stagnation and revolution.
While advocating the rule of law and the consolidation of power within the hands of a single supreme ruler, Han Feizi never wrote about the adverse consequences of such unlimited authority on the personality of the ruler. In the case of Mao, absolute power corrupted him absolutely, and he became increasingly intolerant of the slightest disagreement with any of his wishes.
Mao carried out political persecution on an unprecedented scale during the last ten years of his life, attacking most of his closest associates. Full of ambiguity and self-contradiction, it was impossible to foretell his intentions or predict his desires. Ever since Khrushchev’s posthumous denigration of Stalin in the 1950s, Mao had been fearful of a similar revisionism in China after his own death. He was obsessed both with grooming a successor and destroying that successor as the latter’s power grew. It became extremely hazardous to assume the number two position in China.
On his sickbed, Mao had summoned his latest designated successor Hua Guofeng, his wife Jiang Qing and her three closest collaborators and said to them, ‘I have done two great things in my life. The first was to drive out the Japanese and Chiang Kai-shek. The second was to initiate the Cultural Revolution, which remains unfinished. Heaven knows how you are going to handle it.’ Mao closed his eyes wearily and ended by quoting a proverb from a book written during the Jin dynasty (AD 265–420): ‘Gai guan lun ding’ (only when a person is dead and the lid of his coffin closed can final judgement be passed on him).
When the Map is Unrolled, the Dagger is Revealed
ONE DAY BEFORE THE FUNERAL of my stepmother Niang in 1990, my brother James gave me the startling news that Niang had suddenly and mysteriously disinherited me. Although Father had died two years earlier in 1988, Niang had prevented all of us from reading his will at his funeral. Devastated by my stepmother’s unexpected rejection and desperate to know my father’s true feelings towards me, I went up to Niang’s apartment with my husband Bob to search for Father’s will. There, rummaging through Niang’s personal belongings in her bedroom, I came across several piles of letters written by my oldest sister Lydia, whose children we had helped escape from Communist China and educate in America, against Niang’s wishes. To my shock and dismay, I found that instead of affection and gratitude, Lydia’s letters were full of lies and venom, inciting Niang to hate me. After reading them, I had no doubt that Niang had disinherited me because of Lydia’s slander.
I remember feeling nauseated and dizzy while a pain gripped my chest like a vice. Then Bob gave a shout from his side of Niang’s bedroom. He had found my father’s will.
Father’s intentions were radically different from those of Niang. He had included me, and had meant to give me the same share of his estate as that left to my two other older brothers. At that moment, reading Father’s words soothed me as nothing else could have done. It seemed as if he had raised himself out of his grave to embrace me. I heard once more my father’s voice, ‘Tu qiong hi xian (when the map is unrolled, the dagger is revealed). Now you know the true reasons for your disinheritance.’
Throughout history, there have been certain defining moments when the consciousness of the world has been gripped by a singular event that then becomes the catalyst for a whole series of momentous consequences. In describing such an incident, the Chinese might use the proverb tu qiong bi xian, ‘when the map is unrolled, the dagger is revealed,’ especially if the upheaval involved an element of surprise. As mentioned before, while it is common for Chinese people to think in metaphors and apply lessons from history to current events, terms like Pearl Harbor and the Blitz are two examples of metaphors that conjure images that resonate in the national consciousness, so much so that many people still recall exactly what they were doing when they first heard the news of these calamities.
On September 11, 2001, our daughter Ann called from New York to tell us of the suicide plane crashes in that city. In the days following, the images of the blazing World Trade Center did not leave our minds. My husband Bob noted that the words September 11 would probably evolve into a new American metaphor. For the rest of our lives, Americans will be asking one another, ‘What were you doing on September 11 when you heard the news?’
Ann was the first to ask me this question. I told her that I had been reading an account of a political assassination that happened over two thousand years ago, and I was trying to choose an appropriate proverb for the chapter heading. On hearing this, Ann surprised me with two questions:
‘Why do you like proverbs so much, Mom? Do you think in proverbs?’
‘Those are very good questions. Let me think about them, and get back to you.’
The following narrative is based on extracts from Shiji, and is the text I was working on when Ann telephoned.
Following the death of Han Feizi, King Zheng of Qin stepped up his campaign to unify China. After six years of ruthless warfare, strategic alliances and Machiavellian intrigue, he was successful in annexing Han, and most of Zhao and Wei. Six years later, in 227 BC, King Zheng began to eye Yan (the area in and around present-day Beijing).
Crown Prince Dan of Yan had been born in Handan, capital of Zhao, about the same time as King Zheng. Their fathers were both political hostages and used to live close to each other. The two boys played together as children and became boyhood chums.
Prince Zheng returned to Qin at the age of ten when his father ascended the throne, and became king himself three years later, following the death of his father. The two boys grew to manhood and when they were in their twenties, Prince Dan was sent as a political hostage to Qin.
In spite of their boyhood friendship, King Zheng was cold and cruel to Prince Dan. The latter became upset and fled back to Yan. On his return, he searched for someone who would avenge his humiliation. However, his state was small and weak while Qin was rich and powerful.
Soon after Prince Dan’s return to Yan, King Zheng began moving his troops east of the mountains to invade the unconquered states. Gradually, Qin soldiers approached the borders of the state of Yan. Because the rulers and ministers of Yan were all greatly worried at the prospect of a war with Qin, Crown Prince Dan conferred with his tutor, Ju Wu, for advice. But the Grand Tutor was unable to provide a satisfactory solution.
Some months later, Fan Yuqi, a Qin general who had led an unsuccessful rebellion against King Zheng, defected to Yan as a fugitive and begged Prince Dan for asylum. The Prince received him graciously and gave him shelter. The Grand Tutor protested and gave warning.
‘You must not do this. The King of Qin is legendary for his cruelty and vengefulness. Even if he should merely dislike you without cause, everyone in Yan would already be in danger. That thought alone is sufficient to make one shiver in the height of summer! How much worse when he learns that you are actually harbouring General Fan in our state! Your action is akin to baiting a hungry tiger by throwing meat in his path. The resulting blood bath will be disastrous.
‘Instead of keeping General Fan here, you should send him up north and hand him over to the Huns. By transferring General Fan to the barbarians, you will be sure to please the King of Qin and perhaps ward off invasion.’
The Crown Prince refused. He said, ‘General Fan was in grave peril when he threw himself at me and begged for my mercy. Never, until the day I die, could I abandon the ties of compassion and surrender him to the savage and barbaric Huns, simply out of fear of retaliation from King Zheng. If I should stoop so low, it would surely be time for me to die. Will you please reconsider and come up with an alternative plan?’
The Grand Tutor was much distressed. He sighed and said, ‘To bind yourself so tightly to a single desperate man without considering