by Tom Pollack
The men entered a gate on the northern side of the outer wall. Then, after they passed through an entrance in the inner wall, the enormous mound lay directly in front of them. Roughly square-shaped, it covered over a million square feet and soared nearly three hundred feet into the air.
“If my life-mandate should ever expire, I shall be comfortable here, and well protected,” declared the emperor with satisfaction. It soon became clear that the project was nothing less than the construction of an underground palace that would be impregnable, not only to enemies from the spirit world but to time itself.
In that special way, China’s First Emperor would indeed be immortal.
With His Majesty leading the way, they descended more than two hundred feet into a vast subterranean chamber. By the light of seal-fat lamps, thousands of workers were busily carving a giant stone map of China on the floor. Teams of skilled craftsmen embedded pearls and other precious stones on the ceiling to create a gleaming heavenly vault.
Here, beneath the emperor’s tumulus, earth and sky conjoined in an entire cosmos to form a facsimile of the living world. On the huge map, mountains of beaten copper had been placed, and clusters of precious stones marked the location of cities. Around the map’s edges and traversing the interior ran silvery rivers and streams of mercury. As Cain and Kwok-se gazed in awe, they could hear the whirring noise of concealed machines, making the liquid flow.
Since the dawn of humanity, Cain had never seen such an elaborate building project—or a leader with such a grand view of himself.
***
Not about to disappoint his new patron, Cain threw himself wholeheartedly into the map project for the state dining room in the palace. The emperor gave him carte blanche to hire skilled artisans, and Cain promptly interviewed and coordinated a team of two hundred craftsmen. He even enlisted the managers of a silk factory in order to explore new materials for the map. Tough yet elegant in appearance, the surface that he devised and called silk paper would appeal to the ruler, he thought, as much for its novelty as for its aesthetic qualities. In accordance with the dimensions relayed by palace officials, Cain designed the map to be seventy-five feet tall and three hundred feet long—large enough for the state dining room wall, but still puny in size when compared to the stone map of China on the royal mausoleum floor.
Every day he worked well into the night, not only on the map project but also on another commission the emperor had assigned him. This was the construction of a large, decorative globe, which the emperor intended for his tomb. There it would have a symbolic function, just like the great stone map of China, the starry heavens, and the rivers of mercury—believed by many astrologers and physicians of the day to be the base of all metals and a powerful element in prolonging life and health.
From a group of Chinese astronomers known to Kwok-se, Cain procured a stony meteorite that had fallen from the heavens many centuries before. From the perspective of both space and time, he considered it a perfect core for his globe of the world. Once again, the emperor would appreciate the novelty of the artifact. After his workmen had shaped and polished the meteorite into a perfect sphere, he had it coated in gold and then planned inlays of colorful minerals and precious gems for the outline of the world’s known continents. The North and South Poles were shown as circles in white. Cain had not personally seen the poles, but he borrowed the idea from a conversation he once held with astronomers in Alexandria. He did, however, pay a visit to eastern China to verify the accuracy of charts showing the Yellow Sea coastline.
Cain’s goal was to complete both the map and the globe before the royal wedding. Thus, cartography in two and three dimensions would constitute a special salute to the emperor for this joyous occasion. As the marriage day approached, he exhorted his artisan teams to work ever harder.
Cain was not the only person in Xi’an working overtime. For his tomb complex, the Emperor had conscripted over 700,000 laborers, ordering more than 120,000 families to relocate to the capital from other parts of China. Now, to cope with the wedding preparations, tens of thousands more workers streamed into the city. Facilities were strained, but the laborers were sorely needed, since it was anticipated that one million people would attend the ceremonies. The wedding festivities would stretch over a two-week period—by far the most spectacular celebration China had ever witnessed.
The fortune-telling masters had set the royal marriage day for two weeks after the lunar New Year, toward the end of February. Further, it was determined that the marriage would be celebrated in winter and also that all wedding gifts would be in monetary amounts divisible by six, the emperor’s sacred number. These factors would ensure a happy and long-lasting union.
At the moment of the most important ceremony, the young couple would face north, the cardinal direction associated with the power of water, the emperor’s element. Although Qin Shihuangdi mandated the use of black, his signature color, for flags, pennants, and garments at state occasions, he permitted the traditional use of red at weddings, since red was the color of happiness. Therefore the principal participants—the bridal couple and their parents and close relatives—would dress in red, which was also the color of many of the wedding decorations.
One month before the wedding, the map and globe were ready. To Cain’s relief, the emperor’s admiration was rapturous.
“I have seldom seen him so overjoyed,” said Kwok-se to Cain after the formal presentation at the palace. The two were seated on the main veranda of Kwok-se’s estate overlooking the river. “You may bask in your triumph,” he continued. “You surely deserve it, Philo. The cartography on both artifacts is superb!”
Cain smiled at his friend’s compliment. Kwok-se was certainly practiced in the art of diplomacy.
“Did you see Li Si’s face when the attendants unveiled the map?” he asked Kwok-se.
“I did not miss his look of envy. Be cautious with him. That man is a schemer. His strict legal system has produced conformity at the expense of innovation in this country. And I suspect,” said Kwok-se, lowering his voice and glancing around the veranda to ensure they were alone, “that he is ruining the emperor’s health.”
Cain thought these comments cryptic, but after working so intensively, he looked forward to enjoying himself at the upcoming marriage ceremonies. So he changed the subject, asking Kwok-se to describe some of the traditional wedding customs in China.
“My daughter Changying, who will be married precisely one month from today, was actually betrothed to Hu Hai before either of them was born.”
Cain was amazed. “Isn’t that somewhat unusual?” he asked.
“Oh, no, it happens often in wealthy families. Two wives pregnant at the same time will make an agreement. If the children are both boys or both girls, they will grow up as brothers or sisters. But if they turn out to be of the opposite sex, they will marry. The idea is to strengthen family alliances and finances. And, of course, the families want to ensure a succession with the birth of sons. My wife was pregnant with Changying at the same time as the emperor’s most favored wife, and they were good friends.”
“What do the actual wedding rituals include?”
“Well, one of my favorites is the hair combing,” his friend replied. “The night before the wedding day, both bridegroom and bride instruct specially chosen attendants to comb their hair four times. Each combing has a symbolic meaning. The first stands for beginning to end, the second symbolizes harmony from now until old age, the third is for many sons and grandsons, and the fourth is for wealth and a long-lasting marriage.”
“Yet it seems common in China for men to take concubines,” Cain injected. “How is that consistent with a long-lasting marriage, Kwok-se?”
The diplomat smiled at Cain’s naïveté. “Surely you jest, my friend! Many women increase a man’s chance of an heir. Look at it this way,” he said, gesturing to the lavishly lacquered tea table. “One teapot is usually placed with four cups around it. Have you ever seen one cup with four teapots?”
CHAPTER 49
China, 212 BC
ON THE WEDDING DAY, Cain awoke to a deafening din of gongs and drums. The music signaled the approach of Hu Hai’s procession from the palace to Kwok-se’s estate. In keeping with tradition, Changying, wearing a red silk veil, was transported in a specially curtained sedan chair to the palace, where the formal marriage ceremony would take place. She was shielded by a crimson parasol, whose ritual opening signified her future conception of many progeny. At the rear of the sedan chair, a sieve was suspended to strain away evil, and a mirror would reflect sunlight. A young boy accompanied the procession—another harbinger of the bride’s future sons.
On the bride’s journey, no effort was spared to ward off evil spirits or inauspicious sights such as a widow, a well, or even a cat. Preceding the sedan chair, hundreds of attendants scattered grain, beans, and rice, symbolic of fertility. Care was taken that the bride’s feet did not touch the bare earth at any point during the journey.
Kwok-se and Cain rode to the palace in a ceremonial carriage furnished by the emperor. The formal ceremony took place in the throne room and was surprisingly brief. In front of their beaming parents, Hu Hai and Changying approached the royal family altar and paid homage to the deities of heaven and earth, as well as the family ancestors. A profound bow to each other completed the wedding of bride and groom.
***
That evening, under red-and-black striped tents on the palace grounds, the emperor hosted a sumptuous feast for twenty thousand of the most distinguished guests. Men and women were seated separately, according to custom. Musicians played, acrobats and jugglers performed, and jesters and storytellers entertained the company. Archery contests were held by the light of flaming torches mounted on poles. Kwok-se dragged Cain away an hour before sunrise. It was time for the bride’s father to make his own preparations for the reciprocal banquet, scheduled for the following evening, to be held at Kwok-se’s estate.
Although it was less elaborate, Cain found Kwok-se’s feast more enjoyable. Several thousand guests streamed into the estate, but the crowds were not as overwhelming as they had been at the palace. Circulating among the guests, Cain felt like a celebrity. After all, few Chinese had ever encountered a westerner, let alone one fluent in their own language.
The emperor bestowed special favor on Kwok-se by attending the banquet personally. Late that evening, after the bridal couple had retired, Qin Shihuangdi invited Cain to return to the palace with him for more drinks and discussion.
“Let us travel on horseback,” he declared. “We don’t need the official carriages. We can take the black Arabian stallions that Kwok-se presented as part of Changying’s dowry.”
His slurred speech and erratic, lurching movements suggested that the emperor had been drinking a great deal at the party, but Cain knew him to be an excellent horseman.
“I am honored, Majesty. I will ask Kwok-se to order the grooms to prepare the horses immediately.”
Qin Shihuangdi and Cain bade their host good night and cantered out side by side from the estate to the palace road, preceded and followed by military escorts. Halfway to their destination, as they rode through a stretch of highway overshadowed by a grove of plum trees, a careless soldier in the row ahead allowed an overhanging branch to snap back, cutting Cain’s left cheek. Outraged, the emperor dug in his spurs and, with a single stroke of his Jian sword, sliced the man dead. He then returned, voicing concern for the inch-long gash his guest had sustained.
Shaken by the ruler’s violent explosion, Cain reassured him, “It is only a scratch, Majesty.”
***
“Kwok-se is a dear friend, Philo, but the rice wine he served at the banquet was revolting.”
They were standing in front of the great map in the state dining room. “Here, try this grape wine from the imperial cellar. A far superior vintage, I am sure you will agree.”
With his own hand, the First Emperor decanted the ruby-red liquid from a bronze storage vessel into large porcelain goblets.
“To immortality!” the Emperor toasted. Cain, betraying none of the irony he felt, raised his goblet in salute to his host.
“Come now, tell me tales of the West,” the Emperor exhorted. “Your map will inspire us as we walk up and down.”
They talked long past midnight. Qin Shihuangdi’s curiosity seemed insatiable. He was well informed about contemporary developments, even mentioning Rome’s devastating setbacks in her Second Punic War against Carthage. He seemed especially interested in the military prowess of other states, along with their development of new technologies. Cain wondered if His August Majesty were not contemplating further additions to his empire.
After liberal quantities of Chinese spirits had topped the grape wine, the Emperor abruptly summoned one of his physicians. Lanky and balding, with a wispy beard and a crooked spine, the man bowed his head respectfully and then placed a vial in the royal hands. After the doctor silently withdrew from the room, Qin Shihuangdi confided in Cain, “He was recommended by Li Si. They feed me medications, you know. The preparations taste terrible, but they are sure to prolong my life!”
His voice was animated but strikingly uneven as he emptied the bottle’s contents into a goblet of liquor. “To immortality!” he repeated.
“If I may ask, Majesty, what does the vial contain?”
“Why, mercury, of course!” replied the Emperor with a sly grin and sporadic eye blinks. “Do you not know that quicksilver is the sustainer of all life?”
***
Qin Shihuangdi retired two hours before sunrise. After the emperor had staggered from the room, supported by a pair of burly guards, a group of uniformed attendants led Cain to his quarters, where servants had placed an array of fruits and accompaniments. Also waiting for him was a guest the emperor had not mentioned. She was endowed with sleek, raven tresses and a regal stature that reminded him of one of the emperor’s bronze waterfowl in the mausoleum.
“I am Lijuan, honorable sir. I am here to see that your every comfort is provided,” she murmured softly while bowing low. Cain thought the name was familiar. After a moment, he recalled that Kwok-se had mentioned this young woman, whose name meant “beautiful and graceful,” as one of the Emperor’s favorite concubines.
As she prepared the bed, Lijuan told Cain, “How unusual that you know Chinese! Where did you learn our language so fluently?”
Cain could only respond that Kwok-se had taken pains to teach him during their journey from the West to Xi’an on the Silk Road.
“And what was your profession in the West?”
“I was a cartographer and an engineer.”
“An engineer! Such an inspiring profession. You must have been the builder of many great inventions.”
“Sunrise is at hand,” he pointed out, a bit superfluously. Gesturing to the bed, he added, “Let us enjoy it.”
Lijuan smiled alluringly. “But before we retire, sir, allow me to treat your wound.”
Removing the bandage from Cain’s cheek, she smeared honey on the gash to prevent infection. Cain placed his finger on the honey, and then offered it to Lijuan’s lips to taste. Drawing her close, he folded her into the soft pillows.
CHAPTER 50
China, 212–210 BC
THE GILT-TINGED RAYS of sunrise slanting through the bamboo slats failed to awaken Cain. But Lijuan, always a light sleeper, lifted her head from the satin-encased pillows and glided across the polished, inlaid floor. Donning a gorgeous peach-colored robe of silk brocade, she returned to the bedside and gazed at Cain’s sleeping visage.
To her surprise, the wound on his left cheek was completely healed.
Slipping noiselessly from the bedchamber, Lijuan headed directly for the emperor’s quarters, where the guards admitted her straightaway.
Two hours later, a peremptory knock on the bedchamber door forced its way into Cain’s consciousness. A loud, officious-sounding voice informed him that his presence at the royal breakfast table was required, so
he hastened to do the host’s bidding. Before unlocking the bedchamber door, however, he took the precaution of examining his left cheek in the mirror. As he expected, the sunrise reliably heralded his complete recuperation from such minor wounds. Without the means at hand to re-cut himself, he promptly applied a new bandage to the area where the gash had been. Idly wondering about Lijuan’s whereabouts, he opened the door and was promptly escorted by the emperor’s attendants through the palace hallways.
“Have some kumquats!” the emperor invited in a hearty, welcoming tone as Cain arrived at breakfast. “Delicious, hardy fruit, and so good for the digestion. I consume great quantities of them each morning.”
Flanked by Lijuan, who smiled sweetly, the Emperor presided at the head of a jet-black lacquered table in the sunny breakfast room. This part of the palace resembled a conservatory, for it was crowded with aromatic, brightly flowering plants. As Cain seated himself opposite the sovereign, an attendant immediately poured him a cup of steaming, fragrant tea and offered a glazed bowl of the pale, golden fruit. Something in the Emperor’s gaze told him that His Majesty had more than dietary considerations on his mind this morning.
“So now, Philo, what of your cheek wound? I notice you have applied a fresh bandage. May I see more closely? I should have ordered my doctor to examine you last evening. You have served me so admirably, my friend, that I feel that your health touches my own!”
Without waiting for Cain’s acquiescence, Qin Shihuangdi rose from his carved chair and circled the table.
“Let us see how the healing is progressing,” cooed the emperor as he peeled back the new bandage with his left hand. His right hand went to the polished Jian sword at his belt. Glancing at Lijuan, he drummed his fingers on the sword’s hilt. Cain noted that the concubine averted her eyes from the emperor’s glance.
