A Thousand Pieces of Gold

by Adeline Yen Mah

  Shiji mentions briefly that Xiang Yu sacked the First Emperor’s tomb. In another book written a few years later, Book of Han, it is recorded that a shepherd was searching for a lost sheep that entered a tunnel. The shepherd followed, carrying a torch to light his way. The pit caught fire, and its contents were burned, including many coffins.

  Nothing of what Xiang Yu saw or touched was left without damage. The people of Qin, picking through the rubble for their belongings after the fire finally died, were da shi suo wang, “greatly disappointed in their hopes.” However, since they feared Xiang Yu, they dared not protest or rebel.

  Having packed his booty and captured the city’s most beautiful women, Xiang Yu prepared to depart. A scholar named Han Sheng now approached to offer him advice.

  “The Land Within the Passes (Guanzhong), which used to be the state of Qin, is unique in its geographical location,” Han Sheng said. “It is surrounded by high mountains that are difficult to traverse. Its lofty terrain and narrow passes make the area easily defensible, while the land within is well irrigated year round and rich in productivity. You should consider making Xianyang your capital instead of returning to Chu. From Xianyang you can rule the rest of China.”

  Xiang Yu gazed out, but all he saw was the waste and destruction he himself had wrought. Knowing that he was unable to restore the city to its former pristine glory, he felt more homesick than ever and longed to return to Chu. He said to Han Sheng, “A man who conquers All Under Heaven and does not return home to enjoy his fame and fortune is like someone who yi jin ye xing, ‘dresses in the finest brocades and parades around in the dark of night.’ Who would know of his success?”

  Han Sheng was disappointed at Xiang Yu’s narrowness of vision. He said nothing but related their exchange to many of his acquaintances and added, “I don’t know what I was expecting when I met Xiang Yu but certainly not this! It has been said that the people of Chu are like mu hou er guan, ‘restless monkeys in tall hats’ or ‘worthless people dressed up as dignitaries.’ Sure enough, it’s true!”

  Someone reported Scholar Han Sheng’s remarks to Xiang Yu. The young warrior became incensed. Without further ado, he arrested the scholar and executed him.

  While clearing out my parents’ apartment after my stepmother’s death, I came across a letter to my father from one of his employees who had emigrated to San Francisco in the 1960s. The import-export firm he started in California was prospering, and by 1973 he had a fancy office and a staff of twenty employees. His sole regret, he wrote, was that his relatives and friends in Hong Kong (like my father) could not witness his success for themselves, with their own eyes. He ended the letter by quoting the proverb yi jin ye xing, “dressing in the finest brocades and parading around in the dark of night.”

  At this very moment, sitting in the study of our bright and sunny London flat surrounded by my computer and my books, I wish I could speak to my father and tell him of my writing career. I long to describe to him my early morning routine. What joy it gives me to get up at six and climb the steep steps to my study, turn on the kettle for my first cup of jasmine tea, and read over what I have written the night before! How beautiful and peaceful it is in my study, with the whole of London stretched out like a picture canvas at my feet! Sheer exhilaration comes over me when I have captured on paper what I never dared to express as a child. I feel indescribable delight at the sight of a newly completed manuscript and the knowledge that it will remain even after my life is over. I long to say to him, “Please forgive me for giving up medicine and becoming a full-time writer. I know it is not what you wanted, but it is what I’ve dreamed of doing since I was a child. This is the happiest time of my life. Please be proud of me.”

  Alas, this conversation will never take place. My father will never read any of my books or hear any of my talks about my writing. Without my father’s stamp of approval, am I also yi jin ye xing, “dressing myself in the finest brocades to parade in the dark of night”? Or is that merely a state of mind, somewhat akin to the endless search for our lao jia, “old family home,” and Xiang Yu’s lifelong yearning to return to his roots in Chu?

  Xiang Yu had Hang Sheng executed in one of the cruelest ways: by frying him to death in a cauldron of hot oil. At that time, the death penalty was carried out in seven ways, depending on the severity of the crime, and Hang Sheng’s punishment was the worst.

  Beheading.

  Being cut in two at the waist.

  Having holes chiselled in the head.

  Having ribs extracted.

  Being torn limb from limb (the head and four limbs were attached to five different horses or chariots. These were then forced to move in different directions at a given signal).

  Five punishments (consisting of branding the forehead or tattoing the face, cutting off the nose, ears, fingers, or feet, and death by flogging, followed by exposure of the corpse in the marketplace).

  Peng si: Being fried to death in hot oil or boiled to death in water.

  The First Emperor kept a boiling cauldron in his throne room, into which he threw those who dared to oppose him. He added four additional methods of carrying out the death penalty.

  Being buried alive.

  Being put to death by a thousand cuts, inch by inch.

  Execution of the entire family to the third degree (wife, concubines, siblings, parents, and children).

  Execution to the ninth degree or death of the entire clan (wife’s and siblings’ families, parents’ families, and children’s families).

  Apart from these various forms of death penalty, there were corporal punishments:

  Flogging by bamboo lash.

  Tattooing the face.

  Cutting off the nose.

  Amputating the feet or hands.

  Castration.

  Cutting off the ears.

  Chinese people perceive life as a temporary phenomenon and death as the great equalizer. Even the cruelest despots are eventually forgiven and forgotten when they die. After the death of the First Emperor, a ballad was composed that became very popular:

  The First Emperor will also die!

  He entered my door

  And sat on the floor

  He tasted my gravy

  And demanded more

  He drank my wine

  Without telling me why

  I’ll use my bow

  And pin him to the wall

  When he goes to Sand Hill

  He’ll pay the final bill.

  As for Xiang Yu, he simply viewed himself as the supreme ruler with the right to dispense death in the cruelest manner to whomever he wished. Having buried alive the surrendered Qin army, executed their king, ransacked their treasury, burned their palaces, raped their women, terrorized the population, and fried Han Sheng to death in hot oil, he now sent a messenger to the King of Chu. After bragging about his conquests, he hinted that the king should now give his blessing for Xiang Yu to do whatever he wished regarding the Land Within the Passes (Guanzhong). But His Majesty replied, “Let Guanzhong be ruled according to the Covenant we all agreed to a year ago.”

  Xiang Yu felt that the king had treated him unfairly the previous year by not allowing him to go west and storm the passes with Liu Bang. Instead, Xiang Yu had been sent north to relieve the siege of Julu and fight the main Qin army, a far more hazardous assignment. Consequently, he had no chance of reaping the benefit of the covenant, which fell to the hands of Liu Bang by default.

  So he said to the generals, “The King of Chu was merely a shepherd whom my Fourth Uncle and I rescued from obscurity. He neither fought nor achieved any merit of his own. Why should he be the one to make decisions? Men like us, who wore the armor, held the spear, and lived in the rough, are the real conquerors of Qin. We are the heroes and as such deserve to reward ourselves accordingly!”

  Feigning respect, Xiang Yu made the King of Chu an emperor and gave him the honorary title of Emperor Yi. In reality, he kept all the power himself and began issuing orders to the generals in
his own name only, without even pretending to legitimize them by adding the emperor’s name.

  Arbitrarily dividing the Qin empire according to his likes and dislikes, Xiang Yu first set himself up as King and Lord Protector of the state of Chu, seizing 25 percent of China as it existed at that time and ruling over nine provinces, with his capital at Pengcheng.

  He and Old Man Fan were both worried that Liu Bang might cause them trouble later if he ruled the Land Within the Passes, but they were also reluctant to go contrary to the covenant for fear of causing ill will among the other generals. So they plotted between themselves and said to each other, “The district of Bashu and Hanzhong (present-day Sichuan Province), to the southwest, is difficult to reach because road conditions are hazardous. The First Emperor used to banish his convicts there. Why don’t we make Liu Bang the ruler of that area and name him King of Han?”

  Liu Bang was therefore banished to an outlying area outside of central China, still considered wild and uncivilized at that time. To add insult to injury, Xiang Yu pared down the number of Liu Bang’s troops from 100,000 to only 30,000.

  When the First Emperor had ascended the throne as King of Qin, China had been divided into seven states. It took him twenty-five years to unify the country. Now Xiang Yu went backward and separated the empire into twenty different states, each with its own king.

  Besides seizing Chu for himself and banishing Liu Bang to Hanzhong and Bashu with the title of King of Han, Xiang Yu placed a barrier between himself and Liu Bang. He divided the Land Within the Passes into three different parcels and appointed three surrendered Qin generals as their three new kings, each ruling a third.

  In partitioning the country, Xiang Yu rewarded those who were sycophantic and obedient but punished those who were independent and strong-minded. Many of the old feudal families who had reasserted their ancient claims were resentful of his authority, considering him an upstart still wet behind the ears. Xiang Yu’s decisions were impulsive and emotional. It never occurred to him to consider the ramifications and long-term consequences of his ordinances. Carving up the empire like a giant water-melon, he handed out pieces of territory not on merit or ability to rule but according to his personal preferences. He never recognized until too late that he would be the one expected to enforce the boundaries between the new kingdoms, a thankless and never-ending task.

  Liu Bang wanted to be King of the Land Within the Passes and felt that Xiang Yu had gone contrary to the covenant. He was particularly incensed that Guanzhong had been awarded to three surrendered Qin generals against whom they had all fought for three long years. He called a meeting to discuss launching an attack against Xiang Yu. But his chief administrator, Xiao He, said, “Although being the King of Han is not as desirable as being the King of Guanzhong, surely you prefer that to dying?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Liu Bang angrily demanded.

  “At present, we cannot match Xiang Yu either in manpower or in military equipment. If we attack him we’re bound to lose. Would that not be tantamount to seeking your own death? Why not simply accept our allotment and make Bashu and Hanzhong our base—train our troops, husband our resources, and await our opportunity? You can be sure that we are not the only ones who are unhappy. When the time is ripe we will mount a full-scale attack, reclaim Guanzhong, and take over the rest of the empire.”

  On reflection, Liu Bang knew that Xiao He was correct. He decided to say nothing and abide by Xiang Yu’s ruling for the time being.

  In May 206 B.C.E. Xiang Yu made a formal announcement that warfare was over and discharged all the nobles. Each went to his own kingdom. Even though Liu Bang was given only 30,000 soldiers, such was his popularity that tens of thousands of people voluntarily followed him. The strategist Zhang Liang accompanied him halfway to see him off before returning to his own home state of Haan.

  Between Guanzhong and Liu Bang’s allotted land of Hanzhong and Bashu were a series of precipitous mountain ranges that were hazardous to cross. From north to south they stretched for 150 miles and from east to west for 300 miles. The people of Qin had risked their lives to build two roads linking Guanzhong and Hanzhong. These were known as “cloud bridges” or zhan dao, literally meaning “plank road built along the face of a cliff.” When using these bridges hanging among clouds and suspended over chasms thousands of feet deep, travelers had to take extreme caution not to lose their footing or risk falling into plunging ravines and raging waterfalls below.

  Of the two roads, the first, called Baoxiedao, “Commending the Tilt Road,” was shorter and more direct. The second, called Chengcang or Gudao, “Former Road,” was longer but less precipitous. Over the years, because most people chose to use the shorter road, the existence of the neglected Former Road was forgotten.

  Studying the terrain as they inched along the cliff-hanging planks on each other’s heels, Zhang Liang said to Liu Bang, “The reason Xiang Yu is banishing you to Hanzhong is to isolate you so that you will not cause him problems. Why don’t you play along and lull his suspicions by burning some of these plank roads? That will not only prevent would-be attackers from entering your kingdom but also send a clear message to Xiang Yu that you have no intention of returning east and competing with him. Besides, only the locals are aware that there are two roads between Hanzhong and Guanzhong.”

  Liu Bang thought it an excellent idea. Just before they parted, Zhang Liang added with a smile, “Be sure to burn only those portions of the road that are easily reparable!”

  Liu Bang and Zhang Liang made sure that news of the road burning traveled all over the empire, especially to the ears of Xiang Yu.

  In his new kingdom of Han, Liu Bang and his chief assistant, Xiao He, pored over the maps, policies, records, and files that they had procured from the First Emperor’s palaces in Xianyang. Through them they learned about the terrain of the empire, the people’s grievances, distribution of the population, and the water supply and grain productivity of various regions.

  Many of Liu Bang’s followers were from provinces east of the pass and had expected to return home after a short stay in Han. They were greatly disappointed to see Liu Bang burning the cliff roads and giving the impression of settling down in Han for good. The officers and soldiers sang songs of their native states and spoke of returning east to their lao jia. Some simply left and went home.

  Administrator Xiao He also had run away, leaving Liu Bang feeling bereft, since the two had grown up together in the same village. But after two days Administrator Xiao He returned as suddenly as he had disappeared. Liu Bang was both overjoyed and annoyed, and he scolded him upon his return.

  “I did not run away, Your Majesty,” Xiao He protested. “I went in search of someone who ran away and persuaded him to come back to us—Hahn Xin, the keeper of the granary.”

  Liu Bang was incredulous. “What? Hahn Xin!” he shouted angrily. “So many officers have run away, and you go after a mere keeper of the granary! What’s so special about him?”

  “I am very impressed by him. I have had several occasions to speak to him in depth, and I say to you that his talents are extraordinary and unique. Guo shi wu shuang! ‘There is no other officer like him in our entire country!’ If Your Majesty is satisfied with being King of Han, then you do not need him. However, if your ambition is to control the empire one day, there is nobody else who can plan better than Hahn Xin.”

  Becoming curious, Liu Bang asked, “Tell me about him. What is his background?”

  “He was born in Chu and came from a poor family. Though an intellectual, he could not make a living and was reduced to living off his friends. To satisfy his hunger, he went fishing by the river. There were several old women washing and rinsing clothes. One of them took pity on the hungry young man and fed him lunch. This went on for a few months, and the old woman brought him food every day. Hahn Xin was grateful and said to her, ‘Should I become rich someday, I’ll reward you very handsomely. Thank you for your piao mu zhi en, “kindness from a washerwoman.”
’

  “But the old lady said, ‘You are obviously an educated young man temporarily down on your luck and unable to zi shi qi li, “feed yourself by your own effort.” I help you because I feel sorry for you. Who needs to be rewarded?’

  “No matter how poor he was, Hahn Xin always wore his sword on his belt. This annoyed some youths around town. One day a butcher’s son accosted him and said, ‘Even though you are tall and well built and wear a sword, actually I think you are a coward at heart.’ They were soon surrounded by a crowd, and the youth said, ‘Hahn Xin, if you are really brave, draw your sword and kill me. But if you don’t dare to kill me, then crawl between my legs under me.’

  “Hahn Xin looked around at the jeering crowd, then he calmly lowered his body and crawled between the young man’s legs. Everyone sneered, but Hahn Xin knew that he had passed a test of supreme courage by undergoing kua xia zhi ru, ‘insults from under the hips,’ and voluntarily enduring the worst kind of humiliation.”

  Throughout my dismal childhood, my siblings discriminated against me. Being the youngest of five stepchildren, I was considered the lowest of the low. When treats were handed out, the two children of my stepmother were always given first choice, followed in order of birth by my four older siblings. My turn invariably came last. Not infrequently, my oldest sister and second older brother would help themselves to whatever they fancied from my plate when no adult was around. I learned from an early age that protests and tears got me nothing but beatings. The best defense was to study hard and get as good a report card as I could because that was the way to my father’s heart.