As events unfolded in Hong Kong and one blow followed another in quick succession, I had a sense of déjà vu. Emotionally, we were back in Shanghai and I was once more the solitary seven-year-old standing up to my stepmother and fighting against all odds. But my situation in one sense was now worse: my lone ally, James, had succumbed and gone over to their side.
For over a year afterward I had difficulty eating and sleeping. Then one night I had a dream. In the dream it was Chinese New Year, and we children were lined up to get our ya sui qian from Niang. ( Ya sui qian is a traditional Chinese New Year’s gift of money inserted in a red envelope.) Before receiving our present, however, we had to spit on a certain mysterious object lying on the floor of a cupboard. As usual, I was last in line.
I watched my siblings as they went around the room one by one, collecting their red packages. Niang’s two children were first, followed by Lydia and my three older brothers. Finally, it was my turn. I ran eagerly to the cupboard. It was dark and filled with odds and ends. Then I saw it. Amid a pile of old books, newspapers, and magazines was the large photo of my grandfather Ye Ye that I had just retrieved from Niang’s flat in Hong Kong, his face covered by streaks of spittle from the mouths of my brothers and sisters.
I bent down and picked up Ye Ye’s photo. Holding it with both hands, I walked slowly toward my stepmother.
She glared at me and said, “Spit!”
I clenched my fists around the photo, gritted my teeth, and said, “No!”
“Then you will have nothing!” she shouted, and slapped me hard.
I woke up with a jerk. It was pitch black, and the clock read 4:30 A.M. Bob was snoring gently next to me, and I was safely back in California. I turned off the alarm and rose from bed. I had a long list of surgeries scheduled, and it was almost time to get ready for work, but there was something I felt compelled to do.
I ran downstairs into my study where I kept my books, found the one I wanted, and flipped through the pages. It was the same volume of Shiji that I had discovered in Niang’s flat just before seeing Ye Ye’s photo. There it was—the passage that I was looking for!
All these ancient writers had pain in their hearts, for they were not able to achieve in life what they had set out to accomplish…. And so they felt compelled to write about their past, in order to pass on their thoughts to posterity….
I, too, have dared to venture forth and commit myself to writing….
I sat there reading and rereading the Grand Historian’s memorable words written 2100 years ago, as fresh and relevant as if he were whispering them into my ear while standing next to me. I remembered Niang’s expression and the venom in her voice as she said, “Then you will have nothing!”
“No!” I said to Niang as I drove along the dark and deserted freeway on my way to the surgical center. “It is not nothing! In spite of yourself, you have given me a legacy after all. Like the Grand Historian, I will also turn the anguish you have left me into creativity.”
After completing my first book I hesitated for a few months before looking for a publisher. Writing the book had been a tremendously uplifting and cathartic experience. But from the very beginning I knew in my heart that my siblings would not be pleased.
Since the book’s publication, I have been accused of disloyalty, shamelessness, and even greed by some of my Chinese relatives. The act of writing such a book has been called da ni wu dao, “treason and inhuman conduct of the worst kind.” In spite of this, within the innermost reaches of my heart, I have no regrets. For hurting my brother James, I am sorry; it was never my intention. My brother is a decent man who got caught in a dilemma and took the easiest way out, assuaging his conscience by giving me 10 percent of his inheritance from Niang as soon as the probate was completed. Up to the very last, however, James clung to the party line that my disinheritance had been caused not by Lydia’s poison letters but by a lack of gratitude on my part to Niang for my medical education.
My books are, essentially, about Chinese life. So is Shiji. Perhaps that is why I find so much personal resonance in reading the writing of Sima Qian. The Grand Historian could have been describing my relationship with my own siblings when he wrote:
Their friendship was most certainly sincere in the beginning. Yet at the end they tried to kill one another. Do you know why?
Because calamity arises from greed, and ren xin nan ce, “the human heart is difficult to fathom.”
CHAPTER 18
Devising Strategies in a Command Tent
Yun Chou Wei Wo
In the summer of 1974 I asked my husband to meet my parents for the first time. Eighteen months earlier Bob and I had invited them to our wedding in California, but they could not get away. Now we were to spend three days with them at their high-rise apartment in Monte Carlo, overlooking the Mediterranean.
On the evening of our arrival, they invited us to dinner at the elegant and expensive Café de Paris. Niang was in her element, glamorously decked out in a designer suit and all her diamonds. After seating us at a table not far from one occupied by Liza Minelli, the headwaiter endeared himself to Niang forever by hovering solicitously over her throughout the meal. Soon he and Niang were involved in animated conversation, speaking in rapid-fire French while ignoring the famous entertainer and everyone else.
Neither Father nor we could understand what they were saying. Niang was obviously enjoying herself. After a while, Father turned to Bob and asked, “As a university professor in microbiology, what do you do?”
“Research and teaching,” Bob answered with a smile.
“How many hours do you teach a week?”
“You mean lecturing to the students?”
“Yes. Lecturing to them in the classroom.”
“This quarter I have three lectures a week. One hour each.”
Father was incredulous. “Only three hours a week!” he exclaimed. “What a fabulous job! That’s twelve hours a month. Divide your monthly salary by twelve. That’s quite a lot of money per hour! On top of that, do you get benefits too?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Bob said. “Besides lecturing, I have to apply for grants to support my doctoral students, technicians, and maintain my laboratory. In addition, I do research, publish papers, attend meetings, grade exams, and carry out administration. Lecturing to students plays only a small part in the whole process.”
“It’s like your job, Father,” I added. “How often do you go to one of your factories to inspect the work in progress?”
Father shook his head. “No, you’ve got it wrong. The way I see it, lecturing to students is the essence of a university professor’s job. In business, you have to be absolutely clear about what is the most important element and nurture it. I have thousands of workers on my payroll. Obviously I can’t look after everything myself. How successful I become depends on how I spend my time.
“Business is like war. You can’t win by yourself. In business, first you decide on a product and a clear objective. Next you make a plan. Learn to delegate responsibility. It is crucial to hire the right person for the right job. Once you’ve made your choice, let your employees do their work the way they see fit without interference from you.
“In the old days in China, a commanding general of an army would confer with his officers in a special tent before battle. This was where the major decisions were made—not on the battlefield but in that command tent. The strategies devised in that tent, not the bravery or skill of any particular soldier, would determine whether the battle would be won or lost. There is a well-known proverb from Shiji known as yun chou wei wo, ‘devising strategies within a command tent,’ which holds the secret to my business success. Be sure to keep that proverb in mind should you ever venture into the business world.
“To go back to your job, Bob. How many hours did you say you teach a week?”
My whole life I had dreamed of having a heart-to-heart talk with my father, when I could ask him all the questions I dared not ask as a child and reveal
to him everything buried within me. I did not realize it then, but the ten-minute conversation we had together at the Café de Paris in Monte Carlo was to be the only occasion when he opened up to me in any way at all. Two years later he started showing signs of Alzheimer’s disease at the age of sixty-nine. As time went by he spoke less and less. Toward the end he stopped talking altogether and remained completely silent for the final five years of his life.
Some time later, after his death, I once mentioned to my brother James my regret at not ever having had the opportunity to really converse with him. I never forgot James’s reply. He said, “I have had lots of talks with him. Believe me, it would have been a waste of time. He would not have said anything to you. You are hankering after something he simply could not have done. For him to talk to you in that way, Niang would have had to die first. Can’t you see that?”
After many months of stalemate, the two antagonists Liu Bang and Xiang Yu finally signed a peace treaty and divided the world in half. The Chinese at that time thought that the world, tian xia, or All Under Heaven, was China and nothing else. The dividing line was a site called Honggou (Wild Goose Channel). The territory west of Honggou was to belong to Liu Bang and east of it to Xiang Yu.
In November 202 B.C.E. Xiang Yu returned Liu Bang’s father and wife, and both sides began preparations for retreat. Xiang Yu withdrew his army and started eastward. Liu Bang was about to head west, but Strategist Zhang Liang said, “Han already owns more than half the world. The nobles governing the other states are all allied with us. Xiang Yu is on his own. His troops are exhausted, and he has no food left. The people do not support him. This is a Heaven-sent opportunity to destroy him. If you don’t finish him off now, you will be yang hu yi huan, ‘rearing a tiger to court calamity for yourself later.’”
Liu Bang followed Zhang Liang’s advice. He dispatched messengers to General Hahn Xin and the guerrilla fighter Peng summoning them to join him in a united effort to defeat Xiang Yu. He pursued Xiang Yu all the way and finally caught up with him in Guling (present-day Henan Province). There he stopped and encamped, but neither Hahn Xin nor Peng came to join him.
Xiang Yu was furious at Liu Bang’s breach of faith so soon after signing their treaty. He launched an attack and severely routed Liu Bang’s army. Liu Bang was forced to retreat and defend himself behind city ramparts. He summoned his advisers and said, “Neither General Hahn nor the guerrilla fighter Peng came to join me as promised. What should I do?”
Zhang Liang said, “Although Xiang Yu’s army is almost totally defeated, you have not yet conferred upon your two best generals, Hahn Xin and Peng, their own kingdoms. No wonder they didn’t come as promised! Your Majesty should confer the territory from east of the district of Chen to the ocean to Hahn Xin, and the area from north of Suiyang all the way to Kecheng to Peng. This way, Hahn Xin will end up with most of the land of Chu and be King of Chu. Hahn Xin was born in Chu, and his home is still in Chu. I know that he would like nothing better than to return to his hometown as its king.
“By giving up the above territories to these two, you are effectively telling them to fight for their own as well as your interest. This way they are bound to join you, and Xiang Yu will surely be defeated.”
Thereupon Liu Bang dispatched a messenger to each and promised to give them the territories as suggested by Zhang. Both came, leading their troops. They were joined by others, including former allies of Xiang Yu who had been persuaded to change sides.
In December 202 B.C.E. Liu Bang and his allies congregated and surrounded Xiang Yu. In Xiang Yu’s camp, food was scarce and there were many deserters. In the middle of a bitterly cold December night in 202 B.C.E., Xiang Yu was suddenly awakened by the sound of hundreds of thousands of men si mian Chu ge, “singing the songs of his native state of Chu from all sides.” He was not aware that this was a ploy on the part of Liu Bang to induce homesickness in his soldiers, most of whom had followed him from Chu. Liu Bang also wanted to mislead Xiang Yu about the extent of the rebellion against him. The phrase si mian Chu Ge, “songs of Chu from all sides,” has become a proverb. It describes a person who is besieged by hostile forces on all sides; someone completely isolated and cut off from outside help. I used it in my autobiography to describe my father when he came down with Alzheimer’s.
After the publication of my autobiography I received, to my astonishment, a letter of congratulation from Lydia’s son, my nephew Tai Way. As my book had not painted a particularly flattering portrait of either him or his mother, I was touched by his friendly gesture and was tempted to pen him a reply. That night I had a dream: I was a child again and visiting my grandfather as he sat at his desk practicing calligraphy. I stood on tiptoes and saw from behind his shoulders the words yang hu yi huan, “rearing a tiger to court calamity for oneself later,” as my grandfather wrote them over and over with his brush. Next I saw Ye Ye sitting on a raised throne in front of a giant chessboard in an immense hall with the sign Command Tent of Heaven hanging on a wall behind him. He wrote the words Yun Chou Wei Wo, “Devising Strategies in a Command Tent,” across the face of the board and said, “Don’t be naive, Wu Mei (Fifth Younger Daughter)! Think and plan before you act! Lydia and her son are hatching further evil plots against you. You must be careful!”
Suddenly I saw Lydia and Tai Way. Mounted on big black horses, they were dressed in black and galloping toward me across the enormous black and white squares forming the chessboard. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a thin white cloak. Shivering from cold and anxiety, I was poised halfway between engagement and withdrawal when Ye Ye started shouting, “Danger! Danger! Si mian Chu ge, ‘You are besieged by hostile forces on all four sides’! Get away! Run!”
On awakening, I was filled with a sense of foreboding. My dream was of particular significance to me because my Ye Ye had been the calligrapher writing these proverbs. Somewhat illogically, I considered my dream to be an omen as well as an expression of my subconscious. I read and reread Tai Way’s letter but finally filed it away without responding.
Xiang Yu was shocked and saddened. To him, these were melodies from his youth that were only too familiar. He rose from bed, poured himself some wine, and said wistfully to his favorite concubine, the beautiful Yu Ji, who frequently accompanied him, “Have Liu Bang’s troops occupied the entire state of Chu already? Why are there so many natives of Chu in his army singing the songs of my childhood?”
He thought of his horse, Wu Zhui, the black and white steed that had carried him to so many victories. He drank more wine and started to sing along with Liu Bang’s men outside. Before long, he felt the urge to compose some lyrics, then began to sing them:
My power can raise mountains,
My courage is unparalleled.
But times are unfavorable to me
Even my horse would not run.
If my horse runs not, what can I do?
Yu Ji! Yu Ji! What about you?
As he drank, he sang this song many times, while the beautiful Yu Ji sang with him. After a while he began to weep. Yu Ji and his aides-de-camp wept too, but none dared raise their eyes to look at him.
Thereupon Xiang Yu gritted his teeth and bade Yu Ji a final farewell. He mounted his horse, selected 800 of his best cavalrymen, and burst out of the encirclement after a bloody battle in the middle of the night. He fled south as fast as he could and was not discovered missing until dawn. Liu Bang immediately dispatched 5000 cavalrymen after him in hot pursuit.
Xiang Yu crossed the Huai River. By then, his cavalry had dwindled to just over a hundred men, and they ended up mired in a large patch of swampland. There Liu Bang’s troops caught up with them.
Xiang Yu led his troops east and fled to Dongcheng. By then there were only twenty-eight cavalrymen left, pursued by a force of a few thousand. Knowing that he would not be able to escape, he said to his men, “From the time I started fighting Qin’s Second Emperor, it has been eight long years. I have personally taken part in over seventy battles and, until now
, have won them all. This is how I came to dominate the world. But things have changed, and I am pinned down here, not because of lack of fighting ability but because it is the will of Heaven.
“Since I am fated to die, I would like to fight bravely to the end for you. I’m determined to win three out of three skirmishes and force them to raise the siege so that you can escape. I will kill a few Han officers, chop down some Han flags. This way you will know that my defeat is due to Heaven’s will and not to incompetence.”
Xiang Yu then divided the twenty-eight men into four groups of seven each and ordered them to counterattack on four fronts. Since they were surrounded by layer upon layer of Han troops, Xiang Yu said to his men, “I will get one of them for you!” He ordered them to charge in four different directions and meet him east of the mountain. Then he let out a mighty roar and began to gallop at high speed. The Han troops scampered in front of him, and in the confusion Xiang Yu was able to cut down one Han officer.
Liu Bang’s chief cavalry officer, Yang, galloped after Xiang Yu. Xiang Yu glared at him and roared again. Yang was so startled that his horse turned around and ran away, stopping after only a couple of miles. Thus Xiang Yu was able to get away and meet his followers as scheduled. He divided them into three teams, and they went off again in three directions.
Not knowing which of the three teams included Xiang Yu, Liu Bang’s troops also separated into three groups and resurrounded them. Xiang Yu whipped his horse on while wounding and killing eighty to ninety Han soldiers as he sped along. His little company congregated again, and this time there were only two casualties.