This simple logic also applies to the Chinese government’s attitude towards the upcoming auction in Paris of its long-lost relics, two invaluable bronzes of a Rat and Hare from Yuanmingyuan Garden, or the Old Summer Palace.

The bronzes of Rat (L) and Hare, shown in this combined photo, are planed for auction in Paris next February. Chinese officials reiterated her stance that it's definitely unacceptable to put war-time plunder under the hammer. The two bronzes were stolen from China in the Late Qing Dynasty during the opium wars (1839-1842).

Song Xinchao, Museum General at State Administration of Cultural Heritage, said that China would not use “its own money” to buy back “its own things”.

Christie’s, an international arts dealer and auctioneer based in Hong Kong, announced recently that the two bronzes of Rat and Hare would go under the hammer in Paris during February next year, with an estimated combined worth of over 200 million yuan (US$28.6 million).

Rat and Hare are two of the 12 animals in Chinese Zodiac, with other animals being the Ox, Tiger, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Sheep, Monkey, Cock, Dog and Boar. Originally the two bronzes were part of a set of all twelve that formed a famous fountain in the palace gardens. They spouted water in turn to mark the various hours of the day with the exception of midday, when an elaborate hydraulic mechanism triggered all of the animals simultaneously. The fountain was destroyed, along with the whole royal garden, by colonial invaders in the Late Qing Dynasty during the opium wars (1839-1842).

According to a BBC report last Sunday, a special mainland fund, set up to help retrieve long-lost Chinese national treasures, attempted to negotiate the return of the bronzes with the French collector Yves Saint Laurent, a world-famous fashion designer, in 2003 and 2004.

An undated photo shows Hong Kong entrepreneur He Hongshen standing by the Horse bronze, which he bought at a price of HK$69.1 million and donated to the motherland. The Horse bronze was stolen from China in the Late Qing Dynasty during the opium wars (1839-1842).

However, the designer priced out of the market, wanting US$20 million.

“This is no different from robbery!” Zong Tianliang, Spokesman at Yuanmingyuan Garden Administration, said to a reporter from the International Herald Tribune. The repurchasing plan to was aborted over the price disputes.

In June 2008 Saint Laurent died, leaving his collection, including the two bronzes from China, to a European fund, which decided to put them under hammer through the auctioneer Christie’s.

In a telephone interview with the Oriental Morning Post, Wang Jia, Christie’s Operation Manager in China, insisted Christie’s operates legally between collectors and buyers.

However, Christie’s auction plan has stirred heated debates and instant outrages in China. Online comments denounced it as a daylight robbery, adding unacceptable insult to the injury. While others wondered if there was still any possibility of retrieving the national treasures through negations.

This undated photo of gold dagger handle, dated back to the Eastern Zhou period (771-221 BC), is is among the 23,000 pieces of Chinese culture relics kept in the British Museum. In the Eastern Zhou period, gold began to be increasingly used on a larger scale, though goldworking still relied to a great extent on well-established bronze technology, with ornaments and other items cast using moulds.

Deaf Ears To The Escalating Chaos

Mr. Song warned the public of possible speculation by business dealers driving up the auction prices unboundedly, with the obvious aim of exploiting Chinese patriotic sentiments in retrieving their national treasures.

“The best reaction to this incident is to turn deaf ears to the chaos”, Song said to a Xinhua reporter. He also recommended restraints in media’s coverage.

Escalating national patriotism pushed previous auctions of the Ox, Monkey, and Tiger bronzes up to prices as high as HK$7 million, HK$8.18 million and HK$15.44 million respectively, all purchased by mainland giant China Poly Group.

In September, 2007, Hong Kong entrepreneur He Hongshen bought the Horse bronze at an unprecedented record price of HK$69.1 million before the auction started and declared he would donate the precious treasure to the motherland.

The national treasures are being retrieved, but, at a costly price.

Zong Tianliang expressed his concern over the trend of wildly escalating prices in the auction market, especially for the Yuanmingyuan Garden relics. “200 million yuan (asked by Christie’s) is no doubt beyond reach of any ordinary institutions and individuals. This kind of craziness does no good to the relics itself and the culture it bears,” he said.

The only exception so far befell on the Boar bronze, whose successful return to China in 2003 went through without any involvement of auction companies. After great endeavors and much negotiating, the special mainland fund finally persuaded the American collector to transfer the Boar statue, at a cost of about US$1 million, much more reasonable in comparison.

Repurchasing, a bone in the throat

Repurchasing remains the mainstream in relics retrieving, other than donating or demanding.

The donation of relics is largely left in vain due to its heavy reliance on the holder’s consciousness and ethical principles.

Demanding the return of relics sounds reasonable according to an international treaty that mandates relics plundered during the colonial wars be returned to their homeland. However, the treaty fails to impose any practical restriction on non-member states like Britain and America who actually hold large mounts of Chinese relics taken during wars.

The Admonitions of the Instructress to the Court Ladies, a handscroll painting, attributed to Gu Kaizhi and dated back to Tang dynasty, 6th-8th century AD, is among the 23,000 pieces of Chinese culture relics kept in the British Museum. It illustrates a political parody written by Zhang Hua (about AD 232-300). The parody takes a moralizing tone, attacking the excessive behaviour of an empress. The protagonist is the court instructress who guides the ladies of the imperial harem on correct behaviour.

Despite the Chinese government’s strong resistance to buying back national treasures, repurchasing by unofficial Chinese parties remains the norm; while undeniably a bone in the throat, especially when the victim actually bears the burden. Non-governmental buyers mainly consist of social groups and institutions as well as a few wealthy individuals.

According to the International Herald Tribune’s report, the mainland special fund was still under intense negotiations with Christie’s, trying to stop the Rat and Hare bronze statues from entering the auction markets and get them back under a reasonable price.

“We do respect the business rules of auction companies as well as the operating mechanism of arts markets. But it’s definitely unacceptable to put plunder under the hammer.” Mr Zong said.

“The price is the major issue. We need a reasonable price right now.”

So far, five of the 12 animal bronzes have returned to China. The Rat and Hare will probably be the last two appearing on the market. The remaining five, Dragon, Snake, Sheep, Cock and Dog, may have been destroyed in warfare or lost forever, experts suspect.

For Tibetan yak herder Bugye, the grassland in Nagqu prefecture, Lhoma county is much greener this year.

“The animals have more fresh grass, especially this summer,” Bugye, 68, said, watching over his herd of 70 yaks and 200 sheep grazing under blue sky and bright sunshine this early autumn.

The rainy season came a month earlier and lasted longer. Herdsmen like Bugye, who endured a severe drought last year, were very pleased. But it is proving to be a mixed blessing.

The daughter of herder Bugye milks a yak in Nagqu prefecture, Tibet autonomous region, on Sept 12. Photos by Sun Xiaohua

Scientists consider this kind of weather fluctuation testimony of global warming and worry that herders will face more extreme weather conditions and degradation of the grassland in coming years.

An immediate consequence is that herders now face a severe shortage this winter of what is traditionally used for heating fuel- dried yak dung. With the prolonged rainy season, Bugye and other herding families have had trouble getting yak dung dried this year.

Each the size of an adult man’s palm, dried yak dung is an indispensable fuel for herders in using cooking and heating during chilly winters.

The problem is so severe that the government of Tibet autonomous region is coming to their aid. Local meteorologists are tasked to keep a close monitor on weather in coming days, especially precipitation.

Bugye earns more than 40,000 yuan($5,840) a year selling his yaks and sheep. He and his nine-member family of three generations are well-off. They live in a brick house and use solar power, in addition to electricity from a power grid. Even so, Bugye’s family needs at least 7,000 pieces of the dried dung to get through the winter. For other nomadic families who live in tents, the need is greater.

It is estimated that some 420,000 people living in Nagqu prefecture burn at least 2 million of dried yak dung one year.

“If the rain continues, it will result in a severe shortage of fuel for herders,” said Tenzin Dondrup, deputy director of the Tibet Meteorological Bureau.

Winter on the Qinghai-Tibet plateau is particularly cold. What makes Tenzin even more worried is that there will be more snowstorms this winter. In past years, such as in 1998, more rainfall in the spring and summer has meant more snowstorms in winter, he said.

“I am very nervous about heavy snowstorms hitting the plateau this coming winter, especially when the herders have not prepared enough fuel, such as dried yak dung,” he added.

According to the figures from Tibet Meteorological Bureau, the temperature on the plateau has risen 0.25 C every decade, about three times the global rate of temperature rising.

In Nagqu, the annual average temperature has risen by 0.6-1.5 C over the past 40 years. Annual precipitation has doubled from 78mm to 150mm over the same period, according to local weather records.

With an average altitude of 4,500m above sea level, Nagqu in northern Tibet is dubbed “the ridge of the roof of the world”. Covering 446,000 sq km, the prefecture accounts for 37 percent of the autonomous region’s territory.

Nagqu has the largest pastoral area, and the highest productivity in the region. Breeding livestock accounts for 70 percent of the prefecture’s gross domestic product, and more than 90 percent of Nagqu residents make a living at it. It accounts for one-third of the region’s animal husbandry.

But a chilly winter with fuel shortages and snowstorms are not the only consequences of global warming in this region. Flooding has also become a major threat.

After the Arctic and Antarctic, the Qinghai-Tibet plateau has the third largest number of glaciers. However, in the past 50 years, 82 percent of the plateau’s glaciers have melted. The plateau has lost 10 percent of its permafrost layer in the past decade, according to the Chinese Academy of Sciences.

With the increased snow and glacier melt, the water levels of some 117 lakes in Nagqu alone have been rising. The water level of Tibet’s second biggest lake, the Serling Co Lake, has risen 20 cm a year since 1997. At present, its water surface area reaches about 1,620 sq km. Compared with the coverage in 1997, the lake has expanded 5km to the west, 18km to the north, 23km to the southwest and 3km to the south.

Since the 1990s, rising water levels in lakes have submerged 106,667 hectares of pastureland as well as more than 3,000 livestock pens in total. Nearly 1,400 households in Nagqu had to rebuild their homes. More than 1,000 households, or nearly 6,000 people, are still living under the threat of flooding.

Yak dung is laid on the mud wall of herder Bugye's house for drying before it is used as fuel in Nagqu prefecture, Tibet autonomous region, on Sept 12.

“In winter, water seeped into our house and around the stove and froze,” said Penpa Tashi from Namarche county in Nagqu. “When summer came and the ice melted, the stink of yak dung filled the house. Because of the flooding, our house might collapse at any time, so we have to move.”

Nagqu prefecture deputy chief Gyaltsen Wangdrak has kept a close eye on the weather changes, accumulating data on how much damage the extreme weather fluctuations have caused to both the local economy and the herders over the past decade.

In 2003, Gyaltsen met Lin Erda, a senior researcher of the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences. They pooled together a 1.3 million yuan fund - with 800,000 yuan from Lin and 500,000 from the local Nagqu government - to study the long-term effects of global warming on Nagqu’s grasslands.

Over the course of 12 months, they mapped the degradation of grassland in Nagqu with remote sensing technology. The map showed that nearly half of Nagqu’s alpine grassland had degraded. The affected area covers about 20 million hectares, with 10 percent, or 4 million hectares, seriously degraded.

Based on this information, the prefecture started two experiments in Amdo county at the foot of Tanggula Mountain to restore seriously degraded grassland through sprinkler irrigation and reseeding. The goal is to quadruple the amount of grass from 600 kg to 2,400 kg per hectare.

The prefecture has also leased from local herders some 33 hectares of healthy grassland and 20 sheep at 15,000 yuan a year to study how much grass an animal needs annually.

Through this research, Gyaltsen and scientists are hoping to come up with more scientific figures on how to raise livestock on alpine grassland.

“It will take many years to complete the experiments,” Gyaltsen said. “But we have to persist. All the people living on the plateau face unprecedented changes from global warming. No one knows how to deal with it.

“We have to blaze a trail.”

SHANGHAI: Four years ago when his wife died, Wang Zhende, 88, decided to rent out his apartment and moved into the Quyang Neighborhood Retirement Home in the north of Shanghai.

Wang has been living with his 77-year-old roommate, Ren Zeru, in a 15-sq-m room on the third floor of the home. The monthly rent rose from 800 yuan ($117) to 950 yuan this year.

Every day, Wang gets up at about 5 am and practices tai chi.

“]

Old couple attend a celebration of their "gold marriage" in a park in Changning district, Shanghai on October 6, 2008. [CFP

With an aging population and rising demand for retirement homes in the city, many will consider Wang lucky.

Shanghai, one of the first places in the country that is seeing negative population growth, is aging fast and trying to address the problems that go with the worrying trend.

By the end of last year, there were about 70,000 beds at Shanghai’s 560 retirement homes. At the same time, more than 20 percent of Shanghai’s permanent residents, or 2.86 million, were aged above 60, official figures showed. That percentage is considered to be one of the highest in the country. By 2030, it is expected to increase to more than 33 percent.

Senior citizens in the city have an average life span of 81, according to official statistics.

Meanwhile, the number of people of working age - 15 to 59 - has been in decline, as a result of the one-child policy. That figure is expected to keep declining in the next decade.

Younger generations seeking more independence and freedom have also tended to live with their own family, instead of staying with an extended family with their parents or even grandparents.

“]

Steamed buns in the shape of gold ingot and peach are displayed in a plate to celebrate the Chongyang festival, a traditional festival to respect the elderly. This year's Chongyang Festival falls on October 7. [CFP

The four-story Quyang Neighborhood Retirement Home is situated in the middle of a block of old residential buildings built in the 1980s. It is home to 62 residents aged 60 to 100, with two or three of them sharing one room. In Wang’s room, there are two beds, two tables, a TV, an electric fan and an air-conditioner.

“I feel happy to live here with no need to worry about meals,” Wang said.

The Quyang neighborhood committee decided to turn an old house into the retirement home a decade ago, in response to the government’s request to build more facilities to accommodate the increasing number of aging people in Shanghai. The home has 24 bedrooms, two shared bathrooms on each floor, a game room, a playground, kitchen and office.

However, it is far from being able to meet the demand.

Zhu Hangmei, director of the retirement home, said people always ask her when a bed will be available.

“]

Residents wait for their haircuts in Nanjing Road, Shanghai, on Aug 20. People get free haircuts and repairs of small items such as umbrellas, radios and watches on the 20th of every month, in line with a 20-year-old service for the community. [CFP

Gui Shixun, vice-president of the Shanghai Association of Gerontology, said that most seniors’ homes, except luxury and expensive ones, are full. “The percentage of beds that can accommodate old people that needs intensive care is also low,” he said.

“It is often the situation that there will be a bed available only when someone dies.”

Zhu admitted that her retirement home does not accept people that are in poor health - considered a common practice in most retirement homes in the city.

“To solve the problems of an aging population, we still have to depend on families and communities,” Gui said.

“I would suggest old people who are able to take care of themselves stay at their own homes, leaving beds at retirement homes for those who are most in need of them.”

To plug the gaps from rising demand, the city government has been building more neighborhood facilities and community services.

From 2005, several neighborhoods in downtown Xuhui, Putuo and Jing’an districts began providing meals to senior residents at affordable prices. About 135,000 senior citizens in Shanghai’s 210 neighborhoods can currently have such meals at neighborhood canteens.

At the Jing’an Temple neighborhood, senior citizens pay 300 yuan a month to cover all their meals and 100 yuan more for services such as laundry, bathing and massaging. Those who are too weak to leave their homes can get home-care services.

More than 120 day-care centers and 5,000 game rooms have also been built for the elderly.

A plan by the authorities aims to have 90 percent of the city’s permanent residents aged above 60 living at home, 7 percent staying at home and going to neighborhood day-care centers and 3 percent of the group living in retirement homes, by 2010.

By that time, the number of beds in the city’s retirement homes is also expected to hit 100,000.

With such day-care services by then, old citizens like Wang Zhende and Ren Zeru, who go to retirement homes because they are unable to arrange meals on their own, will probably choose to stay home instead, Zhu Hangmei said.

The Opening Ceremony of the Beijing Olympics revealed the Middle Kingdom on a fascinating scroll that displayed some of the most iconic Chinese elements: beautiful blue-white porcelain, the writing brush, xuan paper and ink slab. But perhaps most attractive of all were the Olympic medals inlaid with jade.

As more people grow tired of package tours and long for an unforgettable rendezvous with local people in their everyday life, it may be a good idea to follow the trail of these “Chinese elements” to discover a China seldom seen in tourist brochures.

Best of heaven and earth

“]

A craftman carves on stone while making an ink slab. [Quanjing photos

Dating back 8,000 years to the mid-Neolithic Age, the 100 plus jade pieces found eight years ago are seen as the beginning of the jade culture in China and the whole world.

Chinese people see jade as the crystallization of the best of both heaven and earth. Ancient shamans once used various jade instruments to communicate with the deities. Feudal rulers also had jade seals and other ornaments made to symbolize their supreme power. A good example of this is the Jade Emperor, supreme deity in Taoism.

Hotan at the foot of the Kunlun Mountains in southern Xinjiang Uygur autonomous region is traditionally seen as the production site of the highest-grade jade in China.

A few kilometers outside the city of Hotan, the Yulong Kashi River (also known as White Jade River) has been carrying a huge amount of pebbles down the snowy mountains for thousands of years.

The jade diggers, many of whom are local people, gather near the Yulong Kashi Bridge. Over the years, they have left many pits several meters deep along the riverbed. Tourists can also climb down to try their luck.

An expert can walk on the pebbles bare-footed, and feel a real piece of jade out of the pile. Another ingenious way is to throw pebbles and sand into the air, and experts can see any gleaming jade in this rainfall of stones.

Locals believe jade is formed when stones absorb the moonlight. So they trawl the riverbed on a moonlit night, hoping to catch some luminous jade.

Another place to experience the jade culture is Tengchong in southern Yunnan province. Better known for geothermal springs and the Lisu minority, the small city has actually grown into the biggest processing and trade center of jadeite in Southeast Asia.

While you can find some craftsmen processing jadeite at the huge jadeite market, to get a taste of the local culture, visit the Hehua (Lotus Flower) Township near the city.

Du Maosheng, chairman of the Tengchong Jewelry and Jade Association, says that the Yusan and Hehuachi villages are both known for their processing of jadeite.

At the Lotus Flower Jadeite Center, several old craftsmen still polish the raw pieces with grinding stones. But it usually takes two days for a rock to be cut, carved and polished into a refined piece.

A scholar’s tools

Brush, ink, paper and ink slab were seen as the “four treasures” of a scholar, in ancient times.

Huzhou in northern Zhejiang province is home to Hubi, the most famous brush. At Shanlian town, one can drop into any family studio to see the complicated procedure of making a fine brush.

Calligraphy beginners can spend less than 10 yuan ($1.40) to get a langhao (a brush made with the tail hair of the yellow weasel). They may find the more expensive yanghao brushes made with sheep or goat hair very difficult to handle, though only these can produce more refined paintings and calligraphy.

With a good brush in hand, one can head to Anhui province for the paper and ink.

A famous saying among Chinese collectors goes that xuan paper can last for 1,000 years. Xuanzhi is so named as the best type comes from Jingxian county in Anhui province, which once belonged to Xuanzhou prefecture.

Brushes for Chinese paining and calligraphy are mostly made with the tail hair of the yellow weasel and sheep or goat hair.

The secret of making xuan paper was revealed to the public only recently and with it, Jingxian has become a must-see place, located only a two-hour drive from the picturesque Mount Huangshan.

The county has 200 paper studios. A small workshop employing five people can turn out 1,000 pieces of paper everyday. The masters all have their own secrets of making paper, and it takes years of practice to make two pieces of paper of exactly the same thickness and strength.

Not far away, Shexian county has the country’s best ink, which is shaped like a piece of stone and usually inscribed with words or paintings of landscapes and figures. The production of ink stone began here some 1,000 years ago and one can pick up a small packet containing brush, ink, paper and ink slab for friends.

However, to get the best ink slab, one has to travel to Zhaoqing in Guangdong province, which is known for Duanyan, the most coveted ink slab in ancient China. At Baishi (White Stone) village, every family has piles of rocks that can be turned into ink slabs of different sizes, shapes and decorations.

Among connoisseurs, perfectly round and square ink slabs are seen as more valuable than irregular ones. It is very rare to find any real antique ink slabs, except for those on display at the Duanyan Museum.

Local artisans love to carve the landmark Dinghushan mountain onto their ink slabs. Famed as an “oxygen bar”, Dinghushan is a wonderful getaway from urban life. One can also find mansions, pagodas, temples and other historic sites in Zhaoqing.

Fit for royalty

In the past, there were many places that produced porcelain fit for royalty. But there is no place to beat Jingdezhen in Jiangxi province, which has remained the “capital of porcelain” for centuries since the first potters began building kilns here some 1,700 years ago.

Walking down the street in Jingdezhen, one cannot but notice the traffic lights posts, which are covered in blue-white porcelain with images from ancient paintings.

At the International Porcelain Art Center, a group of buildings in the elegant Ming Dynasty style, tourists can walk into studios of famous porcelain masters and see the birth of dazzling works.

Half a century ago, artists in Jingdezhen created a series of products that won the praise of Chairman Mao Zedong. These works, featuring red flowers on a snow-white background, were thus named Mao Ci. Today, innovative masters blend diversified artistic styles into their works.

When choosing antique porcelain, it is important to bear in mind that techniques in faking antiques are very advanced. Spending a big sum on something dubious is not a good idea.

And some of the tastiest — and most authentic — regional treats can be found in the restaurants affiliated to the provincial government offices that have set up in the capital.

In all, Beijing’s restaurants rake in more than $4 billion annually and the revenues are still growing, a lucrative streak that has boosted the street cred of the city’s food scene.

Today's Beijing has eateries at every corner. Here, a waitress serves a dish at the Whampoa Club.

Chef Daniel Boulud — a cult favorite in New York who has grabbed headlines for his $150 ground sirloin burger filled with short ribs braised in red wine, foie gras and black truffles — has just set up shop in a compound that used to house the US Embassy. Le Pre Lenotre, sister restaurant of the three Michelin-star Le Pre Catelan in Paris, opened to great buzz in the Sofitel Wanda Beijing.

The also-very-French Fauchon is peddling its gourmet treats in a high-end mall and Philippe Starck designed the trippy, down-the-rabbit-hole Lan club and restaurant. Last month, Zagat, a global dining guide with a fierce hold on the American market, launched its Beijing edition.

“Beijing has a concurrence of circumstance at present,” says Malcolm McLauchlan, general manager of 1949, The Hidden City, a cluster of ambitious restaurants overlooking the shady courtyard of a former factory.

He checked them off: a rapidly growing middle class, relatively little competition and Olympics-driven tourism.

A vendor at the Wangfujing Street shopping area sells starfish, as well as skewered scorpions.

Prior to the boom, the few and far between restaurants offered just a limited number of dishes. They opened late, closed early and were staffed by servers who seemed to take pride in being as disagreeable as possible. Their favorite phrase was “mei you,” loosely translated to mean “we’re out.” Definitely no Haagen-Dazs, McDonald’s or Starbucks.

State-run food stores offered a limited choice of essentials, like meat, flour, oil and eggs. Milk, yogurt, bread, bottled fruit and bai jiu — China’s version of moonshine — were plentiful. But that’s it.

“Now we can eat whatever we like without seasonal and geographical limitations,” says Xu Yimin, editor-in-chief of Chinese and Foreign Food magazine, who lists the delicate but juicy dumplings of the Taiwan chain Din Tai Fung as his favorite.

“Although food prices keep going up, peoples’ love for tasty food hasn’t changed,” he said. “Eating has become a culture.”

The following story is supplementary reading for grade schools in China: A long time ago, there lived a boy monk in a temple on the mountain. His daily tasks were to clean the temple yard early each morning, fetch water and, after his morning scripture class, walk down the rocky road to a distant town behind the temple to buy articles of daily use. Every evening, he and his fellow monks chanted scriptures through till midnight.

After a while, the boy discovered that other young monks were also sent down the mountain on shopping trips, but that their destination was a town a short distance from the temple entrance along a paved road. He asked the abbot: “Why do the other novitiates have an easier job than me?” The abbot smiled but did not answer.

Xuanzang

One day, some of the other young monks were sent to shop in the town in front of the temple. The same day at noon, the young monk came back from the town behind the temple along the rugged mountain path, carrying a bag of rice over his shoulder. The abbot took him to the front gate of the temple, and the two waited until sunset for the other young monks to return, carrying bags of salt. The abbot asked them, “You left this morning. The town is nearby and the road is smooth. What took you so long?” One of them answered: “We chatted and stopped here and there along the way to enjoy scenery,” adding, “as usual.” The abbot then turned to the little monk at his side and asked him: “The path behind the temple is rugged, the town distant, and you carried a heavy load. How did you get back so early?” The boy answered: “Each time I go down the mountain, I do my best to return as soon as possible, but I need to watch my step if I am to travel rapidly with such a heavy load. Over the years, I’ve developed the habit of thinking only of my destination and not the road under my feet.” The abbot smiled and said: “A smooth road distracts a person from his mission, but a rough road strengthens his will power.”

A Road in the Distance

The little monk’s story does not end here. It is the prelude to a historical epic whose hero is now a household name, in China and around the world — Monk Xuanzang (600-664) of the Tang Dynasty.

Monk Xuanzang, named Chen Mingwei, was born into a dynastic official family native to Henan’s Yanshi. At the age of 13, he entered the Jingtu Monastery in Luoyang, and was given the Buddhist name Xuanzang.

Coming as he did from a good family background, Xuanzang had received a well-rounded education before becoming a monk. He was assiduous in his study of Buddhist scriptures, and skilled in their recitation and articulate interpretation. After some years, he left for Chengdu in Sichuan to study with the eminent monks that lived there, and his knowledge of Buddhism scaled new heights. After leaving Sichuan, he traveled alone down the Yangtze River to the Tianhuang Monastery in Hubei’s Jingzhou, where he continued to study Buddhist theory. He subsequently went on lecture tours northwards to Henan, Shandong and Hebei, by which time he was an established Buddhist master, despite his tender years. However, the deeper he delved into Buddhism, the more perplexed he became.

The statue of Xuanzang that stands in front of the Greater Wild Goose Pagoda in Xi’an, where he spent 19 years translating Buddhist sutras.

Buddhism was introduced into China from India in the first century, during the early Eastern Han Dynasty. It is said that in AD 67 the Han emperor sent emissaries to India to obtain Buddhist scriptures. On its way the imperial mission met with and joined two Indian monks bringing Buddhist scriptures to China on a white horse. The party traveled eastward along the Old Silk Road to Luoyang in the Central Plains area and lodged the scriptures in a newly built temple, which became known as the White Horse Temple. Today a statue of the white horse that carried the very first Buddhist scriptures to China stands in front of what is believed to be the first Buddhist temple in China. During the next 500 years, Buddhism spread rapidly throughout the Central Plains area. It reached its zenith in the Sui and Tang dynasties (581-907), when there were more than 4,000 Buddhist temples housing 240,000 monks across the country.

Xuanzang was perplexed by the paradox that despite the rapid spread of Buddhism in China there were serious limits to its theoretical study. At that time China had only a small cache of Buddhist scriptures, and their Chinese versions were inaccurately translated, misinterpreted and had obvious mistakes. Worse still, some of the original scriptures had been lost. Each Buddhist sect in China had its particular interpretation of Buddhism, and sectarian contentions were rampant. Monk Xuanzang realized that if he wanted to gain true knowledge of Buddhism, he had to go to India. His decision recalls the story from his childhood of the solitary traveler on a rugged road, heedless of the distractions along the way to his ultimate destination.

A Perilous Journey

In 627, 27-year-old Xuanzang left the Yumen Pass, a Tang Dynasty frontier, and headed westward into the desert. The guide he hired to take him into the Western Regions soon abandoned him, and he was once more the solitary traveler. His only companion was an old, bony horse that he had bought cheaply at a frontier market. The two trudged through what was truly a barren wilderness, bereft of any sign of life other than whitened skeletons that acted as landmarks along the way.

Xuanzang traveled through inhospitable deserts and mountainous regions in the uneasy political environment of the early Tang Dynasty. The imperial government exercised strict control over its unstable frontier regions, and all citizens traversing them needed a pass. When Xuanzang applied for a frontier pass he was refused. Undaunted, he stole past the sentries on frontier posts under cover of night, or took round about routes. Upon reaching the last frontier pass, he lost his way, and worse still, spilt his last leather bag of water on the desert sands. In despair, he retraced his steps for about eight kilometers and then, remembering the oath he had made at the time of his departure, “I’ll not head eastward until I get to India,” turned around and continued westward. After traveling for four days without water he collapsed. The cold night desert air brought him round, and his old horse, experienced in desert travel, took him to an oasis where Xuanzang rested for a day and replenished his supplies of food and water. Two days later he emerged from the desert into the Western Regions.

The ruins of the Yumen Pass at the entrance to the Western Regions.

Upon arriving in the Kingdom of Gaochang in the Western Regions, Xuanzang was warmly received by the king, who was a devout Buddhist. The monarch invited Xuanzang to give lectures to his citizens, insisting that he stay despite the monk’s protestations. In the end, Xuanzang was forced to go on hunger strike in order to demonstrate to the king his determination to continue on his journey to India. The king, deeply moved, saw Xuanzang off with gifts of gold, silver, clothes, and horses, together with an entourage of over 50 attendants and guides. He also gave letters he had written to the 24 rulers of other kingdoms along the way, asking them to offer help and assistance to Xuanzang.

The entourage met with a snowstorm while climbing the Tianshan Mountains, and during their seven-day struggle to survive arctic temperatures, 20 of its members died. It was in 628 that Xuanzang and what remained of his entourage finally arrived in India.

Years in India

During his first few years in India, Xuanzang traveled its northern and central parts, visiting famous Buddhist sites and studying Sanskrit. In late 631 he arrived at the Nalanda Monastery, the largest Buddhist temple and the highest Buddhist academy in India that housed over 10,000 monks. Its centenarian abbot Silabhdra had long since ceased taking disciples and giving lectures, but Xuanzang’s incredible journey and dedication to Buddhism so moved him that he made this young Chinese monk his last disciple and acted as his master for 15 months. Xuanzang steadily read his way through the Nalanda Monastery library and studied with Master Silabhdra and other respected monks. Before long he had gained fame and reputation as a Buddhist scholar throughout India. After bidding abbot Silabhdra farewell, he traveled to southern India where he studied a further four years with other renowned Buddhist masters.

In 640, Xuanzang returned to the Nalanda Monastery and prepared to go home. At the end of the year, he went to Kanyakubja at the invitation of King Rajaputra Siladitya and attended a scripture debate held in his honor. Not one of the 6,000 monks and scholars, or kings of 18 Indian kingdoms, that attended the 18-day debate could outwit Xuanzang. News of the event spread his fame further across India. Several kings invited him to become part of their royal retinues, and one offered to build 100 monasteries for him. But Xuanzang demurred. When an Indian monk asked him: “You’ve come such a long way to India, why leave?” Xuanzang answered: “The ruler of my country is virtuous and wise, and his subjects are loyal. In that country, parents love their children, and children are filial towards their parents. There, judges and laws command prestige and dignity, humanism and justice are upheld, and seniors and veterans are respected for their profound knowledge and wisdom equal even to that of divinities……” Tang Dynasty China, the country that he loved and yearned to return to, was foremost in the thoughts of Xuanzang.

Mission Accomplished

In 645, 17 years after his departure, Xuanzang returned to China and an accolade of prestige and honor. His entire journey covered a total 25,000 kilometers. When he arrived at Chang’an, prime minister Fang Xuanling greeted him on behalf of Emperor Taizong. His arrival is thus described in historical records: “Both the religious and secular community rushed to greet him, and businesses closed down throughout the city.”

Emperor Taizong, named Li Shimin, met Xuanzang at his Eastern Capital Luoyang and the two talked for more than 10 hours. Xuanzang declined Taizong’s invitation to serve as an official, preferring to begin the mammoth task of translating and collating Buddhist scriptures and writing his interpretations of them.

Xuanzang brought back with him 657 Mahayana and Hinayana sutras, over 10 Buddhist statues and 150 grains of the Buddha’s ash relic, which were initially kept in the Hongfu Monastery. Xuanzang started working on his translations of scriptures at the temple, and later moved to the Daci’en (Great Benevolence) Monastery in the present-day Greater Wild Goose Pagoda in Xi’an. There he worked for 19 years, translating 74 sutras that amounted to 13 million characters. His translations were accurate as well as eloquent and lyrical. Many of the transliterations he coined, for example that for India, are still in use today. He also gave lectures on newly translated scriptures to monks from different parts of China, and at the request of Emperor Taizong translated Laozi (Classic of the Way and Virtue) and other Chinese classics into Sanskrit.

Emperor Taizong was so fascinated with Xuanzang’s travel stories that after talking with him, the ruler sent a monk to work as Xuanzang’s aide in recording what he had seen and heard on his journey to India. It was in AD 646 that the Records on the Western Regions of the Great Tang Empire was completed. It was a volume documenting the geography, history, language, culture, folklore, religion, ways of life and production activities of the 138 kingdoms in the Western Regions and India. It included many tales and legends, as well as vivid depictions of such famous sites as the Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan and the Wild Goose Pagoda and Nalanda Monastery in India. In a letter to Emperor Taizong, Xuanzang said of the book: “What has been recorded [in the book] is factual…. I have not dared to attempt any fabrication or hyperbole.” Later historical documents and archaeological discoveries verify Xuanzang’s written accounts.

The Chinese classic Journey to the West is based on Xuanzang’s passage to India. Although the novel’s protagonist, Tang Priest Sanzang, has little in common with Monk Xuanzang, they have one unifying propensity: that of heading single m indedly for their goal with no thoughts of turning back.

The Tang Dynasty (618-907) is a glorious chapter in Chinese history. It was when Emperor Taizong (named Li Shimin) (597-649) led China into a period of unprecedented political and social harmony, as well as economic and cultural prosperity. Scholar and court official Fan Zuyu (1041-1098) of the succeeding Northern Song Dynasty (960-1127), commented on and summarized the successes and failures of each Tang Dynasty emperor in his book Tang Jian (The Mirror of the Tang Dynasty). He presented the volume to the Northern Song emperor in the hope that the lessons it contained would help the emperor to rule wisely. The successes he cites are mainly those of Li Shimin (reign title Zhenguan), who engendered what Chinese historians acknowledge as the “Golden Era of Feudal China” and “Governance of the Zhenguan Reign.” Tang Jian is similar to Sun Zi’s Art of War in that it is still relevant and of value today as a political, military, economic and also managerial manual for those that intend to be in control of their lives.

Historical Lessons

A Tang Dynasty gilded iron cast in 633.

As mentioned, much of Tang Jian focuses on Li Shimin and his successful reign. Li began his military career at the age of 16. He rendered heroic and meritorious military service to his father, the first Tang Emperor Gaozu, by helping him topple the corrupt Sui Dynasty and restore the country to order. At the age of 29, Li succeeded the throne and became the second emperor of the Tang Dynasty. Upon enthronement, his first official statement was: “The pacification of the people and the stabilization of the country are dependent on the ruler.” Li Shimin was a brave soldier, but felt keenly the pressure on him as ruler of a newly established dynasty.

Aware of his inexperience, Emperor Taizong looked to previous rulers for guidance. He particularly contemplated the fate of the initially powerful and wealthy Sui Dynasty. He and his father defeated the Sui after it had been in power for just a few decades under the reign of two emperors. He is recorded as having told his officials that whenever he thought of the Sui rulers and officials, and how they neglected their public duties, lost their capacity for moral governance and caused the people to rebel, he felt unable to eat, sleep or do anything at will. He is quoted as saying, “Last night I read about the 80 or so monarchs recorded in Di Xi Lue (Synopsis of Imperial Genealogy). The majority either got themselves killed or allowed the country to fall into ruin, only a few achieved national prosperity and material abundance. I cannot help but be alarmed at this imbalance of success and failure.”

Emperor Taizong’s wax work at the National Museum of China.

When Emperor Taizong asked two high-ranking officials whether they thought establishing a country or governing it was the more difficult, his prime minister Fang Xuanling’s response was the former, while his close consultant Wei Zheng felt the latter to be true. The emperor commented: “Fang Xuanling fought side by side with me through numerous dangerous and brutal battles in the course of establishing the dynasty, so he knows the difficulties very well. Wei Zheng helps me to govern the country, and is constantly aware of how wealth and high status lead to self-indulgence and corruption, in whose wake follow chaos and disaster. Wei understands exactly the ramifications of governance. Establishing the country is now past, but it is crucial that we know what governance entails and that we remain alert to ensure that order and stability are maintained.”

After lengthy deliberation of this weighty matter, Taizong pinpointed three fundamental principles on which to act as ruler: The first was that of using the experience and bitter lessons of previous rulers as a mirror and guide for his own actions, the second was selecting and relying on people of virtue and talent to help him govern the country, and the third was to reject and discard scandal-mongering men of ill will.

The Right Men

The Huaqing Pool in Xi’an, a Tang Dynasty imperial relic.

Taizong once remarked to Wei Zheng that a ruler must exercise extreme care when selecting courtiers. He pointed out that the appointment of virtuous officials encourages good and moral men to step forward and offer their service, whereas the selection of just one self-seeking, immoral person could eventually bring the whole country to perdition.

Wei Zheng agreed that it is difficult to ascertain whether a person is truly all they purport to be. His advice was to use the ancient criteria of the “six virtues” and “six evils” to distinguish worthy men from bad. The six virtues desirable in an official are:

1. The ability to foresee crises and disasters and take quick, preventative action;

2. Devotion to state affairs evidenced by the offering of sound advice to the sovereign, helping to materialize constructive ideas and remedying situations caused by bad decisions;

3. Willingness to recommend, rather than envy, people of talent to the ruler without rancor;

4. Insight and the ability to make sound judgments;

5. Respect for the law and incorruptibility; and

6. Bravery sufficient to remonstrate with the ruler should he go astray and put his country in danger.

The six evils to beware when appointing officials are:

1. No sense of right and wrong, and the propensity to change with the wind in order to protect selfish interests;

2. Achieving ambitions by sucking up to and fawning upon the ruler and superiors;

3. Nursing ill feelings and speaking ill of those perceived as a threat behind closed doors, while smiling and flattering them to their face;

4. Covering up mistakes, sowing dissension and stirring up trouble among colleagues;

5. Abusing power and conspiring to profit from it; and

6. Deceiving superiors and subordinates and duping the public.

Only the most upright officials could comply with the six virtues, be innocent of the six evils and so truly contribute towards maintaining imperial order and national stability.

Taizong endorsed this ethic in a remark to his entourage of officials about Emperor Yangdi of the Sui Dynasty. He observed that Sui Emperor forfeited his right to rule by heeding the flattery of corrupt officials and exhausting his subjects’ means to a livelihood – their physical strength – by forcing them to build him a palace. Such exploitation gave the people no choice but to rebel.

Reject the Untrustworthy

The ruins of Jiaohe City in Xinjiang’s Turpan, which was formerly an important garrison on the Old Silk Road.

Emperor Taizong is also recorded as having said, “If the channel of outspokenness is blocked, there will be fewer honest people; if the channel of flattery is opened, there will be a deluge of untrustworthy characters.” In the eighth month of the tenth year of his reign, the emperor made the statement: “I support outspokenness when it benefits the country. Recently many of the reports received by the imperial court have contained slanderous accusations. If they continue in this vein, those penning such defamatory missives will be charged and punished for the crime of slander.” His intention in so doing was to discourage fawning and backbiting, according to The Mirror of the Tang Dynasty.

Emperor Taizong believed that a ruler should maintain a sober mind, encourage uprightness and stamp out evil doings. He was all too aware that a ruler is subject to flattery from all manner of people, some of them brave, some eloquent, some silver-tongued, and some just cunning. All try to win the ruler’s favor and climb the official ladder. Unless a ruler surrounds himself with trustworthy courtiers he could be seduced into endangering his country.

Ancients warned that sycophants were dangerous and despicable. Emperor Taizong insisted that they were dangerous only if a ruler fell prey to them, and deplorable and despicable only at the point when the ruler denounced and exposed them.

Lessons from Collective Wisdom

Taizong loved archery and had more than a dozen bows that he considered of top quality, but a bow maker told him that none had been made from top quality materials. This brought home to Taizong that no matter how he excelled at archery, he would never know as much as this artisan about bows. It also made him realize how many things in the world he did not, yet needed to, understand. In order to have ample counsel and several sources of knowledge, the emperor ensured that officials above the fifth rank living in the capital took turns to be on duty in the imperial court.

A Tang dance choreographed according to historical documents.

In the third year of the Zhenguan Reign, Taizong denounced officials in the Secretariat and Chancellery, both central decision-making departments, for not voicing disagreement with imperial decrees. He pointed out that anyone could wield a rubber stamp, and that as decision-makers they should discuss and make suggestions as to the validity and feasibility of imperial decrees before their official issuance.

In order to avoid harm caused by wrongly worded decrees and blind obedience, Taizong ordered that any level of administration receiving a decree which did not apply to it should report it directly to the imperial court, and gave authority to postpone implementation of such decrees. He also stipulated that decrees should take effect only after the Chancellery had signed them. Taizong was thus the only emperor in Chinese history ever to have issued a decree restricting his personal power. Consequently, “Few decrees issued during the Zhenguan Reign had bad consequences,” according to historical records.

A Smooth Channel of Opinions

In the second year of the Zhenguan Reign, Taizong asked Wei Zheng, “What enlightens a ruler and what blinds him?” Wei answered, “Listening to all opinions makes a ruler wise, but restricting himself to biased, partial opinions makes him blind.”

To encourage his courtiers to speak their minds, Taizong would reward upright officials who were unafraid of voicing opinions that opposed those of the emperor. One example occurred during the fourth year of his reign. Taizong ordered his troops to refurbish the Sui palace in Luoyang so that he could stay there when traveling. One official named Zhang Xuansu objected, reminding Taizong that when he first captured Luoyang he had ordered all luxurious Sui palaces to be destroyed as a declaration of his frugality policy. Zhang asked his emperor why at that time he had so despised the Sui ruler’s sumptuousness, yet now, when the Tang economy was still less strong than what that of the Sui Dynasty had been, he wanted to undertake the massive task of restoring one of its palaces. Zhang Xuansu was quick to point out that making his troops labor when they needed to recover their strength after an extended period of warfare would be acting no differently from Sui Emperor Yangdi. The emperor would, therefore, but putting his country in danger. Instead of expressing annoyance at Zhang’s harsh words, Taizong acknowledged the inappropriateness of palace refurbishments and presented Zhang 200 bolts of silk as a reward for his astuteness and candor.

Taizong was at pains to stress that no matter whether he liked or disliked an opinion, he would not think ill of the person expressing it. Those that provided good opinions he regarded as his teachers and friends.

Personal Charisma

Li Shimin was different from other emperors in that he regarded himself as an ordinary human being rather than the “son of heaven.” He respected Wei Zheng, who was 17 years his senior, as his teacher and friend. On one occasion when Wei Zheng had taken a business trip outside the capital he heard that the emperor was going on a leisure trip to Zhongnan Mountain. Upon his return to the capital, he was surprised to see that the emperor had not left. When he asked why, Taizong replied that on reconsidering the plan it had occurred to him that Wei Zheng might criticize him for dereliction of duty, so he cancelled his arrangements.

Taizong loved hunting, but Wei Zheng frequently advised him not to waste too much time on it. On one occasion Taizong was sporting with his falcon when he saw Wei Zheng approaching. He hid the falcon under his robes and patiently listened to Wei detailing matters at hand at court. When Wei finally finished and left, Taizong found that the falcon had smothered to death.

Certain Tang Dynasty poets lauded Taizong’s humanism and his identifying himself with the common people. Bai Juyi mentions several such cases in his poem, Seven Virtues Dance. For example, Taizong sent 3,000 court ladies home so that they could marry and live a normal life, as it seemed to him inhumane to keep them locked inside the palace. Another case occurred during a famine in the second year of the Zhenguan Reign so severe that many families sold their children. Taizong used imperial treasury funds to buy the children and return them to their parents. Such stories have been recorded in official documents as well as in the oral story telling tradition. In the 1,500 years since Li Shimin reigned he has been firmly established as a hero and model emperor.

Traveling to Beijing for the first time? Don’t get caught in, out, or up by culture shocks. Know how things should – and shouldn’t – be done to ensure your trip is a memorable one for all the right reasons.

Tourist George Johnson had skipped his breakfast, and the pangs of hunger were almost visible through his tightly fitting T-shirt. His starvation, however, was self-imposed – George had just flown in from Sydney for a tour of the Chinese capital that kicked off with an invitation to an authentic Chinese banquet. “The Chinese are famed throughout the world for their cuisine,” he reasoned, “so it’s best to go in with an empty stomach.”

Like many of the mistakes he made that night, George’s first was an honest one. The guests, the most important of which was another tourist from Hong Kong, were all dithering around the table, and no one chose a seat. “I’ll sit here then, will I?” the burly Aussie inquired of no one in particular whilst rolling up his sleeves. He proceeded to plunk his backside down in what should have been the special guest’s chair. The Chinese guests put it down to his ignorance of their customs, and in a face-saving maneuver, hurriedly took their own seats.

Soon, the waitress (xiaojie) emerged from nowhere with the first in a long line of starters. Though such was the range, number, style and type of these that George could also be easily forgiven for his second erroneous move. There were plates of fish, pigeon eggs, spicy cabbage, cured pork, and all sorts of others. And then the procession stopped. George assumed that the tucker on the table was the entire meal, and promptly began to demolish it. He did wonder why most of the dishes were cold, but nevertheless carried on chomping.

A pretty rapid eater, George had just scoffed down his fill when the doors swung open once again, and a new gastronomical parade began. The main courses were arriving at the table. George thought he was hallucinating as the arriving onslaught of aromatic dishes tantalized his taste buds, but his stuffed-up stomach ordered that his mouth decline.

It transpired a pity that he still had room for liquids after his host asked George, “Do you like white wine?” Presuming that a chilled bottle of Bordeaux might materialize on the table, George nodded his agreement. But the liquor that was opened was no such thing. Yes, it literally was white wine (baijiu), but at 56 percent proof, it was the variety that can be used to power rockets.

It wasn’t as if George couldn’t take a drink – he was, after all, Australian. But George had never before experienced intoxication of this nature. A pile of don’ts was to follow: He stuck his chopsticks (kuaizi) upright in his rice bowl (resembling the incense sticks used in this country to pay homage to the departed); he consistently left the teapot pointing at a guest after pouring a round, and when the alcohol inevitably reawakened his sense of hunger, he practically licked the plates clean. And after staggering outside at the banquet’s conclusion, he displayed one of his nation’s greatest skills – the six-foot-three lad rugby-tackled his host to the ground.

It didn’t have to be that way.

The first phase of the Chinese banquet is quite complicated: Determining the seating arrangements. Banquets are normally conducted around large, “Lazy Susan” tables, and the most important guest usually sits to the right of the host (zhi ren). Then there is a complex order governing where the other diners should position themselves, as each guest usually tries to “humbly” convince the other that she is more worthy of the higher-ranking seat. It’s best to wait until the hullabaloo has died down, or until you are told where to sit (zuo zher).

When everyone is sitting comfortably, the cold dish appetizers (liang cai) will arrive at the table. Before the chopsticks capture a crumb, the host will say a few words. She will, in a few lines hopefully, explain the purpose behind the feast, be it a welcoming, a farewell, a thank you or a plea for business. At this stage, not a great deal of response is expected, so it’s best to smile, nod and clap along with the crowd. The host then blows the whistle, and it’s off.

The parade of main courses is usually seamlessly mixed with the appetizers. Waiters (shifu) will bring dish after dish of mouth-watering grub until almost every edible member of the animal kingdom is represented at the table. Certain species own their own set of protocol to be observed while they are devoured, for instance, fish.

The entire creature, head and tail included, is positioned on the table so that its gaping mouth faces the most important guest. This privileged person is offered the first morsel, before the rest of the company is invited to eat (chi) it. Soon enough, a delicate hand will appear to lift and separate the creature’s bones, exposing the rest of its meat to the guzzlers. Turning the fish over is often a no-no; traditionally, fishermen believed this would cause their boat to capsize.

Chickens are also usually served whole, or attached to their bones. Do not be surprised to see your companions skillfully spit the unwanted bones into a side-plate. Try this for yourself – it is easily mastered and actually great fun. Just refrain from removing them from your mouth with your fingers – this is considered rude.

When attending a Chinese banquet, most foreigners share a common fear. What to do if a stewed bull’s penis is suddenly slapped down upon the table? Will the host be offended if I refuse to sample such an organ? Rest assured – if you were in such a situation, you probably would not know it. Most of the more “nauseating” ingredients are so cleverly disguised in the dishes that you generally won’t have a clue what you’re putting in your mouth. In any case, the best solution is to remain ignorant. Simply don’t ask, try anything, and you’re sure to love the taste and impress the host. But don’t clear the plate – that’ll imply that your host failed to provide enough food for you.

Alcohol flows in no small volume at Chinese banquets, but beware the baijiu. The Chinese love it, but foreigners would be well advised to limit their intake of this sickly-sweet substance, for the sake of their livers if not their valuable time. Recovery, as George can attest, can take a couple of days. Beer (pijiu) and tea (cha) are perfect substitutes, but if you are the adventurous type, have a small cup and drink it slowly. As soon as the drink loses its sweet taste, you have had enough. Unfortunately, by the time this happens, the damage is often already done.

Whatever your tipple, a hilarious part of the Chinese banquet is the systematic toasting process. Simple toasts are made, expressing thanks to the host, respect for the guest, and good wishes, health, fortune and prosperity to all. Rules here very much depend on the occasion, but the toasting cheer is always the same. Literally meaning “dry glass,” ganbei is the Chinese equivalent of bottoms up, and the toaster screams this after his utterance. When making or receiving a toast, raise your glass with both hands to show the utmost respect.

The toasting hierarchy usually follows that of the seating arrangements, but the more gan the beis get, the less importance is placed upon this. This ritual could also be the reason why, on average, Chinese gluttons are slimmer than their Western counterparts. They burn off the calories as they go along – you’re required to stand up for each toast and sit down afterwards.

There is a simple but interesting custom that is easily observed when eating with your Chinese friends. When someone pours you a cup of your preferred beverage, you should tap the table a couple of times with your index and middle fingers. This tradition stems from ancient times, when Emperor Qianlong, like Zeus, would descend from his lofty throne and travel the land, to dine with the common folk and get a flavor of real life among his domain.

The emperor would often end up pouring a round of tea for his fellow diners, which included his aides. The latter would jump to the floor and kowtow, to show the emperor his due respect. This, Qianlong quite rightly reasoned, might give the game away, so he devised a system whereby the aides could show their respect whilst maintaining his disguise. The custom caught on, and is still very widely practiced, when one wants to show respect and gratitude to the tea server.

The sword first appeared in China during the early age of cold weaponry, but its use in close-quarters combat was relatively short. By the early third century it had departed the battlefield and become a main artistic motif. Later still, it was an appurtenance denoting social standing.

Star of Stage

Swordplay combines martial and acrobatic skills. After becoming obsolete on the battlefield, the ethos of the sword, so-called monarch of all weapons, changed from that of dispatcher of enemies and preserver of its owner’s life to object of aesthetic appreciation. The sword became, and remained, a major aspect of folk theater and dance sequences.

The two broad Tang Dynasty dance genres were the graceful, flowing “civilian dance” and spirited “martial dance.” Choreographically conceived swordplay included the spectacularly swirling “Sword Huntuo” dance of the Western Regions and the bold, sensuous “Xihe Sword” folk dances of Northwestern China.

The sword of Gou Jian, king of Yue – a state treasure.

The supreme Tang Dynasty swordplay champion was Madame Gongsun. Clad in full martial costume, she mesmerized audiences with her deft wielding of the sword and dazzling dance artistry. Madame Gongsun’s admirers included respected scholars and men of letters, and the great Tang poet Du Fu wrote a poem dedicated to her virtuosity.

In addition to heightening the affect of dramatized martial spectacles, swordplay was often central to the plots of plays and operas, one example being the Peking Opera The Conqueror Bids Farewell to His Favorite Concubine. It tells of Xiang Yu, a main contender for the throne after the death of the Qin emperor. After being defeated and driven out of his native State of Chu, Xiang Yu charges his concubine Yu Ji with joining him in drowning his sorrows in liquor, but devotion to her lord drives Yu Ji to enact a strategy of ultimate self-sacrifice. She performs a sword dance (choreographed by the great Peking Opera master Mei Lanfang) that ends in Yu Ji’s slaying herself. Yu Ji thus forcing Xiang Yu to free himself from the final fetter that hinders him from an all-out attempt to recover his kingdom.

Yu Ji’s sword dance is in the graceful, flowing style of taiji swordplay: the iron fist in a velvet glove. It movingly reflects the heroine’s reluctance to part with her lover and her steely determination to face death fearlessly. This sequence is the climax of the opera and a brilliant example of dramatic swordplay.

Calligraphic Swordplay

Martial artists and calligraphers were agreed that calligraphy and swordplay had similar origins: in the eyes of an accomplished artist, skilled swordplay resembled dancing calligraphy and was a source of inspiration, while to a martial arts master, calligraphy was swordplay on paper.

It was Meng Tian, a respected Qin Dynasty (221-206 B.C.) general, that first made a cone-shaped brush head out of rabbit hair and inserted it into a bamboo shaft, thus inventing the first calligraphy and painting brush. Two thousand years later, his manufacturing technique has yet to be bettered.

Zhang Xu, a famous calligrapher of the Tang Dynasty (618-907) particularly excelled at the caoshu (cursive) style of calligraphy. Cursive script differs from other styles of calligraphy in appearing deceptively simple when it is actually very difficult to execute. It calls for artistry similar to that required for abstract painting, in the sense of mastery of classic art’s being a prerequisite to the ability to create abstract works. Zhang Xu’s cursive script, based on his kaishu or regular script, was unconventionally and distinctly bold. His calligraphic artistry resulted in his epithet as “sage of cursive script.”

Zhang Xu and expert swordplay dancer Madame Gongsun were contemporaries. The attitudes struck by Madame Gongsun in her dance sequences of bold leaps, graceful swoops and deadly accurate lunges were, in Zhang Xu’s eyes, unusually defined outlines of Chinese characters. He drew inspiration from Madame Gongsun’s swordplay and incorporated everything he found thrilling about her performances into his distinctive style of calligraphy, which later contributed to China’s venerable canon.

Wudang swordplay.

Another famous swordplay exponent was Tang Dynasty general Pei Min. Upon his inviting famous Tang Dynasty painter Wu Daozi to paint a mural on temple wall to exorcise evil spirits and honor his deceased mother, the artist replied, “I would consider it an honor, but have not painted for a while. Could you inspire me with a swordplay dance sequence?” Pei Min thereupon performed for him, and Wu Daozi referred to the work he subsequently created, inspired by Pei Min’s balletic skills as, “ …the most satisfactory work of my life.”

It was Emperor Wenzong of the Tang Dynasty (reigned 826-841) that issued an imperial edict naming Zhang Xu’s calligraphy, Pei Min’s swordplay and Li Bai’s poetry as the “three wonders of the Great Tang Empire.”

Social Significance

Chinese ancients believed the sword to be the only weapon that was not ill-omened. Many dynasties promulgated specific sword-bearing laws, generally stipulating that common laboring people were disallowed from sword ownership, it being the privilege of the wealthy and those in the official ranks of power and influence. The sword was the weapon of scholars and warriors alike. Many wore it as a fashion accessory and indication of high social status. All but the most favored of officials were prohibited from wearing a sword when summoned to the imperial court.

The emperor was the supreme ruler of China’s feudal society, at whose whim a man could live or die. As the emperor’s sword was regarded as having similar power, its bearer (seldom the emperor himself) was invested with discretionary powers as to its use. Consequently, no matter how high an accused official’s rank might be, the bearer of the emperor’s sword had the power to execute him or not, as he deemed fit.

The weapon also had applications within Taoist spells. A peach wood sword was believed to ward off demons and evil spirits, and was often hung on a wall to protect, as well as ornament, a household.

It having been observed that ancient Chinese men of letters felt a particular affinity with the sword, the great German poet Heinrich Heine is quoted as having once said, “After I die, put a sword, not a pen, into my coffin.” It would seem, therefore, that sword lovers are by no means confined to the ranks of Chinese scholars.

A pit filled with inscribed oracle bones found at the Yin Ruins.

The Yin Ruins mark what was once the magnificent capital of the ancient Shang Dynasty (14th-11th centuries B.C.) that changed its name after moving to Yin. The city, along with the history of the entire dynasty, remained buried and obscured from actual human cognizance for more than 3,300 years. It engendered a body of myths and legends that were encapsulated 300 years ago in the classic volume of Chinese mythology  Canonization of the Gods ( Feng Shen Yan Yi ). This work of literature depicts the Yin Dynasty as a world inhabited by deities and demons as well as human beings. It was upon the ruins’ discovery 100 years ago that the veil of mystery over the Yin Dynasty and its capital finally fell.

The Discovery of Oracle Bones

Characters carved on an oracle bone.

One hundred years ago, Xiaotun was just one of an abundance of small farming villages in the Central Plains area. A villager named Li Cheng worked as a barber in his spare time, but his skills were so lacking that he often inflicted cuts and nicks on the heads of his customers. Lacking money to buy medicine, Li used a special powder, ground from fragments of bone and tortoise shell that he and his fellow villagers frequently dug up when hoeing their fields, to stop the bleeding and prevent inflammation. He learned the name and utility of this traditional Chinese medicine ingredient from books on the subject. The fragments, known as “Dragon’s Bones,” were mammalian bone and chelonian shell fossils, and their function was to “nourish muscles, prevent decomposition, stop bleeding and calm the nerves.” Xiaotun villagers would sell the bones and shells unearthed from their fields for a pittance, one kilo being exchanged for about the price of six shaobing (palm-sized baked cakes).

In 1899, Wang Yirong, chancellor of the Directorate of Education (Guozijian), the only official Qing Dynasty- administered university, fell ill and dispatched his servant to the pharmacy to fetch some medicine. Upon his servant’s return, Wang, as always, checked the medicinal ingredients and their quality against the prescription, but on this occasion gave the “Dragon’s Bones” a particularly close scrutiny. Wang was an accomplished scholar, philologist and collector, and the character-like marks on these “Dragon’s Bones” resembled those he had seen on ancient bronze vessels. Wang immediately sent his servant to buy up all the “Dragon’s Bones” in the pharmacy. After further examination and study, Wang Yirong’s suspicions that these inscriptions originated in an earlier and as yet unknown age were confirmed. He was able to distinguish characters on these bones and shells that depicted the sun, the moon, a mountain, water and rain, and also the names of Yin Dynasty monarchs. Wang Yirong then embarked on an exhaustive medicine-buying spree, sparing no expense until he had bought up all the engraved “Dragon’s Bones” in stock at Beijing pharmacies as well as those held by antique traders. Wang finally collected more than 1,500 pieces of oracle bones, the bulk of which originated in Xiaotun Village in Henan’s Anyang.

Wang Yirong’s research was cut short by his suicide in 1900, when the Eight-Power Allied Forces invaded Beijing. After his death, most of his collection was handed on to his friend Liu E, who carried forward Wang’s undertaking. Liu expanded Wang’s collection of oracle bones to more than 5,000 pieces, and in 1903 published a compilation of the rubbings he had made of them entitled Tie Yun Cang Gui (The Tortoise Shell Collection of Tie Yun, Liu E’s official name being Tie Yun ). The book, and the data it disclosed about oracle bones, sparked off a new wave of research among Chinese and overseas scholars.

These engraved bones and shells were actually Shang Dynasty divinations — a main aspect of the ancestor and spirit worship that prevailed at that time. Divination as regards a specific event, whether out of the ordinary or an aspect of daily life, was accomplished by heating animal bones and shells until they cracked. The direction, length and thickness of these cracks were then interpreted and a prophesy was made on their basis. Records of such matters and their divination were stored in an archive in the household cellar. In 1936, archaeologists unearthed more than 170,000 pieces of inscribed oracle bone and explanatory records from a pit in Xiaotun Village. They describe various activities of the Shang Dynasty royal family, aristocrats and slave owners and as such are an invaluable source of information on the politics, economics and society of that remote period.

Another reason why the discovery of these oracle bones was so significant in Chinese philological history was that they banished the myth that Cang Jie, said to have been court historian to the Yellow Emperor, created Chinese characters. In addition to giving an insight into daily life three millennia ago, oracle bones also constitute a record of the course of development, from pictograms to characters, of the Chinese written language. Pictograms on pottery dating back to pre-history are primarily drawings, but those on oracle bones evolved from specific pictorial depictions and comply with the basic structure of Chinese characters.

Over past decades of research, some 4,500 characters — roughly one-third of the total — on oracle bones have been deciphered. Jiaguwen , or Shell and Bone Script, is acknowledged as the earliest Chinese characters.

The Discovery of the Yin Ruins

The Yin Ruins are mentioned several times in Chinese historian Sima Qian’s Records of the Historian , but their actual location is not clear. It was the wealth of information deciphered from jiaguwen on oracle bones that enabled Chinese archaeologists to solve the riddle of the Yin Ruins and their whereabouts. Having used the oracle bones to pinpoint the exact location of the site, archaeologists conducted 15 excavations at Xiaotun between 1928 and 1937. They discovered the remains of palaces, temples and tombs dating back to the middle and late periods of the Shang Dynasty, and also unearthed large amounts of bronze, jade and pottery artifacts. It was established beyond doubt that Henan’s Anyang, where Xiaotun Village is located, had been site of the capital of the Shang Dynasty, since referred to by Chinese archaeologists and historians as the Yin Ruins.

Possibly the most dramatic discovery in Anyang was that of the Si Mu Wu Quadripot in the tomb area of the Yin Ruins in 1939, most particularly because it was successfully hidden from the invading Japanese troops.

Mr. Wu Peiwen, on a visit to see the Si Mu Wu Quadripot that he discovered 60 years ago.

This secret excavation happened one night in February 1939, when a neighbor of Wu Peiwen, resident of Anyang’s Wuguan Village, came to tell him that there might be something precious buried in his plot. When Wu and his neighbor probed the soil with a long pole they struck a hard object. As archaeologists had carried out excavations in the area, it seemed likely that they had hit upon an ancient relic. Wu Peiwen returned to the village and called on several more villagers to help with the digging. By daybreak only a small section of the hard object was visible. When Wu jumped into the pit to take a closer look he saw that the exposed section of the relic body bore exquisite carvings. In order to prevent the Japanese from discovering this precious artifact, the villagers refilled the pit. The next night 40 people came to dig the object up, and their efforts finally revealed a huge bronze quadripot. On the third night they carried the pot to Wu Peiwen’s courtyard and buried it there.

The villagers had no idea that they had unearthed the world’s largest bronze artifact, but in any event were determined to keep it from the clutches of the Japanese invaders. After letting it be known that they were looking for a buyer, an antique dealer soon came forward and unhesitatingly offered a purchase price of 200,000 silver dollars - an amount so astronomical as to be inconceivable to the Wuguan villagers. But payment of this huge price was conditional upon the pot’s being cut into sections, as otherwise the buyer would not be able to steal it away from under Japanese eyes. The villagers refused, and the deal fell through. In order to hide the quadripot from the Japanese, the villagers took it to another site, and filled the pit in Wu Peiwen’s courtyard with other antiques that were subsequently taken away by Japanese soldiers.

In 1945, after the Japanese invaders were defeated, the quadripot was taken to Nanjing. Today it forms part of the collection of the National Museum of Chinese History in Beijing. Archaeological studies show that the quadripot, weighing 832.84 kilograms and standing 133 centimeters tall, dates back to the Shang Dynasty. It is known as the Si Mu Wu Quadripot due to these three characters being carved on its interior. Tripots and quadripots — ding in Chinese — were symbols of power in ancient China. After Yu the Great succeeded the throne, legend has it that he cast nine ding in the gold he had been presented as tributes by the nine provinces under his rule. Throughout the succeeding eras, the ding continued to symbolize power, its dimensions and weight indicating the rank and status of its owner. Experts believe that the Si Mu Wu ding was cast by a monarch of the Shang Dynasty in memory of his mother. Its archaeological value is unchallengeable, as the ding later unearthed from a queen’s tomb at the Yin Ruins is barely an eighth of its size.

First Heroine of China

The name Fu Hao is mentioned 200 times in oracle bone jiaguwen , whose decipherings, along with new discoveries at the Yin Ruins, reveal that she was the wife of a Shang king named Wu Ding. Fu Hao was also the first textually recorded woman general in China. Her tomb was discovered in 1976, and its excavation has made it possible to gain an impression of this distinguished woman from remote history.

The tomb of Fu Hao is located in the western palace area of the Yin Ruins. As it is one of the rare instances of an ancient tomb that has not been robbed, the identity of its owner is clear. Fu Hao’s small tomb chamber contains all her daily life necessities. Archaeologists unearthed from it 1,928 burial objects, including 400 bronze, 750 jade and 460 bone vessels as well as many stone, ivory, pottery and seashell artifacts, and 6,800 shells that were legal tender during the Shang Dynasty. Half of the bronze vessels are engraved with Fu Hao’s name. Among them is an exquisite triple yan — an ancient boiling and steaming vessel weighing 138 kilograms. Single yan have been unearthed elsewhere, but the triple Fu Hao yan is the only one of its kind so far found. Judging by its weight and size, it was used for ceremonial and divinatory purposes rather than cooking. The discovery of this yan corroborates jiaguwen records that Fu Hao presided over worshipful ceremonies and divinations.

The Fu Hao tomb has also yielded four bronze mirrors, four bronze yue (ancient battle-axes) and more than 130 other bronze weapons, some of which have obviously been used in battle. One of the yue is 40 centimeters long, 38 centimeters across and weighs nine kilograms. It is carved with Fu Hao’s name and the image of two tigers fighting over a human head. Judging from its weight and design, the battle-axe is a symbol of Fu Hao’s military power rather than an actually utilized weapon, and could well symbolize the supreme mandate to command military operations that the Shang king bestowed on Fu Hao. Oracle bones record that in a series of battles fought during the reign of King Wu Ding, Fu Hao marshaled troops on the battlefield in the king’s stead on more than one occasion. She once led 13,000 men in a victorious battle against the Qiang tribe, and was the most meritorious general of the Wu Ding period.

That King Wu Ding greatly admired Fu Hao and regularly prayed for her health and longevity is repeatedly recorded on Xiaotun oracle bones. Fu Hao’s status was equal to that of the king’s 60 or so other wives, and she was awarded an independent fief. The brave and beautiful Fu Hao, however, suffered poor health and died before the king.

King Wu Ding buried Fu Hao in the palace area — a rare honor — and built a palatial hall above her tomb . Archaeological excavations have established that 11 of the royal tombs in the Yin Ruins were emptied of their riches millennia ago by tomb raiders. Fu Hao’s tomb being the only one left intact can be attributed to its uncommon location in the palace area, under a palace hall.

On July 13, 2006 the Yin Ruins in Henan’s Anyang were added to the World Cultural Heritage List.