Although the Qin army outnumbered them ten to one, Xiang Yu bravely met them head-on. Altogether nine engagements were fought. The Chu army was finally able to cut off Qin’s supply route. Along with Xiang Yu’s fearlessness, determination, and inspired leadership on the battlefield, this move struck a mortal blow and resulted in a resounding victory for the intrepid young warrior. Many Qin officers were killed, and some committed suicide. Deputy General Wang Li was taken prisoner. His capture was particularly sweet for Xiang Yu because his grandfather had committed suicide on the battlefield after being defeated by Wang Li’s grandfather years earlier.
At that time various revolutionary armies from the other six former states had also responded to the cry for help from the besieged King of Zhao. Although they were all encamped in strategic strongholds on the outskirts of Julu, no one had dared to challenge the mighty Qin army. When Xiang Yu gave the order to his own troops to attack, officers from the other armies were reduced to zuo bi shang guan, “watching the action from the safety of their tents.” They saw the valor of Xiang Yu’s soldiers with their own eyes and heard their resounding cries of battle echoing to the skies. Despite being greatly outnumbered, yi yi dang shi, “every Chu soldier was equal to ten of the enemy.” Seeing this, the onlookers could not help but be impressed and a little fearful.
After his victory, Xiang Yu summoned the nobles commanding the assorted armies from different states for a meeting in his tent. When he entered, one and all fell to their knees and approached him kneeling. No one dared raise his head to look him directly in the eye. They were in awe of him and ashamed of their own cowardice. At that instant Xiang Yu’s reputation soared and he became the commander in chief of all the revolutionary armies in fact as well as in name.
Losing this battle broke the backbone and will of the Qin army. Commander Zhang Han retreated with the remnants of his troops, totaling about 200,000 men, and entrenched himself closer to the capital. There was a temporary lull in the war as Xiang Yu pondered his next move.
The Second Emperor heard the news of Zhang Han’s defeat and sent a letter to reprimand him. Alarmed, Zhang dispatched his second in command, Sima Xin, as his emissary to explain the circumstances. Back at the capital, Sima Xin sent in his request for an audience with the monarch, but neither the Second Emperor nor the prime minister, Zhao Gao, would see him. After cooling his heels outside the palace gates for three days without a response, Sima Xin became suspicious. Suddenly fearful for his life, he beat a hasty retreat back to his army camp and took an alternate route as extra precaution. Sure enough, Zhao Gao sent his men to arrest him after he learned of his abrupt departure, but they failed to catch him.
Back at the camp, he said to his commanding officer, Zhang Han, “Zhao Gao has assumed total control. None of the ministers has any say whatsoever. If you should win the war, Zhao Gao is bound to be jealous and cause you trouble. And if you should lose, I’m afraid he’ll probably have you executed as well. After my recent experience at the capital, I hope that you’ll weigh your options very carefully.”
Meanwhile, Zhang Han received a letter from Scholar-General Chen Yu, one of the two commanding generals of the previously besieged Zhao army, advising him to defect and surrender to Xiang Yu. Reminding him of the tragic fate of General Meng Tian, who died an unjust death despite rendering a lifetime of valuable service to the First Emperor, Chen Yu continued in his letter,
You have served the Second Emperor faithfully for almost three years. In spite of your efforts, noble warriors from different states are banding together in increasing numbers to fight against Qin. Your army has already suffered substantial losses. Everyone realizes that the political situation at the Qin court is precarious. Zhao Gao himself must be fearful that the Second Emperor might suddenly turn against him. Hence it is likely that Zhao Gao will blame you for losing the war and have you executed to save himself. Because of your military duties, you have been away from court for a long time. I’m sure there are those in the palace who are jealous. I can only conclude that you will be executed if you win the war. Unfortunately, you will also be executed if you lose the war. Besides, anyone can see that it is Heaven’s will that the Qin dynasty will soon end.
Why not change sides and unite with all the other noble warriors? Instead of fighting each other, we could band together and destroy Qin, divide her vast territory, and nan mian cheng gu, “become rulers of separate kingdoms ourselves.”
When he read Chen Yu’s letter, Zhang Han was sorely tempted. He sent a junior officer to Xiang Yu’s camp, but in the midst of discussions, Xiang Yu suddenly launched a full-scale attack, which routed the Qin forces. After this second defeat, Zhang Han felt he had no choice but to make an unconditional surrender.
Since Xiang Yu happened to be short of food at that moment, he agreed to an immediate cessation of hostilities. The two commanding officers met, and Zhang Han wept as he related his woes at the hands of Zhao Gao. Xiang Yu comforted him, conferred upon him the title of King of Yong, and incorporated the 200,000 newly surrendered Qin soldiers into his own army as a vanguard force to spearhead the march toward the capital.
Within a few days however, Xiang Yu was already receiving reports of general discontent and complaints of discrimination among Zhang Han’s rank and file. The majority of the surrendered Qin soldiers had been recruited originally from areas in and around Xianyang, whereas the rest of Xiang Yu’s army consisted of troops from Chu and other states. Previous to the uprising, many non-Qin soldiers had suffered harsh treatment from Qin functionaries when they were forced to pass through or work in the capital. Now they took their revenge and treated the surrendered Qin troops like slaves, bullying and insulting them at will. The Qin soldiers whispered to each other, “Our commanding officer Zhang Han first tricked us into surrendering and then betrayed us. Who needs this type of treatment? If we lose the next battle against our former comrades, Xiang Yu is bound to retreat. Instead of going home, we would be marching eastward to his state of Chu. If this happens, the Second Emperor and the eunuch Zhao Gao will probably execute our parents, wives, and children back home.”
When their complaints were reported to Xiang Yu, he became concerned and said to his subordinates, “Two hundred thousand is a large number, and these soldiers will be more and more difficult to control. If they are already dissatisfied at this early stage, their resentment will only grow once we enter the passes and approach their homeland. It’s probably wiser to kill them right now. And only allow Zhang Han and his two chief assistant generals to accompany us into the capital.”
Xiang Yu’s orders were carried out in the middle of the night. Caught by surprise, the entire surrendered Qin army of 200,000 soldiers was executed without a fight in one day.
Xiang Yu and his main army of 400,000 soldiers continued westward and reached the Hangu Pass. They found the gates closed and entry denied. To their amazement, they learned that the guards were not from Qin and did not belong to the Second Emperor. Xiang Yu’s ally, Liu Bang, Lord of Pei, had already entered the capital of Xiangyang, and those were Liu Bang’s troops patrolling the pass and refusing them passage.
Enraged, Xiang Yu ordered his men to attack and storm the Hangu Pass. Having overpowered the small sentinel force, they entered and made camp at a place called Hongmen (Wild Goose Gate), twenty miles east of the capital, not far from the First Emperor’s tomb.
The last time Xiang Yu had seen Liu Bang was one year earlier when the latter had been dispatched by the King of Chu to go west and capture the capital city of Xiangyang. At that time Xiang Yu remembered that Liu Bang had been provided with only 3000 soldiers and was many miles away. “How is it possible,” Xiang Yu asked himself, “that Liu Bang could have moved so fast and conquered so much territory with so few soldiers in such a short time?”
As he was mulling over this, Old Man Fan entered. This old scholar had been much valued by Fourth Uncle Xiang Liang before his death. Xiang Yu also respected him and called him ya fu, Second Father.
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br /> “There is a soldier here sent secretly to us by someone called Cao, who is an officer in Liu Bang’s army,” Old Man Fan reported. “He claims that Liu Bang has ambitions of being King of the Land Within the Passes. The Second Emperor and Zhao Gao are both dead. A member of Qin’s royal family called Zi Ying is now King of Qin, and Liu Bang is planning to appoint Zi Ying as prime minister in his new cabinet. Liu Bang has already confiscated all the jewels and other treasures from the Qin palaces.”
“The bastard!” Xiang Yu cried. “Alert the troops and give them a feast tonight! First thing tomorrow we launch a full-scale attack and get rid of Liu Bang!”
Old Man Fan concurred. He said, “In the old days, Liu Bang used to be greedy for money and beautiful women. I hear that his behavior has changed radically since he conquered the capital city. He is no longer avaricious and does not consort with pretty girls anymore. His new behavior shows that he has lofty ambitions and big plans. You must destroy him before he becomes too dangerous!”
Throughout China’s history, the days immediately following the death of an emperor were often a “time of crisis,” especially if his successor was believed to be weak and indecisive. The word crisis is translated as wei ji in Chinese. Wei means danger, and ji means opportunity. The proverb wei ji si fu means “beset with danger and opportunity on every side.” At no time was this truer than in China immediately following the death of Mao Tse-tung on September 9, 1976.
The year 1976 was probably the most eventful during the twenty-seven years of Mao’s rule. Premier Zhou Enlai had died in January, followed by the downfall and exile of his protégé Deng Xiaoping. To everyone’s surprise, Mao had appointed Hua Guofeng, a benign and obscure functionary from Mao’s home state of Hunan, as his premier and official successor in April. Finally, Mao had died three months later at the age of 83.
At that time, the power structure was divided among three groups, each with its own agenda. Mao’s widow, Jiang Qing, and her three collaborators, collectively nicknamed the Gang of Four, had risen to power because of the Cultural Revolution and were therefore anxious to continue that movement.
The veteran cadres, led by Deng Xiaoping, were elderly revolutionaries who had struggled alongside Mao and helped him drive out Chiang Kai-shek in 1949. They had been Mao’s main targets of attack and had suffered the most during the Cultural Revolution. As a consequence, they hated the movement, viewing it as madness.
The third group, headed by Mao’s handpicked successor Hua Guofeng, had risen to power during the Cultural Revolution. Although tied politically to that movement, they tended to side with the veterans but wished to remain neutral.
In the tradition of the proverb yi zi qian jing, “one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold,” the struggle for power between the three groups distilled down ultimately to two words in Mao’s last statement.
The Gang of Four claimed that Mao had given them the instruction that future policies must an zhi ding fang zhen ban, “abide by fixed principles.” But Hua Guofeng insisted that he had in his possession Mao’s written statement that future policies must an guo qu fang zhen ban, “abide by past principles.”
To all three groups, fixed principles meant that the campaigns to criticize the veteran cadres were to continue indefinitely, whereas past principles meant that the campaigns could now be modified or even eliminated. After all, Mao himself had rehabilitated many of the veteran revolutionaries from time to time in the past.
The veterans approached Hua on several occasions to enlist his support for eliminating the Gang of Four, but Hua initially refused to commit himself. One week after Mao’s death, however, Hua read in the People’s Daily on September 16 that Mao had issued the statement “future policies must abide by fixed principles.” Hua confronted Jiang Qing and a quarrel ensued.
On September 19, Jiang Qing made a formal request to be the official guardian of her late husband’s papers and books. Cognizant of the crucial impact of the dead Mao’s every written word and fearing forgery, Hua refused. Jiang Qing protested vigorously, but Hua replied that all of Mao’s papers were now the Party’s exclusive property.
In early October, Hua again came across the “erroneous version” of Mao’s last edict (containing the words fixed principles) while reviewing a speech to be read at the United Nations General Assembly. No sooner did he delete the two words than they resurfaced for the third time two days later. On October 4, Hua read an article in the Guanming Daily asserting that certain revisionist capitalists were distorting Mao’s fixed principles and betraying the dead chairman’s vision of continuous revolution.
Now thoroughly alarmed and fearing for his own safety, Hua finally decided to po fu chen zhou, “destroy the cauldrons and sink the boats” and cast his lot with the veteran cadres. Acting in unison, they arrested the Gang of Four on October 6. When news of their detention leaked out, 1,500,000 people demonstrated in Beijing in support of their downfall. At her trial, Jiang Qing claimed that she was only following orders. “I was merely Mao’s dog,” she pleaded. “He told me to bite, and I obeyed.”
Two years later, Deng Xiaoping assumed leadership and Hua was gradually eased into retirement. Jiang Qing committed suicide while imprisoned. Although a time span of 2200 years separated the deaths of the First Emperor and Mao Tse-tung, both the eunuch Zhao Gao and Mao’s widow, Jiang Qing, believed that the possessor of the dead ruler’s last edict would be vested with the “mandate of Heaven” to rule over China.
CHAPTER 12
This Young Man Is Worth Educating
Ru Zi Ke Jiao
While growing up in Shanghai, I was constantly being told that boys were cleverer than girls and therefore deserved to be better educated. Since my three brothers were all older and bigger, I never dared challenge this assumption. However, fate intervened one day.
One Chinese New Year when I was seven, my siblings and I were each given a stick of candied crabapples as a special treat after dinner. Bright red, glossy, and stuffed with walnuts and sweet bean paste, these crabapples were delicious and much loved by us children. As usual, my brother Edgar wolfed his down and started eyeing mine. Soon he moved closer and grabbed for my stick. I made a clean getaway, and as he came after me, the two of us crashed into a tray of dirty dishes, breaking them all. Father, who was in the living room next door entertaining important guests, heard the commotion. He came into the dining room in a fury and glared at the two of us. After telling us to be quiet, he handed us a book of Chinese poetry that he had just received from his visitors. Our punishment was to copy the poem on the first page, learn it by heart, and write it again from memory. Until we could do this to the satisfaction of Grandfather Ye Ye, we were forbidden to talk or play with anyone. As we went sheepishly upstairs, Father added, “Let’s see who can finish first!”
There were only four lines of poetry, but I did not know many of the characters, let alone their meaning. I thought that Edgar, who was four years older, would be able to dash off the assignment in no time at all. I watched him copying the words onto a sheet of paper and disappearing into his room without a word.
Laboriously, I began my task, slowly writing one word at a time. Tears came to my eyes. I thought that I would be studying this poem forever.
Then Ye Ye said, “You will learn much faster if you find out the meaning of these words and how to pronounce them. Use your dictionary.”
Even today, after so many years have passed, I still remember that poem. A younger brother was being persecuted by his older brother and pleading for his life. He was ordered to come up with a poem that would explain his predicament in the time it took him to take seven steps. Otherwise he would be executed. This was what he composed:
Pea-stalks were kindled for cooking peas
The pods in the cauldron began to plead
“We both sprang from the selfsame root
Why torment each other and be so mean?”
I remember searching for the unfamiliar words in my dictionary and writin
g them down methodically in my notebook ten times, the way Teacher Lin taught me to do at school. It took a while but became easier and easier. The lines even rhymed with one another! Soon I ran into my grandfather’s room and wrote the poem from memory, word for word, in front of his eyes.
When Father came upstairs not long afterward, Ye Ye proudly showed him my finished assignment. Neither of them called for Edgar, who never emerged from his room again that evening. I could see from Father’s rueful expression that he was pleased with me but disappointed that his daughter had won over his son. “That Edgar!” he muttered. “He just doesn’t apply himself!” Then he told me to run downstairs and play with James. As I left the room, I heard him say to Ye Ye, apropos of Edgar, “Ru zi nan jiao! ‘This young man will be difficult to educate!’”
I did not know it then, but this incident was to become an important milestone in my life. From that moment on, I started believing that a girl could be as clever as a boy if she tried hard enough, even if he were bigger and stronger.
The emphasis on learning has become ingrained in the consciousness of the Chinese people for a very long time. It is interesting to note that over 2100 years ago, the Grand Historian Sima Qian was already stressing the role of scholarship. In Shiji he tells the compelling story of two of Liu Bang’s most astute advisers, Mad Master and Zhang Liang. Their scholarship and education were to play pivotal roles in the career of their master, Liu Bang, and in affecting the course of history in China.
Mad Master was an old man who lived in the suburb of a major city called Chenliu (present-day Kaifeng city in Henan Province). Although his real name was Li Shichi, everyone knew him by his nickname, which was Kuang Sheng, or Mad Master. Known for his scholarship and intelligence, he spent his time writing and reading the classics. In spite of this, no official dared employ him because of his rudeness, independence, and tactlessness. Deferring to the proverbial thin line between madness and genius, they respected his erudition but left him alone. He liked to drink and would make bombastic and insensitive remarks when under the influence. Because of this, he had fallen on hard times and was reduced to working as a watchman at the city gates.