Secrets of the Terra-Cotta Soldier

by Ying Chang Compestine

  Ming thought that some other time he should tell Shí that Li Si had been killed by his political adversary soon after the Emperor’s death, and how, shortly after that, a peasants’ uprising had overthrown the dynasty.

  Ming opened the desk drawer and fished out a flashlight. “All right, let’s go! I know a back road out of the village.” As he grabbed his jacket, he remembered the stories he had heard at the teahouse. “Are there really traps in the tomb?” he asked.

  “Of course!”

  “How will we get past them?”

  “If you follow my instructions, I can get you through. My only fear is General Wang.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Hurry!”

  13

  CHENGFU BATTLE

  A THICK LAYER OF SNOW NOW CARPETED THE village, blanketing the signs of early spring. The vast white landscape resembled unpainted white silk, colorless and vague. The moon and stars cast stark, cold light over Red Star.

  Ming led the way. As if they were crossing a frozen lake, he and Shí trod carefully along the road, stopping with calculated abruptness and turning quickly to make sure they weren’t being followed. They hugged the walls, pausing every now and then in the shadows between houses to listen. But the only sound was the low crackling of stoves warming the houses. Dark coal smoke rose from rooftops into the clear sky.

  The road took them to the edge of an open field. Ming breathed deeply and savored the feel of cold air on his bruised face.

  “That’s the way to Li Mountain,” he whispered, pointing at a narrow path branching off the main road and leading up the mountain.

  Shí set off, taking huge strides like a prowling tiger. Ming picked his way around the jutting stones of the steep path, panting as he tried to keep up.

  Contemporary view of Li Mountain in summer.

  Shí stopped abruptly. “Are you sure this is right? I remember Li Mountain being a lot taller.”

  Ming shrugged. “Bā ba said that after the government gave the order to chop down the trees on the mountain to build houses in the cities, nothing was left to stop the soil from being swept away by the wind and rain. It’s turned the Wei River brown.” As he turned to point to the river below, he slipped on a wet stone.

  “Be careful!” Shí caught Ming’s arm. “Here, let me carry you.”

  Ming shrugged off Shí’s grasp, blushing. “I’m fine. I just need to watch where I step!”

  Shí got down on one knee. “Come on, Ming. I can’t find the entrance if you break your neck.”

  Reluctantly, Ming climbed onto Shí’s back. He wrapped his arms around Shí’s broad shoulders, the way he used to with his bā ba.

  Shí stood up slowly, supporting Ming’s legs with his arms.

  Like tea leaves in hot water, memories unfurled before Ming. When he was young, his bā ba had carried him around Xi’an on his back, telling him stories of ancient times.

  “We must find two large boulders leaning against each other on the west side of the mountain,” said Shí.

  “Oh, you mean the Camel’s Humps. That’s where my class went to hunt birds.” Ming grimaced at the memory. “Keep going straight.” He pointed ahead. “Now can you tell me about General Wang?”

  “Ah, the One-Armed General!”

  “How did he lose his arm?”

  “He cut it off himself!”

  “What?”

  “For it to make sense, I have to tell you about the battle. Remember how I told you that China was divided into seven states before Emperor Qin?”

  “Yes. And he conquered them all!” Ming answered.

  “That’s correct! The Emperor was a brilliant commander. He spent years studying Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. However, even the Emperor made mistakes, and none worse than when he launched an attack against the state of Chu.”

  “I’ve heard of Chengfu Battle!” Ming waved one of his arms excitedly. “The old men at the teahouse love to talk about it! Emperor Qin was expecting a quick victory, but his army fell into a trap!”

  “That’s right. Back then, General Wang was only a lowly lieutenant in the shock troops—the infantrymen who led attacks against the enemy. At that particular battle, the commanding officer ordered the army into the awl, zhuī zi, 锥子, a formation shaped like a needle. The shock troops, led by Lieutenant Wang at the tip, would punch through the enemy. Archers behind would shoot to the rear of the enemy ranks, while cavalry charged to break up their defenses.

  “The men in the shock troop were famous for fighting fiercely—like cornered tigers. They were the largest and strongest men in the Qin army. It was rumored that some had studied jiao li under the Emperor’s wrestling masters.”

  “What’s jiao li?”

  “Do you know about martial arts?”

  “Like kung fu?” Ming punched his fist in the air to demonstrate.

  “It’s similar.” Shí bounced Ming up on his back.

  “The shock troops were handpicked for their strength and aggression. They fought with great courage and determination and were well rewarded for their bravery. A poor peasant could gain land, fame, and fortune, all in a single battle.”

  These days, Ming thought bitterly, you didn’t need strength or courage. To live well, you just needed to be from the working class and join the Communist Party. Some days he wished his bā ba was a farmer or factory worker.

  To everyone’s surprise, the Emperor’s army met only light resistance as it marched toward the city of Chengfu. A random volley of arrows here and there, or a quick attack from small forces of skirmishers who then retreated. As they approached the narrow canyon leading to the city gates, soldiers were joking that the enemy was busy preparing a banquet welcoming the Qin army.

  When the last of the archers had entered the canyon, a whistling suddenly filled the air, and the sparrows scattered from the trees. As enemy arrows rained down, the shock troops whipped their shields over their heads, creating a turtle-shaped defensive formation. When the onslaught stopped, dead birds and arrows were pinned to their shields, sticking out like porcupine needles.

  Ming thought about the old men at the teahouse munching on peanuts while criticizing the Emperor’s strategies, as if they were all great military analysts. Sometimes their intense arguments almost reached the point of a fistfight, but none of their stories were as vivid and exciting as what Shí was describing to him now.

  Just as the infantry emerged from under their shields, a rushing sound filled the canyon. The soldiers looked around in confusion before realizing that huge cauldrons of burning oil were racing down the steep cliffs. As the scalding waves engulfed the Qin forces, the shrieking of dying horses drowned out the terrified screams of the soldiers. Half of Lieutenant Wang’s men were on the ground, some drowning facedown in puddles of black, steaming oil.

  Knowing that another attack would wipe out the rest of his squad, Lieutenant Wang led his men on a charge toward Chengfu. “Follow me!” he cried. “Long live Emperor Qin!”

  As they approached the city gates, the doors were thrown open. Chu cavalry burst out and surrounded them.

  The mountain path ended at a crossroads. Shí paused, and Ming flicked on the flashlight. Shí raised his eyebrows at the circle of light.

  “Oh! A small lantern. Another new invention!”

  “Well, sort of. Turn left here.”

  Shí turned onto an even steeper path.

  A thick mist hung above the treetops, softening the moonlight to a dim yellow glow. Bare tree branches brushed Ming’s shoulders. Occasionally, a cry and caw broke the stillness as ravens made themselves heard.

  “So, what happened to General Wang?” Ming asked.

  Realizing that his troops would never stand a chance cowering together like frightened sheep, General Wang called out, “For Emperor Qin!”

  Like a man possessed, he led his squad charging directly into the enemy cavalry, hacking wildly. The soldier beside him took a spear in the face, leaving Wang’s flank exposed. A lar
ge horseman rode up and swung his sword in a long arc, cutting deeply into Wang’s left arm, leaving it dangling by only a thin strip of flesh and tendon.

  After the battle, the tale quickly spread that Wang, without hesitation, had thrown himself to the ground to avoid the horseman’s second swing. Gritting his teeth, he severed his own arm. To stop the bleeding, he pressed a handful of dirt onto the stump.

  Flinching, Ming remembered roaring in agony after slicing open a finger while cleaning a broken clay bowl. The throbbing pain from the small wound had lasted for days.

  The horseman, who had wheeled around to finish the lieutenant off, faltered in disbelief. Screaming like an enraged hawk, Wang picked up his sword with his remaining hand, leaped up, and slashed his attacker’s thigh to the bone. The rider fell to the ground and was crushed beneath the hooves of his own horse.

  At this point, most men would have fainted from blood loss or shock, but Lieutenant Wang fought on. Inspired by his bravery, his men broke free and retreated through the canyon back to Xi’anyang.

  When the story reached Emperor Qin, he promoted Wang to general. Later that year, General Wang returned with an army of six hundred thousand men and conquered Chu.

  Ming had heard many stories of revolutionary heroes, but none were this exciting. He wondered: If General Wang were still alive, would Chairman Mao make him a national hero?

  “Every Qin soldier knew that the One-Armed General’s actions earned the Emperor’s army a fearless reputation.”

  “Wow! Did you fight under General Wang to conquer Chu?”

  “No. By the time I joined, China was already unified. However, I fought my last battle under his command.”

  “Your last battle? What happened?”

  “We are here,” Shí grunted. The soldier abruptly loosened his grip. Ming tumbled off, landing unsteadily on the rough ground.

  “Ouch!”

  14

  JOURNEY TO THE TOMB

  THE MIST PARTED, ALLOWING THE MOON TO illuminate the valley. Ming looked at what the villagers called the Camel’s Humps—two enormous boulders shaped like large haystacks, propped against each other below the mountain’s peak.

  Ming had been here before but never suspected that there could be a secret entrance. “Where is it?”

  Shí ignored Ming’s question. He dropped to his knees in front of where the boulders met and separated the bushes. “Someone has broken in!” he exclaimed. “The entrance should be sealed!”

  “Huh? Where?” Ming hurried over and saw an opening the size of a wheelbarrow between the two boulders. He didn’t remember seeing it on his class trip. He shone the flashlight into the hole.

  “Did someone beat us here?” Shí lowered his voice. “Now, stay alert and follow me!” With that, he turned and crawled inside.

  Ming followed tentatively on his hands and knees. The ground was damp and soft. Once inside, he stood and shone the flashlight around. The still air reeked of decay and mold.

  They were in a cave about the size of his family’s courtyard. Moss hung from the ceiling, and moonlight filtered through a small hole high above them. In a far corner was a stone door, half hidden behind thick vegetation. Ming took a tentative step—and immediately tripped on something.

  “Aī yo!” he yelped. Shining his flashlight around, he saw that he had stepped on an oil lamp. He looked at Shí. “How’d that get here?”

  Shí picked it up. “It must belong to whoever left the entrance open. There is oil still in it. Can you light it?”

  Cradling the flashlight between his neck and shoulder, Ming fished out the box of matches from his jacket. He opened the glass shutter and deftly lit the lamp’s wick. Shí placed it in the center of the cave. Ming stuffed the flashlight into his breast pocket.

  “Whoa …” Ming stared at the stone door. It was intricately carved with a dragon, lóng, 龙, and phoenix, fèng, 凤 . A glint caught his gaze. “Is that … is that jade?”

  In the center of the door, a green ball the size of his fist was resting in the jaws of the menacing dragon. The ball had a hint of red at its core.

  “Yes,” Shí answered proudly.

  Ming moved closer. The ball glowed with a dreamy pinkish green light. He reached for it.

  Shí suddenly pushed him on the shoulder, shoving him out of the way. Startled, Ming fell to the ground. He yelped as his knee cracked against something hard. Grimacing, he saw that he had landed on a small bronze frog, one of three that were nesting among the moss.

  “Are you always so careless?” Shí huffed. “Did you not see the dragon’s eyes?”

  Ming looked up. “What? I see … cobwebs in its hollow eyes.”

  “There are more than cobwebs there, my young friend. If you touch that jade ball, Emperor Qin will welcome you with arrows.”

  “Yeah—as if they’re still going to work after thousands of years.” Ming let out a nervous laugh. He stood up, brushing a few dead leaves off his pants.

  Shí gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Why don’t you ask him? I think that’s where your lamp came from.”

  Ming looked where Shí was pointing. With a moan, he sank back down to the floor. Fear rippled down his spine. Opposite the door and leaning against the wall was the shriveled corpse of a man wrapped in a Mao-style jacket. Some frozen flesh still hung from his frame. Two thin, long arrows protruded from the shrunken sockets where his eyes had once been. His mouth was wide open, as if he were still amazed by the beauty of the jade ball. His tongue protruded obscenely, like a twisted slug.

  Shí gripped Ming’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “Those arrows were his reward!”

  Ming shivered when he saw a tattered purple patch on the elbow of the dead man’s jacket. He had seen it before. The jacket belonged to the fourth Gee brother—the one who had gone missing a few months ago. That purple patch had become famous in the village after the Political Officer had criticized him for the gaudy, bourgeois color. The man had refused to take it off because his wife had sewn it on before dying in childbirth.

  Shí was now kneeling in front of the stone door, arms outstretched, hands placed on the two outer frogs. His head rested on the center one, the one Ming had tripped over.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Anyone who wishes to enter the Emperor’s tomb must show the proper respect.” Shí sat back on his heels, staring intently at the middle frog.

  Ming was stunned when Shí suddenly grabbed its head and twisted. With a faint click, the head came off.

  The stone door began to swing inward. The low, metallic screech of the ancient hinges made the roots of Ming’s teeth ache. He stepped aside, worried that arrows might shoot at him or a squad of terra-cotta soldiers might dash out to crush him.

  A faint breeze stirred, and the delicate aroma of sandalwood, incense, and herbal medicine caressed him like warm water.

  “Ah! It worked!” Shí exclaimed. “Just as my brothers who maintain the door told me!” He examined the walnut-size frog’s head in his rough palm. “This was the key for Li Si to enter the tomb.” He rose to his feet, gently cupping the frog’s head in both hands.

  Ming stuffed the flashlight into his pocket, picked up the oil lamp, and followed Shí down a narrow stone tunnel. His shirt clung wetly to his back, and his breath came in short gasps.

  Behind them, the door closed with a low rumble. Red lanterns above immediately flared to life.

  “Whoa!” Ming jumped in surprise and dropped the lamp. He shielded his eyes from the unexpected light. “Did we just set off the alarm?” Frightening stories from the teahouse flashed through his mind.

  Shí picked up the lamp and set it against the wall. “No, don’t worry. To save whale oil, these lanterns are lit only when someone enters. They were meant for the court officials who never came.”

  Ming looked around eagerly as they walked down the tunnel. The walls were carved with extravagant scenes and landscapes: mountains, rivers, and heavenly clouds, and bridges and roads that looped
through tree-filled parks. People were flying colorful kites and boating across lakes. Every scene was vividly colored, highlighted in red, gold, and silver.

  The tunnel led them to a garden larger than Ming’s school yard. White half circles of stone paved the ground. Shí stopped next to a large pond in the center of the garden. With a flourish, he swept his hand around. “Welcome to the mausoleum of Emperor Qin!”

  The red lanterns gave off a soft glow tinged with a touch of yellow, like moonlight. A giant bas-relief portrait spanned the full length of the wall beyond the pond. A stern-looking man in a golden robe stood atop a mountain, encircled by a continuous array of dragons and phoenixes.

  The ornate gold ceiling was carved with the figures of peacocks—the symbol of authority, intelligence, and virtue—and phoenixes—the symbol of beauty and femininity. They were arranged in a pattern around the Ball of Harmony—a symbol of unity and infinity.

  Ming’s eyes were hungry for every detail. After years of hearing tales and daydreaming about the tomb’s splendor and magnificence, he was now able to see it and compare myth with reality. His heart danced with joy, but at the same time he felt a pang of sadness. How he wished his bā ba were there with him!

  He couldn’t help but reach out and brush his hands lightly over the green lotus leaves, which were covered with networks of tender veins. They floated in the pond among pink flowers and goldfish with colorful scales sparkling with silver and gold. Upon closer inspection, he realized the silk leaves were thicker and less glossy than the real ones in the village pond. He reached down and felt the cool porcelain scales of the fish.

  Shí pushed aside overlapping lotus leaves. “Help me find the headless frog.”

  Ming searched among the leaves and flowers. He saw bronze frogs in various poses hidden among the plants. One was in mid-leap, supported by a thin metal rod as it hopped over to a nearby pink petal. Another, beneath a large leaf against the bank of the pond, had its short front legs lifted into the air, showing the intricate webbing between its toes, as if it were trying to hop. It had no head.