by Ken Liu
“It’s called Civilization.”
Li Si handed over the DVD—the demo was made in such a hurry that the title of the game had to be written on the back with a permanent marker (albeit in the chancellor’s beautiful seal script). A servant took the disc and slid it into a computer whose case was decorated with golden dragons, and gently pressed the “close” button. As the computer hummed, another servant took the opportunity to place an incense brazier next to the cooling fan, and sweet fragrance soon filled the whole great hall.
A third servant carefully wielded the mouse to begin the installation process. The whole hall waited impatiently as the computer fan sped up and hummed louder.
Five minutes later, the installation was complete. A fourth servant placed a mouse and a keyboard—wireless, nothing but the best in the palace—in a sandalwood tray and brought them to the emperor. A fifth servant knelt before the emperor—his robe was made of the same material as mousepads—and presented his broad, flat back to the throne.
Li Si spoke solemnly: “This game contains the essence of Legalism. The player must assume the role of a great leader and rule with ruthless precision. One must keep the big picture in mind without neglecting micromanagement. The emperor’s will is also the fate of all NPCs.”
“Sounds great!” The emperor picked up the mouse. Naturally, he picked himself as the leader to play on the opening screen.
At first, he did well. From a single city, he expanded to dominate the region. He even successfully won the race for the Pyramids as well as a few other wonders. The Great Wall, as a wonder, was rather useless, but Qin Shihuang rushed to build it anyway.
After that, he went to war. The “Chinese Civilization,” under the leadership of Qin Shihuang, was extremely aggressive. The emperor could not stomach the sight of any city on the map not under his rule. Starting from the Stone Age, he invested most of his resources in military units and was constantly at war. He was having a great time as the game reminded him of his own years of conquest.
But soon, he found the game less than enjoyable. The result of being so aggressive in the early game was that every other civilization viewed him as the enemy. He had no choice but to devote all his resources to military units and buildings. Cities rioted all over the map, protesting high taxes, lack of space, and the constant wars. The fire of rebellion swept the empire.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Li Si broke in. He coughed and tried to make his voice as soothing as possible. “It would be helpful to pay attention to the happiness levels of the citizens in the cities. A few city improvements to promote entertainment may be necessary. Remember, micromanagement. Micro.”
Qin Shihuang brushed this advice aside. He was the emperor! How could he possibly be expected to lower himself to worry about the happiness of some plebeians in a game?
“They are supposed to entertain me, not the other way around.” The emperor adjusted the entertainment expenditure slider all the way to zero, and then sacrificed a citizen to rush a catapult. “The people in the game are also my subjects. They should be glad to be sacrificed for the good of the empire!”
Predictably, this kind of policy did not improve his position. Soon, plagued by invasion and rebellion, his empire collapsed. Angrily, he terminated the game, clicking the mouse so forcefully that the mousepad servant trembled.
Luckily, Li Si had had the foresight to eliminate the feature of the game that evaluated the player’s performance against historical world leaders. Otherwise, it was likely that the emperor would have terminated more than the game.
Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, Chancellor Li backed away from the emperor. He had thought the emperor might choose the Emperor difficulty setting; instead, the emperor had picked Deity without hesitation. Well, that was a glimpse into Qin Shihuang’s character.
The next presentation came from Kong Fu, the ninth-generation descendant of Confucius himself and the leader of the Confucians. The game he demoed was called The Sims.
“This game has its origins in the ancient Zhou Dynasty, and we’re the only ones to revive it,” said Kong Fu proudly. The fact that the Confucians had inherited the uncorrupted source code of the Zhou Dynasty was something the entire school took enormous pride in, including the great sage Confucius himself.
“How do I play this?” asked the emperor. He had no interest in history, but he was rather curious about the game.
“Your Imperial Majesty, first, you must create a character, and then guide him through a simulated world. There, he must follow the rituals and enact the rites of Confucianism to give his life meaning. For example, you must visit your neighbors often to increase their friendliness toward you. As the Great Sage himself said, ‘Broaden the respect you have for your own aged parents to the parents of others; expand the love you have for your own children to the children of others.’ The heart of this game is the strengthening of social ties….”
The lecture bored the emperor. If he weren’t on vacation, he would have long ago called for soldiers to drag this pedant out. But he was supposed to be having fun, so he forced himself to endure the long tutorial. Finally, Kong Fu relinquished the mouse.
The emperor wanted to dig a swimming pool, but the game informed him that he didn’t have the necessary funds.
“What a joke,” the emperor muttered. “I possess the whole empire. Are you telling me I can’t afford to dig a hole in the ground?”
“As the emperor, you are the role model for all your subjects,” said Kong Fu. “Living a simple and frugal life is the right path. Spending so much on luxuries will lead to bankruptcy.”
“Why aren’t my neighbors coming to my house to honor me?” demanded the emperor.
“You have to visit them often and shower them with gifts to gradually bring up the level of your relationship. Only then will they come visit you. The game teaches us the importance of kindness and mutual respect, as the Great Sage—”
“Ridiculous!”
The emperor could barely contain his rage. He was the emperor, and everyone else was his subject. Who ever heard of the mighty emperor having to bribe some barbaric tribe with gifts so they’d come to pay their respects? What an insult!
The game was most definitely treasonous.
During the next month, the Qin Empire struck hard at the sale and manufacture of treasonous Confucian games. Thousands of illegal DVDs were confiscated from across the land, and more than four hundred game dealers were arrested. Under the emperor’s direction, soldiers dug a giant pit in the ground—not unlike a swimming pool—and the DVDs and game dealers were tossed into the pit and lit on fire.
The third presenter was the leader of the Mohists. Right away, he said to the emperor, “We Mohists are pacifists. We don’t advocate war and aggression. Thus, we brought a tower defense game. All you have to do is defend, defend, and defend some more.”
The computer screen showed a group of zombies on one side and some plants on the other.
“What are these zombies doing here?” asked the emperor.
“They’re the enemies of the empire.”
“What about these weeds and flowers?”
“They’re the empire’s most loyal guardians.”
Surprisingly, the emperor had a lot of fun—he loved the sight of the corpses of his enemies strewn across the lawn. He did find it rather annoying that he had to wait passively for waves of zombies to approach, instead of actively dispatching a punitive expeditionary garden into the zombie homeland.
“That is correct, Your Imperial Majesty. We don’t need to attack at all. When the enemy realizes that it’s impossible to conquer us, they will stop, and war will end.”
The Mohist was pleased with his progress. It appeared that the emperor was close to being persuaded.
Qin Shihuang nodded at this explanation, but his gaze was glued to the screen as his finger clicked the mouse feverishly. The Cob Cannons and Gatling Peas demonstrated their fierce firepower as zombie after zombie turned to dust.
; Five hours later, the emperor’s eyes were bloodshot and his face twitched. Several different servants had to take turns performing mousepad duty.
But the zombies showed no signs of relenting. For just one moment, the emperor’s concentration lapsed, and a small zombie rushed over and ate a few Winter Melons. The defenses of the empire collapsed.
“Fraud! You’re a fraud!” The emperor tossed away the mouse and rubbed his sore wrist. “You told me that a perfect defense will stop the enemy. But I have already gone through six hundred waves of attacks! Why are they still coming?”
“That … that is because you chose infinity mode.”
“I think you Mohists are a bunch of naive fools who know nothing about the bloody reality of the world.”
The emperor summoned his guards to chase the Mohist away—but he did remember to go to the garden and water all the plants.
As the days passed by, school after school came to present their best games to the emperor. The School of the Military brought Call of Duty; the Agriculturalists brought Harvest Moon; the School of Names (also known as the Logicians) brought Ace Attorney; and the School of Yin-yang came up with something called The Legend of Sword and Fairy. But all the games failed after a single test-play by the emperor. Nobody could figure out what the august sovereign would enjoy.
Meanwhile, something else happened that seized everyone’s attention. Because he couldn’t find a game that truly pleased him, the emperor decided to take his carriage and go on a sightseeing tour. When his procession passed through a place called Bolangsha, a giant iron hammer fell out of the sky and crushed a decoy carriage. The emperor, enraged, vowed to find the assassin and punish him severely.
At first, the investigation went nowhere. It was only after the emperor had executed three chief investigators that the fourth official assigned to the task managed to discover some clues. Based on the trajectory of the hammer, the impact crater, and the scatter pattern of the debris from the decoy carriage, he deduced that the assassin had to be a skilled player of Angry Birds.
Not that many people could afford a phone capable of playing this game—remember this was a long time ago—and the narrowed list of suspects soon led the investigation to a young man named Zhang Liang. However, Zhang managed to prove his innocence against the prosecution. As a native of Han State before the unification, he claimed that he was thus by association a person from Hanguk, or Korean. And as all gamers knew, Korean players dominated StarCraft, a feat impossible without lots of dedicated practice. Thus, he couldn’t possibly have spared any time to waste on Angry Birds. The logic was really unassailable, when you thought about it.
Just when the whole empire was stunned by this courtroom turnabout, a Westerner named Xu Fu came to save the day.
Blond-haired and blue-eyed, Xu Fu came to see the emperor in a crisp new suit and well-polished shoes, looking like an iconic member of the global elite.
“What game have you brought me?” asked the emperor. He saw that Xu Fu was carrying a tiny thumb drive.
“Something that you have never, ever, ever, ever seen. It’s absolutely amazing.”
Xu Fu stuck the thumb drive into the emperor’s computer, opened a PowerPoint slide deck, and gave a polished presentation.
“But these are just slides,” said the emperor. “Where’s the game?”
“Your Imperial Majesty, a state focused solely on immediate, tangible benefits will not flourish for long. We must look far beyond the horizon and invest in the future to ensure lasting prosperity.”
“What are you getting at?”
“The game I’m presenting to you is a peerless work of genius. However, it’s still under development on the vapor-shrouded island of Penglai. Now, if Your Imperial Majesty would be willing to invest a small amount of venture capital to kickstart the process, I guarantee that within a year we’ll have a beta version, and in three years we’ll be on the market. As I’ve shown in the PowerPoint, this is an incredible opportunity: low risk and high reward.”
“But …” The emperor hesitated. Xu Fu’s speech was tempting, but it felt wrong to hand over money without getting a game back. Everyone else had shown up with finished products.
“Indecision is not a trait great leaders should cultivate,” intoned Xu Fu. “An opportunity like this may be gone the very next moment.”
Qin Shihuang was finally convinced. He prepared a fleet to sail for Penglai Island, laden with treasures that represented his investment in the game. Xu Fu promised that he would return in one to three years with the best game in the universe for the emperor.
“I await your good news!” the emperor called from the wharf.
Xu Fu showed his gleaming teeth and waved vigorously from his ship. “No problem! You can trust me!”
As the ships disappeared below the horizon, the emperor suddenly realized that Xu Fu had never told him the name of the game. He turned to his trusted advisor Zhao Gao. “Did Mr. Xu ever mention to you the name of this vapor-shrouded game?”
Zhao Gao said, “No. But … I did steal a look at his laptop.”
“So what is the name? Tell me!”
“Let me see … Ah, I have it. It’s called The Real Duke Nukem Forever.”
“What a great name!” said the emperor, sighing as his mind filled with glorious visions. “I can’t wait to play it.”
GU SHI
Gu Shi is a speculative fiction writer and an urban planner. A graduate of Shanghai’s Tongji University, she obtained her master’s degree in urban planning from the China Academy of Urban Planning and Design. Since 2012, she has been working as a researcher at the academy’s Urban Design Institute.
Ms. Gu has been publishing fiction since 2011 in markets like Super Nice, Science Fiction World, Mystery World, and SF King. Notable works include “Chimera,” “Memory of Time,” and “Reflection.” In 2014, she won the Silver Xingyun Award for Best New Writer. In translation, her work may be found at Clarkesworld. Currently, she’s working on her first novel, The Reign of Eternal Delight, an alternate history set in the court of an empress ruling in the dynasty founded by Wu Zetian, the first Chinese empress.
“Reflection” is an experiment in form as well as narrative technique, but its themes may be found in the oldest tales of our species.
REFLECTION
1.
CLAIRVOYANT
Mark was a very special person—when he told me that he was going to take me to see a clairvoyant, I wasn’t too surprised.
“But you are a scientist!” I couldn’t help pointing out.
“That doesn’t mean I worship science.” My expression made him laugh, so he added by way of explanation, “It’s like how a butcher doesn’t worship pork.”
I chuckled. This is what made Mark special. He was an interesting person, and he always took me to see interesting people.
*
“Remember to be polite when you meet her.” We were standing in front of an ordinary apartment building. Mark looked reverential, a rare expression for him. “She cares about that.”
A bit uneasy, I followed him up the stairs, trying to imagine what a clairvoyant would look like. The light in the stairwell brightened and dimmed as we wound our way up, and the air was redolent of dust…. This was not where I envisioned finding a clairvoyant.
He stopped at the top of the staircase—a second later, the door opened. I saw a slender girl whose face was tender and kind.
Yes, a girl, maybe fourteen years of age. Her hands and feet were thinner and more elongated compared to an adult’s. She was dressed in a black leotard and a pair of black tights, and her pale neck rose like a stalk, topped by a round, childish face. But contrary to her general appearance, her gaze was sharp and tolerant, like an old woman’s.
“Ed! You’re here!” She wrapped me in a tight hug as though we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. Abruptly, she let me go, took two steps back, and gracefully nodded. “I’m sorry—I forgot that we don’t know each other yet.”
“It’s good that you brought him. Thank you.” She hesitated, as if trying to recall something. “… Mark?”
“That’s right!” Mark’s grin was exaggerated. “You remember me!”
She smiled and gestured for us to come in. “Ed, I prepared your favorite chai.”
*
Her home was as unusual as her person. The bed was filled with books, while her desk was covered with snack trays and a tea set. The round dining table’s legs had been sawed off, and the top was then covered with a variety of cushions. The eccentric furnishings appeared odd at first, but gave off a sense of comforting familiarity after a while.
“It’s too messy,” she said apologetically. Then she muttered to herself, “What was I doing?” Turning to me, she smiled and indicated the cushioned dining table. “Please have a seat.”
I sat down on the table gingerly while Mark remained standing. I was amused by his hesitancy. Mark was forty-three, with dual doctorates in molecular biology and psychology, and had just been granted tenure. He had always strutted around with a swagger, like an energetic crab—oh, he had been my dissertation advisor, too. But in front of this girl he appeared as awkward and deferential as a kid in elementary school. She poured a cup of chai for me and brought it over.
She stopped and stared at Mark suspiciously. “Who are you? When did you get in here?”
“Just now—”
“No!” Her voice was shrill. Then she turned to me and asked in a much softer voice, “Ed, who is he? Why is he here?”
I was utterly baffled. “Um … Mark brought me here….”
“Oh, so it’s Mark.” She seemed at ease again. “Thank you,” she said to him.
Mark scratched his head, embarrassed. “No problem. I came to ask you—”
