Secrets of the Terra-Cotta Soldier

by Ying Chang Compestine

  “I found it!” Ming exclaimed.

  Shí bent over and placed the head from the cave frog onto its body. There was a soft clicking sound. “There! Now the alarm is disabled.” He stood up.

  Frog among lotus leaves and flowers.

  “But—but how are we going to get out?” Ming tried to mask the fear in his voice.

  “Just remove the head and retrace our path. But don’t forget to return the head at the entrance!”

  With that, Shí turned and marched off.

  15

  INSIDE THE TOMB

  MING TRIED TO KEEP UP WITH SHÍ WHILE TAKING IN his surroundings. In the center of each white marble slab lining the floor was the character for one of the five elements. Each symbol had its own color: wood, mù, 木, blue; fire, huŏ, 火, red; earth, tŭ, 土, yellow; metal, jīn, 金, silver; and water, shuĭ, 水, black.

  His eyes struggled to cope with the contrasts of bright colors. Lining the path was a profusion of porcelain and silk flowers—roses, jasmine, and orchids—in shades of red and yellow, purple and pink, lavender and white. There were bowl-size peonies of every imaginable shade. The petals of the Golden Claw chrysanthemums opened like dancers’ hands, capturing the soft light shining from the lanterns. It was hard for Ming to believe that none of them were real.

  Suddenly, he felt the ground shift slightly beneath his left foot. Ming looked down. He saw that he had stepped on the bottom half of a gold character, Emperor, huáng, 皇. A faint hissing sound escaped from the head of a chrysanthemum.

  “Wh-wh-what’s happening?”

  Shí spun around and swiftly dropped to his knees. He pressed both hands on the upper half of the 皇 just as a metal spike burst from the head of the flower. It froze inches from Ming’s neck and then slid back into the chrysanthemum.

  The color drained from Ming’s face, and his knees shook. Now everything around him seemed to be full of danger.

  “Don’t ever step on ‘Emperor’!” Shí said harshly. He got up. In a softer tone, he added, “Sorry. I forgot to warn you. Follow my steps.”

  “Ah, I’ll remember that!” Ming murmured uneasily.

  Shí stepped off the curving path and walked among large flower-bearing trees. Ming followed closely. They came to a courtyard that was filled with deep-red roses, hoof-shaped white lilies, and fire-colored mountain tea flowers.

  Ming was captivated by the full moon above in the celestial ceiling. It was surrounded by shining, glittering stars. In a far corner of the courtyard was a small bamboo grove. Lifelike porcelain birds and crickets perched here and there among the stalks. Ming would have thought them alive if not for the eerie silence. He wondered if there really were eight thousand clay soldiers guarding the tomb. Where could they be?

  On one side of the courtyard was a building with a sloping, pagoda-style roof made out of glazed tiles. On each soaring eave, a dragon led a row of eight small figures from famous legends. Red lacquer pillars flanked the door. Faint light shone through white rice paper over four large intricate latticework windows. In the middle of each window was a black character: bravery, dăn, 胆; discipline, lῢ, 律; loyalty, zhōng, 忠; and glory, róng, 荣.

  Shí took Ming by the wrist and pulled him into the shadows next to the door.

  “Where are we? Where is everyone?” Ming whispered.

  “The armory. Most soldiers are stationed around the main tomb, deeper inside the mountain,” Shí said in a low voice. “No one ever comes here. Guarding the weapons is one of the easiest jobs—as long as you can track numbers and know how to maintain the yellow-powder trap. Si Ji got the job because he knows the mechanics of the trap, but how my friend Feng managed to wiggle himself into the position is beyond me. Stay here!”

  Without waiting for Ming’s response, Shí walked up the steps and slowly pushed open the door. He stuck his head inside before entering, leaving the door ajar.

  Ming crouched among the porcelain, enamel, and bronze flowers. Soon curiosity got the better of him, and he gingerly inched toward the building to look through the door, careful not to touch anything.

  Lamplight glittered off rows of iron and bronze swords. Burnished copper shields hung above the weapons, glinting under red lanterns. Ming detected a metallic tang in the air. Shadows moved on the far wall under a yellow flag emblazoned with the character Qín, 秦.

  Shí and two other terra-cotta soldiers moved into Ming’s view. They stood next to a life-size bronze chariot pulled by four muscular terra-cotta horses. The two soldiers were about Shí’s height and of the same gray color. One of them had big ears and had his hair tied into a top-knot. The other had a long mustache and a grim, fierce expression.

  Unearthed carriage pulled by four terra-cotta horses, from the tomb of Emperor Qin.

  “Where have you been, Shí?” asked Long Mustache. “We’ve been going crazy trying to find you!”

  “I was dragged out by some farmers while I was on a ladder, checking the ceiling alarm. They broke me into pieces with their clumsy shovels. It took some effort to restore me.”

  “So it was you! We heard they had to patch a hole near the moon gate. What was it like up there?” the big-eared soldier asked excitedly.

  “A lot has changed, Feng!” Shí answered.

  “Such as?” asked Long Mustache.

  “They have a magic box that can talk and sing endlessly! I’ll tell you more later, Si Ji. Right now I need to make a report to General Wang. Tomb robbers are coming, and Ming says they have a weapon that can crack open a mountain!”

  “Who is Ming?” asked Si Ji.

  “A friend who put me back together.”

  Ming detected a hint of uneasiness in Shí’s voice.

  “A ‘friend’? As in a ‘human’?” demanded Si Ji.

  Shí’s mouth opened a fraction, enough to serve as confirmation.

  “You didn’t reveal the location of the tomb, did you? If you brought him here, General Wang would cut off his head, just like he did to us”—Feng chopped down his hand—“and then break you into pieces.”

  Ming jerked his head back from the opening. Maybe coming here was a mistake. How could he explain the threat of dynamite to these terra-cotta soldiers? Would Shí be able to protect him? And what did Feng mean, “cut off his head just like he did to us”?

  “You have to believe me,” Shí pleaded. “Ming is not a thief, and the threat is real. I just hope the tomb robbers won’t be able to get past the yellow-powder trap.”

  “There might be … a problem,” said Si Ji. “We haven’t inspected it for a while.”

  Shí scowled. “How long?”

  “Oh … maybe three or four hundred years? You know how frustrating it is to work on that mechanism with these big stubby fingers.” Feng wiggled his fingers and laughed uneasily.

  “But it requires regular maintenance!” Shí sounded angry.

  “Have you ever tried removing the wall panels to get to the gears? It takes days!” said Si Ji.

  “You lazy pigs!” Shí was furious. “Besides guarding the armory, this trap is your only responsibility! You are putting the Emperor and his tomb at risk!”

  Si Ji took a step back. “But no one has tried to break in for two thousand years!”

  “And there are other traps too,” said Feng defensively. “Stop pointing your finger at us. What about you, calling a human thief ‘friend’!”

  Ming’s mind spun like a windmill. He could find his way back to the frog … maybe. He started to back away, when his bā ba’s favorite saying popped into his head: “In order to get a cub, one must dare to enter the tiger’s cave.”

  He was no coward! He couldn’t just leave. If the Political Officer blew open the tomb, both Shí and his bā ba would be in danger. He had to find a way to save them.

  Ming straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. He envisioned himself as a revolutionary hero right out of the movies, fearless and indomitable.

  “We have no time to argue among ourselve
s,” he declared in a loud voice. “We need to check on the trap.”

  The three terra-cotta soldiers greeted him with stares of disbelief.

  Si Ji looked Ming up and down, then turned to Shí. “You did bring a human here!”

  Shí walked over and placed a hand on Ming’s arm. “This is Ming. He is the one who restored me and guided me back. A corrupt official in his village is plotting to break in here to steal the treasures and then blame it on his father.”

  “Perhaps it’s your little friend who wants to steal the treasure,” Si Ji said.

  Ming puffed up his narrow chest indignantly and twisted his lips in revulsion. “I am not a thief! In fact, it is my job—actually, my father’s job—to stop thieves and protect ancient treasures.”

  Si Ji squinted at Ming with cool calculation.

  Shí pointed at Ming’s face. “See that bruise? He earned that while trying to protect me from the real tomb robbers. You should trust him!”

  “And I say we should follow the rules and kill this human now.” Si Ji looked at Feng for support.

  “Ming is about the same age we were when we joined the Emperor’s army,” Shí said earnestly. “Don’t you remember when all we wanted was to save our loved ones?”

  “Enough, Si Ji,” said Feng. “Shí is right. We need to make sure the yellow-powder trap is working.” Feng avoided eye contact with Shí and beckoned for everyone to follow him out into the courtyard.

  Si Ji stabbed a finger at Ming. “Stay close. I’m watching you!”

  16

  THE YELLOW-POWDER TRAP

  MING, SHÍ, AND SI JI FOLLOWED FENG ACROSS THE courtyard to the corner of the bamboo grove. They watched closely as Feng reached for a yellow bird perched on one of the stalks. He “flapped” one of its wings. Near them, a section of the wall, about hip height, retracted, revealing a small opening.

  Si Ji got on his knees and stuck his head inside. He tried to reach for something, but the narrow opening blocked his broad shoulders.

  Shí whispered to Ming, “The gears that control the yellow-powder trap are up there.” He pointed to the wall above the opening.

  Si Ji pulled out his head and stood up. “The main gear is all corroded. I can’t reach it.”

  Feng sighed. “We should not have waited so long. Now we have to take out all the wall panels.”

  “But that will take days!” Shí’s voice was taut with anxiety. “I bet you don’t even know where your tools are.”

  Ming stepped up to the opening. “May I try?”

  “No! Don’t let him!” Si Ji exclaimed, blocking the opening with his body. “He’s going to break it completely so his tomb-robber friends can get in.”

  “If he breaks anything, I will strangle him on the spot.” Feng pulled Si Ji aside. “Besides, I don’t think this little twig is strong enough to strangle a baby bird, let alone damage the trap.”

  “Ming is good at fixing things,” said Shí. “I saw how he fixed a machine.” He patted Ming’s shoulder. “See if you can make the gear move again. Be careful, though! If you accidentally trip it, the heavy weight will drop down and crush you.”

  Ming knelt in front of the opening and pulled out his flashlight. He slowly poked his head through and twisted and wriggled his upper body inside. It was a tight squeeze.

  He could see a large bellows in front of him. It was attached to a sealed clay urn the size of an oil drum. From the urn ran long brass tubes that disappeared into the wall. Next to the urn was a large gear, which was interlocked with smaller ones.

  Ming was surprised by how similar the gear arrangement was to some of the clocks he had fixed. He turned his head and saw that there was a heavy chain attached to the main gear. It ran up and over a pulley. A heavy weight was suspended above him at the end of the chain.

  Ming could see that the main gear, when triggered, would turn and send the weight down, compressing the bellows and blowing the powder out of the urn through the tubes. A large knot of corrosion was jammed in between the gear’s teeth. When he realized that the only thing holding the weight over his head was a millennia-old chain, he shivered.

  “Get me a rag and some oil, please,” he called out.

  “Feng, watch him,” Si Ji said as he stomped off.

  Ming reached into his pocket and pulled out his screwdriver. Slowly he began chipping away at the rust around the chain. Much to his relief, it did not take long before scales of corrosion began breaking loose.

  “Be careful!” Shí’s voice was full of concern.

  Si Ji returned with a bucket of oil and a rag.

  Ming stretched out his hand. Si Ji quickly dipped the rag in oil and slapped it into Ming’s palm. After dabbing oil on the gears, Ming scraped at the rust with his screwdriver again. More flakes broke loose, and he felt a small movement in the chain.

  Ming pulled himself out, and Shí helped him to stand.

  “Let’s test it,” said Ming.

  Feng ran over and pressed down on the yellow bird’s beak. Nothing happened.

  “I knew it! He’s a saboteur!” Si Ji exclaimed, reaching for Ming.

  With a loud crack, the gears began clattering. Si Ji’s arms froze in midair. The bellows started wheezing.

  Feng quickly let go of the beak. At once, the noise stopped and the mechanism ground to a halt.

  Ming held his breath, looking around nervously. When he was sure that there was no poison powder in the air, he exhaled slowly.

  Shí clapped his hands. “He did it! I told you he was not a tomb robber!”

  A deep, authoritative voice filled the courtyard. “What is all this talk about tomb robbers?”

  17

  “YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE US!”

  MING TURNED AROUND, HIS EXPRESSION CAUGHT between surprise and fear. As he beheld the large figure before him, the air was sucked out of his lungs and his body involuntarily tensed. A commanding-officer’s cap with two long pheasant feathers rested atop the figure’s head. His large eyes and thin, slightly hooked nose reminded Ming of an owl. His groomed mustache sat above a mouth with firm lips. Ribbons and studs decorated his full-body stone armor. A long sword, with a carved piece of green jade the size of a duck egg set into its pommel, hung off his left hip. More striking than anything was his distinct lack of a left arm.

  In one smooth motion, the three soldiers sank to their knees, pressing their foreheads against the ground. “Long live Emperor Qin!”

  Ming couldn’t decide if he should drop to his knees like the soldiers.

  “Honorable General! I am sorry we disturbed you.” Shí’s voice quavered. It was the first time that Ming had seen him show fear.

  “Rise!” The general’s voice sounded as rough as bark.

  The soldiers rose as one, heads bowed.

  The general pointed at Ming. “Correct me if I am wrong, but he was not buried with us, was he?”

  Ming felt his scalp tighten under General Wang’s gaze. He allowed his eyes to rest on the general’s face for a few moments before focusing on Shí’s quivering legs.

  “No, sir.” Shí’s eyes darted to the ground.

  “So tell me, how did this tomb robber get in here?” The general addressed Shí in a stern voice.

  Ming could feel the beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. His eyes darted from General Wang to Shí.

  “H-h-he is Shí’s friend, not a tomb robber,” Feng stammered. “He brought us news of an im-im-impending attack, and he even helped us to … ah … fix the yellow-powder trap.”

  Ming felt a sense of gratitude. Did Feng really believe him now, or was he just protecting his friend Shí? Either way, Ming was encouraged by Feng’s support and lifted his chin to meet the general’s gaze.

  Shí moved in front of Ming, as if shielding him from the general. “It is true. Corrupt officials are planning to break into the tomb using exploding sticks called ‘dynamite.’”

  General Wang’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. A stubborn, deathly silence settled over the room.<
br />
  At long last, the general waved his hand dismissively. “Let them come! Many have tried, but this mausoleum has proved to be impregnable.” He frowned and addressed Shí. “You have disobeyed me again by bringing this human here. I will make sure you both receive the proper punishment.”

  Ming took a deep breath and stepped forward. “General, I have seen how dynamite blows through a mountain!” His voice was constricted, as though invisible hands were squeezing his thin throat.

  General Wang squinted suspiciously at Ming. It was the sort of look one might give to someone telling a poor lie, a look that mingled pity and disdain. “No one has ever broken in before. Even if they succeed, they won’t leave here alive,” he said coldly.

  “Sir! You have to believe us!” said Shí. “Things outside have changed.”

  General Wang ignored Shí’s plea and addressed Feng and Si Ji. “Lock them up in the storage room and report back to your stations. I will punish them later.”

  Without giving Shí or Ming another look, General Wang walked out.

  18

  SHÍ’S LAST BATTLE

  YELLOW LANTERNS CAST A GOLDEN GLOW ON THE rows of shelves standing in the middle of the storage room. They were laden with old parchment and small porcelain jars decorated with flowers.

  A door on one side of the room had a fan-shaped viewing window with elaborate lattices. Two round porcelain stools flanked the door, each decorated with the character 囍—for “double happiness,” xĭ—and never-ending knot patterns.

  Ming closed his eyes momentarily, concentrating on the sound of Feng’s and Si Ji’s retreating footsteps. He guessed that it must be well past midnight. The events of the previous day played over and over in his mind like the propaganda songs on the radio: meeting Shí … having him taken away … learning about Goat Face’s plan to break into the tomb and frame his bā ba … encountering General Wang … and, now, being locked up. His plan to stop Goat Face had melted like snow on hot coals.

  Exhaustion suddenly washed over him. He thought about being locked in the tomb forever, turning the idea over and over, like sucking on a dry, sour plum.