomb also contained a number of bamboo ‘books’ next to the skeleton. Over the centuries, the silk threads binding the books together had rotted away and the deceased was found covered by a tangle of over one thousand narrow bamboo slips. The writing on them was still clearly legible and these books ranged from legal texts to historical writings.

I find it very poignant that even during the Warring States period, there was already someone who refused to be parted from his beloved books, even by death. What was this man’s motivation? Rolled up like a pillow under his head was a separate bundle of bamboo slips that contained brief biographical notices of a man named Xi, probably the deceased. These notices were interspersed with a chronological table of yearly events in the state of Qin between 306–217 BC. Xi was born in 262 BC, worked as a bureaucrat in the Qin government, and died in 217 BC. At his death, Xi chose to make sense of his own life by recording his personal milestones in the context of Qin’s history. Apparently, history was his anchor as well as giving his life its meaning.

Approximately one hundred years after Xi, the Grand Historian Sima Qian, author of Shiji, also chose to safeguard his book by burying it in the ‘famous mountain archives’. Shiji was Sima’s attempt to bring order out of chaos to ‘all under Heaven’ by means of history.^* It became the most influential and widely read history book in China and continues to exert a profound impact on the cultural consciousness of the Chinese, having maintained its eminence for over 2000 years.

Since ancient times, it has been a Chinese tradition to revere zi (the written word). Erudition is still considered to be the epitome of virtue in China. As noted above, some ancient scholars refused to be parted from their books even at death, considering them to be their most precious possessions. Xi was not alone in choosing to be buried with his books. Well-known classics such as The Art of War, Book of Tao and The Analects of Confucius have been found in tombs dating from the Han dynasty onwards, written on silk or bamboo slips.

My grandfather told me that when he was a boy growing up in Shanghai, he saw many large red boxes placed at major street corners. Each had four gilded characters written on its surface: jing xi zi zhi (respect and cherish written words). Workmen with bamboo poles patrolled the streets picking up any stray pieces of paper that had been written upon and painstakingly placed them in the red container. The contents of these boxes were burnt at regular intervals at a special shrine in the Temple of Confucius. These paper-burning ceremonies were solemn occasions resembling High Mass in a Catholic cathedral, with music and incense. Candidates who had successfully passed the Imperial Examination were the only ones allowed to participate. They would prostrate themselves in worship and pray to Heaven until all the paper had been reduced to ashes. On their way out, they would further show their respect by placing a donation into a separate red box labelled yi zi qian jing (one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold).

^* After castration, eunuchs would lose their source of testosterone and typically became beardless.

^* To the people of the seven states, China was viewed as ‘the world’ or ‘all under Heaven’.