China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

“There are four ways to succeed in China. One, if you’re a Han, is to be a merchant. They’re despised, unless they become so rich they can buy their way into the gentry. In reality I am a small merchant, though we don’t call it that. But I and my sons will never get rich on our little printing press. The second way is to be a mandarin. The exams are very hard, but the rewards can be high. For the Han, there is a third way. That’s to cut your balls off and become a eunuch at the royal court, where the pickings can be excellent.”

“Glad I’m not a Han.” Guanji allowed himself a smile.

“But the fourth is to be a Manchu.”

“Not from what you just said…”

“Wait. There is more to come. Remember: The Mandate of Heaven was granted to the Manchu dynasty. Now put yourself in the emperor’s place. What does it mean to be emperor of China? What must you do?”

“The emperor must perform the ancient sacrifices to the gods to ask for good harvests.”

“Certainly. He is the Son of Heaven. He must also embody the culture of the people he rules: the Han. And for generations our Manchu dynasty has done so. The last emperor could write quite passable Chinese poetry and was proud of his calligraphy. I’ve heard that he even liked to correct the Chinese grammar of the memoranda he received—in red ink, of course! Above all, in order to show that his dynasty continues to hold the Mandate of Heaven, he cannot afford to let the Manchu clans lose face.”

“How does this help me?”

“Precisely because of the poor condition of so many bannermen, he is in desperate need of worthy Manchus. Men who can show both that they are literate Chinese and that they have something more—the ancient Manchu virtues that set us apart from the people we rule.”

“And that would be me?”

“I could not give you great wealth or high position, Guanji, but because of your own natural talent you have received a Manchu upbringing that is rare. Your father is recorded as a hero. The emperor himself has honored us with an arch. And I have friends amongst the mandarins and scholars who will speak in your support. The emperor will be eager to advance your career.”

“You have done so much.”

“But you yourself can do far more. As the son of a bannerman, in the officers school, you are already in line to become an officer. And even today, an officer gets a handsome salary. Beyond that, Guanji, you should take the provincial exams.”

“I’m not a scholar.”

“You don’t need to be. Remember, you won’t have to compete against the Han Chinese entrants. There is a quota of pass grades reserved for Manchu bannermen. You’ll have to work hard, of course. But I’ll arrange coaching, and you’ll only have to make a modest showing to get through. Once you have the juren provincial degree, the doors of the administration are open to you. There’s really no position you couldn’t reach.”

“So I’m lucky to be a Manchu after all.”

“In this life, Guanji, you must use every advantage you have. In another generation, these privileges may not even exist. Who knows? But now you have to choose. Do you want to finish up a poor Manchu like the rest, or are you ready to fight?”

“I’m ready to fight,” said Guanji.

—

In the months that followed, he redoubled his efforts at school. He liked the challenge. So far, he realized, everything he’d done had been because he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, the hero he scarcely remembered. The idea had spurred him on, given him comfort, and brought him joy. But now he saw that his future was no longer a birthright, a natural progression, and that he’d have to fight for survival. His future was his to make—with his uncle’s help, certainly—but his to lose as well.

By the time Guanji was fifteen, he’d discovered what it was to rely upon himself.

And yet it was at this time that a strange new feeling entered Guanji’s life. It would come upon him suddenly, for no reason: a sense that something was missing, though he couldn’t say what it was.

He’d try to shake the mood off, tell himself it was foolish. The things his uncle had said were reasonable and wise. The new realities of his life made sense. Why then should this vexatious little voice intrude itself, asking him: “Is this truly what you want?” Of course it was, he’d answer. But the voice would persist: “What is your life for? Is it only about the wind across the steppe, the whispers of your ancestors, and the emperor’s smile? Or is there something more?” And this Guanji could not answer. He wished that he could talk to Ilha about it. But Ilha was far away in Nanjing.

—

His teachers were delighted when Guanji and his best friends formed their little group. Their plan was to sing the old zidi songs and to practice archery, and they did it for fun. But they were also assiduous. Guanji was the best archer in the school anyway, but by practicing together on their free afternoons, they all became quite outstanding. As for the songs, the group was soon much in demand at parties in Hangzhou, and they studiously added to their repertoire. When someone laughingly called them the Five Heroes, they immediately adopted the name for their musical group.

But behind their little enterprise there was a more serious intent. They did mean to be heroes. Manchu heroes. The teachers at the school understood this very well, and that was the real reason they were so delighted. Guanji’s class was proving to be, as they say in schools, a very good year. Word of these young idealists even reached the court itself.

But heroes need adventures; warriors need enemies. Who was there for the Five Heroes to fight and vanquish?

The barbarians from the West were not at