Secrets of the Terra-Cotta Soldier

by Ying Chang Compestine

  He looked through the window into a corridor lit by purple lanterns. The walls nearby were decorated with jeweled cherry blossoms. Farther along were elaborately carved fishermen pulling a net from a river. At the end of the corridor were two majestic bronze lions guarding a moon gate—a circular opening. It was framed by scrolls. In large black characters, the left scroll bore the inscription “In Paradise, the days stretch on and on.” The right scroll said, “The trees stay green all year long.” The one above read, “Heavenly Paradise.”

  “I’m sorry I brought you here.” Shí patted Ming’s shoulder.

  A moon gate.

  “It’s not your fault. I wanted to come,” Ming replied.

  “That’s where the farmers dragged me out.” Shí pointed toward the moon gate. “I was up there checking the ceiling alarm when they broke through.”

  So that was where the Gee brothers had dug the well—and where the Political Officer and his gang planned to break in, thought Ming.

  “I wish the general believed us,” said Ming. “What did he mean when he said that you had disobeyed him again?”

  “It is a long story.” Shí sat on the floor against the wall. With his head hung low and his hands on his knees, he looked like a guilty child.

  “Well, we have nothing else to do. Tell me!” Ming sat next to him, elbows balanced on his knees and chin resting on his bunched fists.

  “If you insist.”

  The morning of my last battle as a human, my comrades and I gathered in front of General Wang. The sun rose above the distant plain, a red ball turning the earth and sky a deep shade of scarlet. He was standing on a wooden stage just inside the depot gates, flanked by the yellow flags of Qin. He wore a hat shaped like a hawk, which represented bravery and skill. His red silk cape fluttered in the wind, like a roaring flame licking at his burnished brass armor. I stared up at him in awe.

  “The Mongol Khan is here to capture our depot’s supplies!” His voice resonated like a brass bell. “You have all heard that every gust of wind is the dying breath of a laborer. With cold weather approaching, the Khan wants to kill two birds with one stone: feed his army and halt our Great Wall’s construction.”

  He paused and surveyed us, a battalion of men in dark leather armor. “Will you let these barbarians steal from your loved ones working on the wall?”

  “No!” we shouted, thrusting our spears and swords into the air.

  “Then fight for your loved ones and for the grand rewards that await you! Today I will also grant the bravest among you the honor of accompanying the Emperor into his afterlife—by modeling for the terra-cotta army!”

  Ming remembered the essay his bā ba had written about whether or not the terra-cotta soldiers were modeled after live soldiers. Bā ba had been right!

  Feng and I looked at each other. I could tell what he was thinking before he spoke. “It is time to free my brother.”

  His brother, the village potter, had been crippled since birth. His pronounced limp had exempted him from serving in the army, but word had come that he had been drafted to work on the Emperor’s mausoleum.

  “So, you became a terra-cotta soldier because you were a hero?” Ming looked at his friend with admiration.

  “Yes and no.” Shí let out a deep sigh. “Even though modeling for the terra-cotta army was a new incentive, I had been ready to fight to free my father and to honor my family. But my heart sank when the general announced the battle formation—Reverse Flying Goose, shaped like an upside-down character for people, rén, 人.”

  As Ming pictured the deployment of the troops, he subconsciously traced a ⋎ on the floor with his finger.

  To mislead the enemy, the cavalry would hide at the rear and wait until our infantry—the shock troops—had engaged the Mongols on both flanks. We would take part in combat only if the enemy threatened to break through. General Wang had used this formation in the past. We knew that by the time we entered the battlefield, the enemy would have already been left headless or have retreated. General Wang was wary of ambushes, and so he forbade us from pursuing the enemy. The chances of us capturing a head were slim.

  Ming sympathized with Shí’s frustration. During the previous harvest, when the sparrows were eating the grain in the field, the village leaders had offered one yuán for every five sparrows killed. That was when Teacher Panda had taken the class to the Camel’s Humps.

  “I know you think you’re smart,” Teacher Panda had said to Ming mockingly. “So put away your slingshot and keep the tally for the class.”

  When his classmates had paraded through the village, displaying their trophies on long sticks, Ming, empty-handed and humiliated, had felt his face burn with frustration and embarrassment.

  Our infantry marched out of the gates and past a line of drums as big as millstones sitting on wooden stands. I shifted with anticipation as the drummers hammered out a cadence with their thick mallets. My horse stirred beside me in response to the beating rhythm.

  “Victory! Victory! Victory!” the shock troops shouted in unison, slamming their spear butts into the ground.

  Feng and I glared at them in envy.

  “Those guys are going to descend on the Mongols like a swarm of locusts and tear them apart!” Feng shouted over the sound of the drums.

  “I just want to capture a few heads to free my father!” I shouted back.

  “Why just free your father? Have some ambition! Don’t you want to be immortalized as a terra-cotta soldier?” Feng waved his sword in the air. “Just think about the glory you would bring to your family!”

  “Not today,” I replied. “The Mongols will be dead long before we join the fight.”

  “Relax. Their infantry is just bait.” Feng gestured with his thumb. “General Wang is too smart to fall for that trick. You’ll see.” He paused as a mid-ranking officer rode toward us.

  The officer pointed at us and called out, “You two!”

  Feng and I bowed our heads. “Yes, sir!”

  “Tell Captain Chu that General Wang has ordered him to hold half the infantry in reserve.”

  “Yes, Commander!” Feng shouted. We leaped onto our horses.

  “What did I say?” he gloated. “Will I not make a great general one day? General Wang must suspect the Mongols are planning an ambush.”

  I swung into my saddle. “If you become a general, then I’ll be the next Emperor of China,” I shot back.

  The drummers picked up the beat, signaling that the charge was about to begin. My heart pounded along with the speeding drums. Feng and I reached the shock troops. Barely more than an arrow shot away, the enemy shuffled nervously in front of us.

  We found Captain Chu at the head of the infantry formation. After we relayed the general’s command to him, he ordered us to return to our unit.

  I looked over at the eager shock troops. Something inside me suddenly snapped. My horse snorted, as if it opposed my decision. I had waited long enough. I would not miss this rare opportunity. I had to save my father, now.

  Wheeling my horse around, I galloped straight at the enemy. My ears filled with the sound of rushing blood, and my vision was tinted a dark red.

  Faintly I heard Captain Chu’s enraged screams. The red curtain pulled back briefly when I remembered the harsh punishment that awaited disobedient soldiers. My fears vanished when I spotted Feng, riding alongside me, wearing a wild grin. Nothing mattered now. The bottle had broken and the soy sauce had spilled. I was going for the heads.

  Laughing wildly, we unsheathed our swords and stampeded through the enemy infantry. We were like two foxes that had jumped into the chicken coop. The Mongols milled around us, eyes wide with surprise, squawking with confusion.

  Ming tried to picture Shí hacking his way through a sea of startled, frightened Mongols.

  Feng had been right about there being an ambush! Hundreds of Mongols emerged from hiding and charged onto the battlefield. I heard Captain Chu’s battle cry as our shock troops slammed into the disarrayed Mongol
s like a landslide smashing a herd of wild cattle. As soon as our cavalry brothers joined the fray, the Mongols quickly scattered, dragging their wounded with them. By then, my saddle was heavy with enemy heads.

  “Wow! Did you get a big reward?” asked Ming.

  “Yes … but not exactly what I expected.”

  19

  THE REWARD

  THAT AFTERNOON, FENG AND I MARCHED SIDE BY side to the celebration banquet, proud and exhilarated. At last, I had fought like a hero. I held my head high, enjoying the feel of the moist autumn air on my face.

  The sun faded from a brilliant yellow to a pale, washed-out pink. There was a festive atmosphere, with conversations bubbling all around us. A stage made of rough planks had been set up. In front of it, rows of long tables were piled high with large cuts of roasted meat, crispy scallion pancakes, and bowls of piping-hot noodles swimming in red chili sauce. The sharp fragrance rising from the overflowing jugs of sorghum wine heightened the savory aromas of the food.

  I held my breath at the sight of two men dressed in black carrying a pair of wooden blocks. They placed them on the left side of the stage and then vanished into a nearby tent.

  “How much land do you think I will be awarded?” Feng’s question interrupted my thoughts. “You know I claimed six heads!” He smiled gleefully.

  “A whole village, of course!” I said sarcastically. “I have only five, but that should be more than enough to free my father! Do you—”

  My sentence was cut short when four men pushed a cart, creaking under the weight of wet clay, toward the stage. The black character Qín, 秦, was embroidered on their white workmen’s robes, like a shield for their hearts.

  Whispering broke out among the crowd.

  “Sculptors for terra-cotta soldiers!”

  “What an honor!”

  “Not just for anyone,” said Feng. “You have to be a hero!”

  A grizzled soldier patted Feng on the shoulder and said, “Maybe they’ll model the general of the terra-cotta army after you.”

  “Then my spirit will be immortal and live forever!” Feng said with a smirk.

  The murmuring stopped abruptly the moment General Wang stepped onto the stage.

  “You all fought bravely today!” he declared. “We have destroyed the Mongol force and killed their Khan. Our depot is safe for now. I will reward the following accordingly.

  “Shui Yang … one enemy head: two square miles of land.

  “Wang Ting … two heads: four square miles of land.

  “Xiao Ming … three heads: six square miles of land, and his family will be pardoned from mandatory labor.

  “Wang Ren … four heads: eight square miles of land, and his family will …”

  I played the abacus in my mind. With the five heads I had captured, I would be able to free my father and earn my family ten square miles of land—enough for us to live comfortably ever after.

  Feng nudged me, a smug grin glued on his face like thick clay plaster. “Ready to be famous? We captured more heads than any of them.” His grin widened.

  “Yan Shí and Zhang Feng … report to the stage!”

  Feng and I looked up. Captain Chu was walking toward us. His step was unhurried, but his face was grim. As he led us through the crowd, my neck grew slick with sweat, and a bubble of anxiety stirred in my stomach.

  General Wang motioned us onto the stage. I glanced at Feng. His face was flushed with excitement. I struggled to draw in air.

  General Wang addressed the crowd in a booming voice. “These are two of the most courageous and bravest Qin soldiers. I will free their families from manual labor and grant them each twenty square miles of land.”

  I was overwhelmed with joy. That was twice what I thought I would be awarded. I had done it! I was only fifteen years of age, and yet I had earned glory for my family! My father could return home, and my mother would never again go hungry!

  The general continued. “Yet the Qin Army conquered China not solely because of its brave soldiers but also because of its strict rules and discipline.” His words became cold and deliberate. “It takes self-restraint to be a true Qin warrior … These two must pay for their disobedience!”

  My heart sank like an iron helmet in a lake. Whispering broke out like a roiling pot of hot congee. Four large men dressed in black emerged from the tent. The lower parts of their faces were covered with red scarves, and large axes were strapped to their belts.

  Silently, they walked onto the stage. They grabbed our arms and twisted them behind us. The men dragged us to the blocks. I looked at Feng. His features had frozen in a look of shock. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

  “But that’s not fair! You were heroes!” Anger and outrage stirred inside Ming.

  Shí ignored Ming’s interruption and continued.

  Feng fell to his knees beside me. His eyes seemed to roam with no particular sense of purpose. In an unsteady voice he said, “I am prepared to pay for my actions.”

  “I am too.” I dropped to my knees, a turmoil of confusion, terror, despair, and resignation surging through me.

  “I will grant you both a quick death and the honor of guarding the Emperor in his afterlife.” The general’s voice softened. “These men”—he pointed at the sculptors standing next to the wagon piled with clay—“will give you a new life following your execution.”

  “Do you have a last request?” asked one of the executioners in a deep voice.

  “Yes!” said Feng. He had regained his composure and now addressed the sculptors, who were standing beside the stage. “Brothers! Make sure you do justice to my handsome face!”

  But nobody laughed at his joke.

  “I have one,” I said, lifting my head and trying to hide my sorrow. “I wish to face south, toward my village, so my spirit can find its way home.”

  The grip on my arms loosened. The executioner looked at General Wang, who nodded gravely. The men moved the blocks and turned us to face south, looking over the crowd. In the distance, the sky was overcast, as deep and dark as a freshly dug grave.

  “I will see you in the afterlife, Feng!” I whispered.

  “You’d better. I don’t want to spend eternity with strangers.” He tried to sound lighthearted, but his voice faltered.

  Looking down, I saw our cavalry brothers stand and raise their hands in a salute. Other squads followed suit. I laid my head on the block.

  My heart was filled with a pain and sadness that I had not known could exist in life. I would never have a chance to care for my aging parents and fulfill my obligation as a dutiful son. But my despair was tempered by the knowledge that, because of what I had done, they would have a better life.

  A gust of wind surged across the plain. The distant storm was racing toward us. I detected a hint of evergreen and the raw, earthy scent of clay. The thunder rolled closer. Through my tears I saw my mother standing at our door, her arms held out to me.

  The ax whistled through the air, and then … nothing.

  Grass plains of China.

  20

  TOMB ROBBERS

  MING WAS ABOUT TO ASK SHÍ WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO “wake up” as a terra-cotta soldier, when the sound of drums stopped him.

  Ming stood and peered through the window into the corridor. “What’s that?”

  Shí remained seated. “Just the signal to change shifts.”

  Two soldiers walked through the moon gate. They stopped in front of one of the lions. One tugged its tail. A secret door that blended in with the fishing net on the wall slid open. The soldiers disappeared through it.

  A dissonant clanging of gongs and clackers suddenly drowned out the drumming. Shí sprang to his feet.

  “And that?” Ming asked.

  “That’s the alarm!” said Shí.

  A group of soldiers burst out of the secret door, swords in hand. Feng and Si Ji were among them. Just as the door closed, there was an earth-shattering explosion. Two shelves in the storage room toppled over, scattering paper
s and broken porcelain all around. Through the window, Shí and Ming saw the ceiling in front of the moon gate cave in. Falling debris crushed several of the soldiers. A cloud of smoke engulfed the corridor.

  Broken terra-cotta soldiers in the tomb of Emperor Qin.

  “They’ve broken in, Ming!” Shí pressed his face against the lattice. “You were right about the sticks!”

  The dust settled slowly. Ming and Shí watched as Feng and Si Ji backed away from the gaping hole in the ceiling. A rope ladder snaked down. The terra-cotta soldiers stood still against the wall as men in Mao-style uniforms climbed down the rope, one after another. Each had a rifle strapped to his back. Their dark silhouettes flickered on the wall like shadow puppets. Ming counted ten men in all.

  Shí pointed to the tall bald man leading the group and whispered, “He was at the Political Officer’s house!”

  The leader looked up at the purple lanterns and slipped his flashlight and a two-way radio into his belt. He gestured for his men to follow. One of the men knocked his fist on Feng’s chest. Ming couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the others seemed to be amused by the hollow sound. Their nervous laughter swirled through the corridor.

  “Why don’t the soldiers attack them?” asked Ming.

  “Patience,” said Shí, eyes fixed on the intruders as they walked along the corridor toward them.

  The robbers stopped to marvel at the treasures around them. They examined the ivory fishermen and traced their fingers over the silver fishing nets. One even tried to pry a golden fish off the wall with his knife, grunting in frustration when the steel tip snapped off.

  Ming noticed Feng subtly press his hand against one of the fish. Above the intruders, the pearl stars in the ceiling opened. It took the distracted robbers a moment to notice the fine cloud of yellow powder drifting down.

  Shí patted Ming on the back. “Well done on fixing the trap!”