Three days later Zhao Gao arrested the mother of his son-in-law Yan Yue and kept her under house arrest in his quarters. Holding her hostage, he ordered Yan Yue to lead one thousand troops to the gate of Wangyi Palace.
On arrival, Yan Yue killed the commander of the imperial guards and took charge with his own troops. He and a few chosen men walked into the palace, shooting arrows and brandishing their swords as they went. The astonished eunuchs and women within the palace were paralyzed with fear. Those who put up a fight were killed. Altogether, they murdered thirty to forty people.
Yan Yue entered the emperor’s private quarters, kicked open the door, and confronted the Second Emperor. He told the bewildered monarch that rebel forces from the east had arrived in great numbers and then scolded him, saying, “You are arrogant and killed many of your subjects without cause. The whole empire hates you. You should decide for yourself how to handle this.”
The Second Emperor said, “Please let me see the prime minister.”
“Impossible!” Yan Yue replied.
“Then let me be the king of just one province.”
“No!”
“How about allowing me to become a marquis of ten thousand households?”
“You obviously haven’t the slightest idea of the position you are in!” Yan Yue said contemptuously, brandishing his sword.
“Let me then become one of the ordinary people along with my wife and children, but please treat me the same as the other princes,” the emperor begged.
“You don’t seem to understand,” Yan Yue said. “I have my orders from the prime minister to punish you for the crimes you have committed against the empire. I have no authority to negotiate with you.”
As his men pressed forward, Yan Yue handed the hapless monarch a short dagger and left the room. Coerced from all sides, the Second Emperor slit his own throat.
On hearing of the emperor’s death, Zhao Gao hurried over to the Wangyi Palace, took the imperial seals, and hung them on his belt, intending to mount the throne. However, despite their fear, none of the officials would obey him. When he came into the throne room, they looked at him in silence.
Realizing that he faced a palace revolt should he insist on naming himself emperor, Zhao Gao relented and called a meeting. He summoned all the princes and major ministers and said, “I have punished the Second Emperor on behalf of the empire, and he has committed suicide. However, during the time of his rule, the six former states have all declared their independence. Since Qin’s territory has diminished greatly and continues to diminish, there is no point in anyone assuming the empty title of emperor. I propose that Prince Zi Ying be set up as King of Qin. Prince Zi Ying is kind and honest, and the people will respect him.”
Prince Zi Ying, who was the First Emperor’s brother, was considerably older than the Second Emperor. He must have been a man of courage and integrity because Shiji relates,
Prince Zi Ying came forward during the early days of the Second Emperor’s rule and protested the impeachment of Meng Tian and Meng Yi.
Zhao Gao buried the Second Emperor according to the rites appropriate for a commoner. He then ordered Zi Ying to fast for five days in his palace before presenting himself at the royal family’s ancestral temple to receive the seal of office.
Prince Zi Ying distrusted Zhao Gao. After fasting for five days, he said to his two sons, “I have heard from reliable sources that Zhao Gao has been communicating secretly with Liu Bang, the commander of one of the two major rebel armies. I suspect that he intends to strike a deal with Liu Bang to make him the king instead. Now he wants me to appear at the ancestral temple. I think he intends to kill me there. If I claim illness and refuse to go, he’ll probably come here to try to persuade me. When he does, you must help me kill him.”
Sure enough, Zhao Gao sent word to Prince Zi Ying several times to go to the temple, but the prince remained in the palace. Finally, Zhao Gao appeared in person. Prince Zi Ying called for his men, and they stabbed and killed Zhao Gao. He then ordered the execution of Zhao Gao’s three sets of relatives as a warning to the people of Xianyang.
Forty-six days after Prince Zi Ying became the King of Qin, the rebel leader Liu Bang, a commoner who had risen from obscurity, was the first to approach Xianyang with his troops. He sent messengers to Zi Ying to persuade him to surrender. Zi Ying tied a silken cord around his neck to indicate his submission (to this day in the Beijing Opera a cord around the neck signifies a prisoner), rode in a plain chariot drawn by four white horses to signify mourning, handed over the seal of office and tiger tallies, and abjectly surrendered to Liu Bang by the side of the road.
The dynasty founded by the First Qin Emperor in 221 B.C.E. was supposed to last for ten thousand generations. In reality, it survived his death by three years and lasted for a total of only fifteen years, coming to an end in 206 B.C.E.
Following the biographies of the First and Second Emperors, the historian Sima Qian wrote in Shiji:
There is a proverb that says, qian shi bu wang, hou shi zhi shi, “use incidents from the past as lessons for the future.” A wise ruler carefully observes the past, and analyzes the reasons for each reign’s rise and decline, in order to underscore the correct way of governing.
Depending on prevailing conditions, adjustments should be made in establishing appropriate policies. If followed, this will lead to long-lasting peace and stability.
Throughout my career as a physician, I have observed many instances of zhi lu wei ma, “pointing to a deer and calling it a horse.” In boardrooms and at committee meetings, it was not uncommon to observe cowardly physicians cravenly going along with the demands of powerful executives from health maintenance organizations. Once in the operating theater, I saw a pathologist change his diagnosis in order to assuage the ego of a megalomaniacal surgeon.
It is strange but true that people who start off an enterprise with a lie are invariably forced to resort to bigger lies to safeguard their venture. There are also other far-reaching consequences. In killing off Meng Tian, not only did the Second Emperor lose his best general, he also lost the trust of his other generals. In the end, there was no one capable or willing to defend him.
By going along with Zhao Gao, Li Si placed himself in the hands of a Chinese Iago. More significantly, his own deviousness eventually made him loathe himself. Nominally he was still the prime minister, but he and his coconspirators knew what he really was. Although he tried to guide the young ruler to the best of his ability, the Second Emperor viewed Li Si with such contempt toward the end that he would not even see him. Bound to the other two inextricably and forever by his crime, Li Si found his life doomed from that moment on, and he died a sad and broken man.
CHAPTER 10
Little Sparrow with Dreams of Swans
Yan Que Yong You Hong Hu Zhi
During my years at a Catholic boarding school in Hong Kong, when I was between the ages of eleven and fourteen, no one ever came to visit me and I was not allowed to go home at Christmas or summer holidays. Often I was the only student left behind in the convent, incarcerated like a prisoner and wandering listlessly between the empty refectory and silent school library. The place was like a tomb. The nuns did not know what to do with me. Day after day there was no one to play with and nothing to do.
Aimlessly flipping through magazines at the library one morning, I stumbled upon an advertisement in an English journal announcing a playwriting competition. It was open to all English-speaking students between the ages of ten and nineteen. I was sorely tempted to send in a request for an entry form.
But I did not do so. A part of me thought it presumptuous that I would dare to think of competing against native English speakers. Although I had entered and won a few writing competitions under the tutelage of my primary school teachers back in Shanghai, they were all in Chinese. I thought that my knowledge of English was too elementary and that I had no chance of success.
A few days later I developed pneumonia and was admitted to hospital
. After I was released, my stepmother allowed me to go home for a week to recuperate. Because our apartment was small, I was told to sleep on a cot in my grandfather’s room.
Neither of us knew it then, but that would be the last time I saw my grandfather. He died a few months later. Perhaps he had a premonition that his days were numbered, because he made a deliberate attempt to boost my morale.
“Be smart!” he told me. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Study hard and be independent. Everything is possible! Don’t be married off like your big sister, Lydia. The world is changing. You must rely on yourself. Regardless of what else people may steal from you, they will never be able to take away your knowledge. I have faith in you. Go out there and dare to compete in the most difficult examinations. Create your own destiny. No matter what happens, always remember that my hopes are with you. One day you’ll show the world what you are really capable of.”
At the end of my week at home, just before Father’s chauffeur drove me back to school, Grandfather gave me a large envelope. Impatient to see what was inside, I opened it in the car. I found a rectangular sheet of paper with the proverb yan que yong you hong hu zhi, “little sparrow with dreams of swans,” beautifully scripted in Ye Ye’s distinctive calligraphy. It turned out to be his final farewell present.
Heartened and encouraged, I wrote to the address listed in the English journal on my return to school and entered the competition, dedicating the play to my grandfather. Ye Ye died in March the following year, just three months before I won first prize. This unexpected triumph changed my life because it convinced my father to send me to university in England. More significantly, I began to believe from then on that everything was possible if I tried hard enough.
The belief that all men (women were thought to be second class in those times) are born equal originated in the teachings of Confucius (551–479 B.C.E.). Previous to his time, the king was considered to be the Son of Heaven by virtue of his lineage. He and his relatives were known as jun zi, “aristocratic gentlemen,” who possessed the exclusive right to rule by virtue of their noble birth. A man who was not of noble birth could never hope to become a jun zi, no matter how talented or virtuous.
Confucius came up with the revolutionary notion that any man could become a jun zi regardless of his heritage, provided his conduct justified it. No man was to be considered a jun zi on birthright alone; this honor could be earned only by his behavior and character. Contrary to traditional feudal beliefs, Confucius taught that the right to rule depended not on blood but upon ability, conduct, and education. In short, any man could properly occupy the throne, provided he was virtuous and just. Rulers were supposed to hold their power only in trust, subject to revocation by Heaven if they did not use it wisely.
It is impossible to overestimate the impact of these Confucian ideas on the history of China. From then on, it became feasible for any man to claim that he had just been given the mandate to rule from Heaven. A few of these claimants happened to possess talent or virtue and eventually did metamorphose into founders of successful dynasties. Unfortunately, many more evolved into unscrupulous leaders of religious cults or power-hungry warlords, all the while making preposterous assertions to attract a following. It was often difficult to distinguish between the two, especially in the early stages.
The leader, often from a humble background, would allege that he was endowed by Heaven with special powers to cure disease, perform miracles, and protect his followers from harm. Viewed with hindsight, these declarations can easily be perceived as ridiculous or even laughable. But when conditions are ripe for change and the man is charismatic, he may become just the spark necessary to ignite the whole country into revolt.
This was what happened one year after the death of the First Emperor. As Sima Qian wrote in Shiji,
In times of turmoil, there often arose many people who were adept at performing magic tricks, deceitful swindles, insidious flatteries, and winning people over by devious means.
Other messianic movements that have occurred in later dynasties include the Taoist Yellow Scarf Society during the Han dynasty, the Wu Dou Mi Religious Society during the Jin dynasty, the Bai Lian Sect, the Taiping and Boxer Rebellions during the Qing dynasty, and many others.
Recently, there have been reports of a new Chinese spiritual movement called Falun Gong, led by a former granary clerk named Li Hongzhi. In his books, Li asserts that he will implant a wheel in the abdomen of each of his disciples and that his fa shun (“saintly body”) will protect his followers from harm. He challenges the very etiology of all diseases, denying even the germ theory in causing infections. He ascribes moral qualities to inanimate objects such as stone and wood, and speaks of old cultural ruins bearing relics from eras that existed “hundreds of millions” of years ago.
Regardless of the teaching of Li Hongzhi, the Chinese government currently views the group as a threat to public order and is attempting to suppress Li’s followers. However, if a government is faced with a potential David Koresh (leader of the Waco Branch Davidians) or Osama bin Laden, how should it respond?
The ancient philosopher Han Feizi showed us by his proverb “watching the tree to catch a hare” that the only thing that does not change is that everything changes. Perhaps we should learn from him that there are no universal moral standards. People respond to cult figures differently, depending on their own cultural background and psychological conditioning, and there is but a fine line between devoted follower and fanatical terrorist.
When the reign of the Second Qin Emperor failed, a revolt was begun not by princes or military generals but by two penniless peasants.
Chen She and Wu Guang were both farm laborers from the state of Chu (present-day Henan Province), living in “humble shacks with tiny windows and wattle doors,” according to a Han dynasty poet. When Chen was a teenager, he worked as a hired hand in the fields. Shiji states that times were hard and work was strenuous. One day, while standing on a hillock, he suddenly stopped plowing and gazed out with a look of profound disgust at the countryside. Then he said to his fellow workers, “If one of us should become rich and important one day, he must not forget the rest.”
His companions laughed and said, “Don’t be ridiculous! How can anyone like us ever become rich and important?”
Sighing deeply, Chen replied, “Yan que an zhi hong hu zhi, ‘can little sparrows ever truly understand the dreams of swans?’”
More than anything else, sharing a meal together is an important symbol of family unity in China. The day after Bob and I arrived in Hong Kong in September 1990, my brother James invited us to lunch. His other guests were our oldest sister, Lydia, and our older brother, Gregory. Throughout the meal James seemed preoccupied and nervous. He ordered innumerable dishes of dim sum and piled our plates with food while eating next to nothing himself. I began to have a horrible feeling of déjà vu. I was eight years old again. Niang was about to come into the room, and something bad was going to happen to me. I felt my heart racing and my mouth going dry. I tried to reassure myself and said to James, “Things are going to be different from now on; Niang is dead.”
James replied coldly, “So she is dead. Why should things be different?”
“I don’t know why,” I confessed candidly. “But I feel awful right now, just the way I used to feel when we were little and she ruled over us. For some unknown reason, I feel left out!”
James looked down at his plate and said nothing. The mood at the table was more ominous than ever. I clenched my fists under the table, the way I used to do as a child when things were terrible and felt my nails digging into the palm of my hands. To break myself out of my fear, I forced a laugh and announced gaily, “Now that Niang is dead, I’m going to write the books that I’ve always wanted to write. Remember those occasions in Shanghai when Father and Niang used to travel by themselves to Tianjin on business, James? Sometimes Ye Ye would take us to Do Yuan Gardens for picnics. He’d practice tai chi while you and I would pretend to be
characters from my kung fu stories, speaking the lines and acting the parts. Now that I have the urge to write again, perhaps I might even get something published one day if I’m lucky!”
To everyone’s amazement, James suddenly snapped out of his reverie and said, almost violently, “You have a perfectly good job as a doctor. Why do you want to give it up and become a writer all of a sudden? Besides, who on earth is going to read your childish kung fu stories at this stage of our lives? I might have enjoyed them when I was twelve and you were nine, but certainly not now. I predict that you’ll never find a publisher. Even if you were to spend lots of money and publish your work yourself, nobody is going to read them. If I, as your older brother, am already telling you that I’m not even going to open the cover of any of your books, who else would buy them?”
I stared at his flushed and excited face, knowing that I had upset him in some mysterious way. After a while, I said feebly, “Ah, James! Cannot a yan que yong you hong hu zhi, ‘little sparrow have dreams of swans’?”
In the seventh month of the year 209 B.C.E., Chen She and Wu Guang were conscripted and chosen by the military command to lead a group of 900 peasants for garrison duty at the northern frontier. On the way they encountered such terrible weather that the roads became flooded and impassable. The two men said to each other, “We face execution if we arrive late. However, they’ll kill us also if we run away and get caught. Since we’re going to die either way, why don’t we encourage everyone to stick together as a group and die fighting?”
To gain support, they wrote the words Chen She will be a king on a piece of silk and stuffed it secretly into the belly of a fish that someone had caught. One of the soldiers bought the fish, cooked it for dinner, and was greatly astonished to find a divine message from Heaven in the fish’s belly.