Barefoot and shirtless, Fan Xiliang tugged at the tattered pair of trousers dangling around his hips, wondering why he bothered to stay clothed, wondering why anyone bothered. All the men around him, who toiled on the wall, were starved, beaten and broken-their once lustful eyes were dull and insipid; their hopeful conversations lay in the slop tunnels floating emptily, stinking with piss.

Life is more than piss, life is more than struggling for the emperor, life is living for Jiangnu and waiting for the day I can be with my bride. Xiliang tried to think about home, his family, his wife, avoiding the monotonous drudgery of loading the newly-broken rocks onto a cart and waiting for the next crew to push it to the building site. Each man's job was a living hell, but no one changed jobs; no one knew much about the other gangs or how they worked. It must be part of the emperor's strategy to keep us isolated, and wondering who the others are, how they survive, how they perform their jobs.

Haw-Yun, Long and Do-hoon worked closest to Xiliang and as each man loaded his own cart, waiting for the next gang to come and drag it away, he stood transfixed in his own nightmare, zombie-like, unable to dream or remember the past and, although the four men worked side-by-side, neither knew anything about the others except their names. This may have been because the emperor's guards sadistically mixed each gang with as many different local dialects as possible; if men were unable to communicate, they would be unable to escape. Accordingly, the men had no time to talk while they worked and they worked from the moment the sun rose until it set. In between the rotations of the earth, they ate one small meal in the morning and another meal at noon. Their last meal of the day, which was generally rice or soup, was served to them while they huddled up in their make-shift shelters as they slept next to their dying companions. Each night, the evening air stunk with the rotting corpses of Xiliang's dead companions and each morning he and the other slaves dragged the dead (and sometimes not-so-dead) bodies away from the camp and tossed them into a shallow grave, covering the still-breathing and the dead with dirt.

And each day, there were new Imperial Decrees to obey. Today's decree was simple: The dead must never be buried under the Wall and Fan Xiliang understood the ramifications of the decree, as did all the other slaves. The Wall would live for eternity, even though they would not; the wall would outlast the emperor and his empire for ten-thousand years, only the corpses would rot.

Xiliang's friend, Long, died that evening and Xiliang wasn't aware of it until he was kicked awake by one of the guards early the next morning. "You have an extra burial detail, slave, too many died last night. We need the walking dead to bury the rest."

Xiliang did his job, knowing it was suicidal to complain; he knew his place and he knew his hopes would never die, but he also trusted the goddess, Quan Yin, and knew he would soon be free.

Just before Xiliang sat down for his morning's bowl of vegetables and rice, the captain ordered all the slaves to drop their bowls and assemble at the base of the newest construction. "Peng-Heong tried to escape last night; he reached his village, but the emperor's men were waiting for him. They broke his wife's neck and banged his children's heads together in front of him; then they sliced off his father's head and tied his mother to a tree. The rest they sealed in their huts before burning the village down to the ground. Now it's Peng-Heong's turn to join his parents. Watch, perhaps you can imagine your wives, your children, your family waiting for you and perhaps you'd like to join them; perhaps you'd like to be with them right now. Keep waiting and watching because if you try to escape, we'll rip off your eyelids and make you watch as we kill your family and burn your village to the ground - then, when we tired of you, we'll kill you, as well."

The soldiers dragged Peng-Heong to the wall; his face still saturated with the blood that had dripped down his face as they had ripped out his eyelids; his teeth mashed and broken into shards, his nose splayed down the middle, his left ear ripped from his face and both little fingers hacked from his hands. By the time Peng-Heong was able to stand against the wall, there was little sign of life left within him and his execution seemed merciful because the soldiers were too tired to prolong it any longer. All they could think about was sleeping and as Fan Xiliang stared at the soldiers (avoiding his eyes from the lidless Peng-Heong) he wondered if they were saving more sadism for the next escapee. A tear rolled down Fan Xiliang's face as he pictured Peng-Heong's children's empty heads rolling like balls through the village, the villagers screaming as they were roasted alive, and then Xiliang stopped thinking-he was unable to think any longer. He knew why the emperor responded the way he did; he knew why the emperor enforced the laws. Everyone knew the wisdom of Lao Tse: He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is mighty. Xiliang practiced the philosophy-as did everyone else in Qin Shi Huangdi's country. The emperor is the power and everyone owes allegiance to the emperor, without the emperor there is tyranny. But what does that actually mean? Xiliang was tired of thinking. He awoke from his reverie to see Peng-Heong's head fly through the sky. The guards let out a cheer. The soldiers smiled. Xiliang could only imagine what the Great Emperor would have done. Xiliang didn't want to believe in the authority of one Emperor-but he didn't want not to believe either. We're nothing more than cow brains . . . chicken heads . . . we're all the same, men, children, slaves, animals, we're nothing but the emperor's property to abuse or kill as he decides. The soldiers are merely obeying orders; they are not responsible for their actions, but I'm responsible for mine. I must find a way to escape; I must find a way to save my wife and my family.

And at home, half a kingdom away, Meng Jiangnu sensed Xiliang's pain.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Xiliang and all his compatriots worked doubly hard that day as the Wall grew an extra meter in height and extended an extra meter in length; it was more progress than anyone had seen in months, but it was fear that propelled the men, it was anger that drove them. Each man knew his only achievement would be marked by the amount of work he accomplished on the wall; there was nothing else to live for. There was no other hope.

The next day, when the slaves were no longer able to keep up with their work, two of the men were taken away by the guards and the rest saw nothing, but they heard their screams late into the night and early into the next morning-screams like the forest owl, screams like tigers tied in cages that have had their paws bitten off by crows, screams like only the devil would know.

Xiliang touched Jiangnu's jade hairpin, rubbing it back and forth in his palms all night long, praying to the great goddess Kuan Yin that he would be reunited with his wife and rejoin Meng Jiangnu.

"What's that" a guard asked, as he grabbed Xiliang's hand and spread open his palm, watching Xiliang wince as Jiangnu's tiny broken hairpin fell to the ground.

"A piece of remembrance from your mommy? Something to remember her by? It's as worthless as your life, dog, but I'll let you keep it; perhaps someday when you cross me I'll make you eat it, but right now you may keep it, wondering what I'll do."

Xiliang didn't wonder, nor did he worry. No matter what they do, no one will ever take Meng Jiangnu from my heart-no one can rip her soul from mine.

The windswept in from the plains and neither the mountains nor the Great Wall were able to protect the slaves from its frozen death as thousands lay dying in the icy night. Even their stench was frozen, unable to fill the camp with its reproach, no longer able to hover over the land, like a rainless thundercloud wanting to burst.

And as quickly as the slaves died, the emperor found more to abuse; it was almost as if he were propagating each village, filling every Chinese village with his malevolent seed, procreating merely to complete the Wall.

And another day passed and another Imperial Edict was read to the slaves: By order of Emperor Qin Shi Huangdi: "We must complete the wall, even if we have to take every peasant from the land, we must complete the wall."

But even the emperor's hand-chosen men were exhausted now. They had had no respite in years and the joy of torturing and killing the slaves was wearing thin, so one by one they turned to each other for their pleasure. One by one the soldiers paired up. "I haven't seen my wife in four years, I need someone in my life; I must find relief."

The cries and sobs from the slaves' quarters diminished each night as more men died or lost all hope, but the sounds from the guards' quarters grew lustier and louder with each passing wind-it was almost as if each man had finally found absolute sexual satisfaction.

Late that night or early the next morning (Xiliang had lost all sense of time) Xiliang dreamt of Meng Jiangnu again. I'm coming for you my love, I'm coming for you-hold on, wait for me; I'm coming for you, I'm coming for you.

When he awoke, Xiliang felt refreshed and knew he would no longer merely survive, now he would live life robustly, waiting for his bride. He knew his wife would come for him and they would escape, but as more dark storm clouds covered the land, Xiliang came down with the great coughing sickness, with the sickness of death, and the night grew black and the Xiliang's dreams faded into memory.


On to Chapter Twenty-Five
The Secret of the Chamber
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Two Warm Hearts
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