2/2013 The Great Pratfall of China
W
ith China on its way out of the dark as spring gets into swing, we feel the Northern Hemisphere could use a bit of a chuckle. Liu Jue dug through annals of clowns, tricksters and fools to shed some light on the history of jesters in China with “Don’t Pity the Fool!” encompassing thousands of years of these lowly entertainers who could once speak truth to power. From derisive dwarfs to mordant musicians, the Chinese fool hits on all sides of history, with stories of brave men harassing their emperors with sarcasm and cutting parody for the public good. Ginger Huang had the altogether more pleasant experience of surfing Weibo for modern day satirists, people who use their social networking for social change (or just a laugh). For years, Weibo has been a jumping off point for academics and journalists, but these nutty netizens make personalities from scratch to explain the world they see. From the faux posh “General Secretary of Huaguo Mountain” with his cuttingly sardonic take on the upper class to the shot-to-stardom “Pyongyang Writer” and his tongue-in-cheek insights, social network satire in China is growing some sharp teeth. In China’s evolving comedy scene, there seems to be uncertainty for what the future holds, but Lee Simpson’s “And Scene!” takes a look at improv in China’s capital. From a “Yes/And” philosophy of life to team-building exercises for middle management, improv favors the bold. On a similar note, Terence Hsieh has a look at stand-up and its future in China. While most comedy club nights are suited to a foreign palate, China’s unique brand of cross-talk has traditionally filled the gap. The two, on the surface, look quite similar, but a myriad of cultural factors pull them desperately far apart. As the world shrinks, will these two forms meet in the middle or is one alone destined to rule China’s funny bone? But, if your taste in comedy runs traditional in the extreme, “Made in China” has some yuks from 400 years ago in a bawdy (sometimes banned) book called Xiaolin Guangji; of course, if you do indeed find it funny, “Street Talk” is there to help you express your particular brand of laughter. “On the Road” takes us on a puzzling journey for a mystery man named Mr. Han, artist and author of Crazy! Guibao sits down for an interview and up-and-coming writer Sun Yisheng has a brand new short story, available only at The World of Chinese, called “Dad, Your Name is Bao Tian”. The jeering jesters, whimsical Weibo warriors, courageous cross-talkers and intrepid improv-ers are part of China’s past and future, fools worthy of respect. Cheers,
Managing Editor Tyler Roney
Issue 2/2013
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2/2013 40 THEME STORY
AND SCENE! 西式即兴表演遭遇中国性格 The “Yes/And” philosophy is alive and well in workshops all over Beijing, buoying up the capital’s comedy scene and changing lives with improv
26
COVER STORY
DON’T PITY THE FOOL!
Illustration
by
Tang Huiqin(man
wearing watches
), Gao Fei(stage
show
,jester)
俳优：用戏谑说真话的人 They juggle, dance and sing, but jesters also possessed the seemingly magical ability to speak truth to power—but not without consequence
48 THEME STORY CHINA’S COMEDY SHOWDOWN 喜剧舞台上的中外角力 In the great battle for China’s funny bone, does stand-up have a chance, will cross-talk reign supreme or is the future a blend of both?
Issue 2/2013
34
THEME STORY
WEIBO’S PREMIER SINO-SATIRISTS 微博上的讽刺家 The great history and lineage of satire in China is online and en masse, but there are a special few who can really capture—and control—the country’s collective imagination and thirst for mischief
3
GALLERY
56
GRAVITY AND LIGHT 重力和光线 Artist Wang Yuyang combines physics, light and space to render a falling feather, using fluorescent lights and mathematical algorithms
76
ON THE ROAD
60 SEARCHING
SOCIAL CHINESE
SURPLUS TO REQUIREMENTS
FOR MR. HAN
如何跟美眉搭讪？
寻找韩先生
For many men in China, it's a tough time to pick up girls, but "Social Chinese" can help with advice on how to get online and get yourself a honey
4
Michael Caster and Noemi Cassanelli travel to the village of Cuandixia, a strange monument of China’s ancient heritage and preservation, in search of honey. Instead of the pollinated pleasure they seek, they find so much more.
85
20
52
KALEIDOSCOPE HK3D
SAVING CHINA CHINA’S SHRINKING WETLANDS
CHI LE MA SHRIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE
香港的几何空间
消失的湿地
抓炒大虾
Staff writer and photographer Terence Hsieh takes us on a journey through the spatial geometry of Hong Kong, old and new, a place of dichotomous design
Contributor Kaitlin Solimine gives us a glance inside the failing kidneys of China’s wetlands and what's being done about it
Contrary to what you may think, stir-fried prawns can save lives, and now you can learn how to cook this mouthwatering meal
1 EDITOR’S LETTER 卷首语
7 NEWS 新闻
8 MISHMASH 多棱镜
13 STREET TALK 街头俚语
14 DRAGON'S DIGEST 三味书屋 Gett y(The Grandmasters)
19 MADE IN CHINA 中国制造
90 ON THE CHARACTER 92 PIONEER
68
CITY STROLL
TWO DAYS IN SHENYANG Shenyang’s illustrious and bloody history makes for a welcome alternative to the usual weekend city breaks
酷漫
Photographs
80 AUDIO-VISUAL WORLD THE GRANDMASTERS 《一代宗师》 Wong Kar Wai’s thrilling new visual ballet is a postmodern interpretation of the life and times of Wing Chun master Yip Man and his colleagues
Issue 2/2013
对话先锋
94 ASK LAOSHI
沈阳两日
by
Noemi Cassanelli (house),Natalie Thomas (child
and dad) and
魅力汉字
问老师
9 5 THE GEEK CORNER 高手学堂
96 COMICS
WANT MORE LIKE THIS? You can find more written, visual and audio content on our newly revamped website, www.theworldofchinese. com, which is updated daily with recipes, travel tales, language lessons and more!
5
CHILDREN'S CHINESE SONG C H A RT 汉语儿歌挂图
• Perfect for application to children’s daily life • Contains commonly-used characters and sentences, highly accessible to children • 38 hanging charts and 38 songs • An effective tool for teachers • A Free CD of MP3 songs 36,Wang Fu Jing St. Beijing, 100710, China Tel: 86-10-65258899 ext.407 Email: duanxiayun@cp.com.cn
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新 闻
NEWS
ANNUAL GET-TOGETHER The World of Chinese representatives attended an annual get-together of the Commercial Press on February 4. CP General Manager Yu Dianli delivered a report summarizing the previous year and detailing future plans to concentrate more on e-publishing. After the report, CP held a gala to wish everyone a very happy Lunar New Year.
CP AND CHARITY On February 21st, Xu Yixuan, Honorary Vice Chairman of the China Charity Foundation (中华慈善总会 Zh4nghu1 C!sh3n Z6nghu#), met with Zhou Hongbo, publisher of The World of Chinese, to discuss ways to cooperate on spreading awareness of the organization’s charitable work in China as well as charitable activities throughout China in general. Four points of cooperation were discussed, including: creating a new column dedicated to charity in the magazine, adding a section on charity in the website, publishing books on medical aid provided for Tibetan children, and the establishment of a lecture hall for charitable events in the Commercial Press headquarters.
TIGER TALKS
SHANGHAI FILM SALON
Editorial staff from The World of Chinese were invited to Pheonix TV talk show Tiger Talks (一虎 一席谈 Y# H^ Y# X! T1n) hosted by Hu Yihu (胡一虎) to discuss Beijing’s air pollution on January 17. Previously, we posted a blog titled “What’s in That Beijing Air” on Beijing’s record-setting day of pollution, garnering international attention and concern.
The World of Chinese and the American Women’s Club of Shanghai held a film meet featuring The Oyster Girl on January 25 at Shanghai La Mer Café. The film represented the 1960s revival of the Mandarin language film industry in Taiwan. The film salon also raised funds for Morning Tears, a non-profit organization aiming to improve the lives of children whose parents are in prison. For more information, please go to www. morningtears.org.cn.
Issue 2/2013
7
MISHMASH
8
安娜)
A HOUSE ON THREE WHEELS Stuck in Beijing traffic? Late on rent again? Roommate won’t stop slurping Ramen? It might be time to make like a turtle and go mobile with your home. Only, this time, your shell is made from polypropylene plastic and sits on a tricycle. Living off the grid can be easy, thanks to a design by Tricycle Home and Tricycle Garden by the Beijing People’s Architecture Office and the People’s Industrial Design Office. Created for the “Beijing’s Get It Louder 2012” exhibition under the theme of “The People’s Future”, this nifty little onebedroom folds up accordionstyle and can be transported anywhere you’re willing to pedal. The Tricycle Home boasts a sink, stove and bathtub, all
Cfp
The celebrity-supported “Big Love” campaign that started in early January in Hong Kong, has inspired at least one elderly couple on the mainland. They opened a Weibo account, called Two Old Men’s Love, and posted, among other things, a video of them singing the famous Chinese love song, “The Moon Represents My Heart” (《月亮代表我的心》 Yu-liang D3ibi2o W6 de X~n), and at one point, they kiss each other passionately. These intimate moments shared on one of China’s biggest social networks, have drawn thousands of comments and “shares”, making them the
is a symbol. How could anyone deny these two their happiness? Like many old retired couples, they spend their time reading, playing board games and going for walks. “We call each other ‘Big Treasure’ (大宝 D3b2o) and ‘Little Treasure’ (小宝 Xi2ob2o)”, says the teacher. - ANNA RINKE (瑞
by
“BIG TREASURE” AND “LITTLE TREASURE”
most controversial topic on Weibo. “We won’t part until we die,” the couple wrote on their Weibo. “We will strive to be together no matter how hard or painful it is.” For various reasons, the couple remains relatively anonymous, one a retired history teacher and the other a water delivery man, which, incidentally, is how they met. They both agree that being together is tough, with little support from their family and friends, and the history teacher’s son has even stopped speaking to him. But nothing could stop these two who gathered their closest friends for their wedding ceremony in Beijing, one of them even wearing a wedding dress. They shared shots of baijiu, as their many internet friends and fans blessed them. Although same sex marriage is currently illegal in China, they’re determined to stay together, of which the ceremony
Photographs
多 棱镜
of which are collapsible and stored in the house’s front wall. Furniture includes a bed that converts into a dining table and a countertop that doubles as a bench. There is also a water tank and storage units. Street lamps provide light at night, while sunlight lights it up during the day. Optional portable gardens can be used to grow flowers and vegetables. Designers report: “Through this design, single family homes can be affordable and sustainable, parking lots are not wasted at night and traffic jams are acceptable.” Riders can choose to get together and form their own “tricycle community” in the city. Indeed, these tricycle homes may be the solution to overcoming China’s expensive housing market. Now is the
Issue 2/2013
time 省吃俭用 (sh0ng ch~ ji2n y7ng, to live frugally). All aboard the Tricycle Home! - RACHAEL WOLFF (吴瑞琪)
MEDICINAL MUD Walk into any Beijing restaurant, and you may be served a wonderfully whipped delicacy topped with blueberries. When you open wide, the creamy sensation is sweet, but not quite ice cream. After pondering for a few seconds, you realize: yam. 蓝莓山药泥 (l1nm9i sh`nyaon!), loosely translated as “blueberry yam mud”, is a dessert consisting of Chinese yams with blueberry sauce. The yam is combined with milk, water and honey, and then crafted into balls or other shapes. Because yams are neutral in taste, this dish takes on the pleasantly sweet and sour tang of the blueberries. Chinese yams are tap roots. There are between 600 and 800 different species, ranging in length from half a meter to a whole. Best eaten lightly blanched,
Chinese yams are also fried, braised and steamed. Luckily, this dessert is as good for you as it tastes. Within that sticky texture is the secret power of a sugar-protein that binds to cardiovascular walls and prevents atherosclerosis. Yam “mucus” coats respiratory passages and can ease coughs. The high fiber content in yams also allows it to control appetite. According to traditional Chinese medicine, Chinese yams fall under prevention cuisine. Like the infamous mung bean, Chinese yams help build resistance to colds in the winter. TCM also believes Chinese yams work with the spleen and stomach, strengthens kidneys and enhances lung yin and qi. Outcomes include toned muscles, improved digestion and lessened fatigue. So, next time you’re diving into blueberry yam mud, remember to ask for seconds. – R.W.
9
LANGUAGE OF LOVE
I'VE HEARD THAT ONE They're a bit stale (600 years or so) but they can still make you laugh
The Chinese art of seduction online
p. 19
p. 76
世界上最遥远的距离不是你站在 天安门广场却看不到毛主席，而 是你打开钱包也看不到毛主席。 The furthest distance in the world is not that between you and Chairman Mao when you are standing in Tian’anmen Square yet cannot see him; it is when you open your wallet and you still cannot see Chairman Mao. - GINGER HUANG (黄原竟)
赶快到信阳买房子吧。 Hurry up and buy a house in Xinyang.
如果迁都，北京买房的人会哭 死吧。
The relocation of the capital might cause the death of the state.
If the capital is moved to another city, people who have recently bought houses in Beijing will cry hysterically.
首都变首堵，北京成背气了，不迁 可奈何。建议把行政首都迁到襄 阳、信阳这一带，即解决了水源又远 离了雾霾，居中心之要地，摄全国 之总揽，何乐而不为之。
信阳有什么？不可能迁都到这里， 而且，迁都 是迫不得已 才为之。迁 都，或是亡 国举动。
The Capital has become the most congested city (in China) and chokes with air pollution. If the administrative capital moved to Xiangyang or Xinyang, it would solve water shortages and ease air pollution. Also, Xinyang is in the center of the country, making it easier to control the whole country. Why not?
中国已经有了北京、南京……以后 可以出个中京。
Xinyang? What? It would be impossible to move the capital there.
)
The furthest distance in the world is that between me and Chairman Mao; I’m standing right in front of Tian’anmen, yet I cannot see him.
sister
世间最遥远的距离就是，我站在 天安门前，却看不见毛主席。
Vocal Weibo users have, of late, been entertaining far-fetched rumors that plans are afoot to move China’s capital, shifting the cultural and political nucleus of the country to Xinyang. Pollution, over-crowding and various neighborly threats are purported to be behind the intended shift. We selected a few of our favorite responses to this idea below.
C fp ( h o u s e
Taiwanese writer Zhang Xiaoxian (张小娴)’s poem reads, “The furthest distance in the world/ is not that between life and death/ but that between us as I stand in front of you/ but you don’t know I love you.” The poem fell victim to parody during Beijing’s heavily smoggy days that kicked off 2013.
by
PM2.5 PARODIES
CAPITAL SHIFT
P h o t o g r a ph
WEIBO POSTS:
IMPERIALIST PRAWNS
GUIBAO IS NOT STABLE
Inside the language and love of Wong Kar Wai's latest masterpiece
A delicious dish for the history books
A sit down with one of China's bestselling comic artists
p. 80
p. 85
p. 92
YOUR KUNG FU IS STRONG
China already has Beiing (North Capital) and Nanjing (South Capital)… will our new capital be called Zhong jing ( Middle Capital)? - ALICIA ZHANG (张华阳) AND LEE MAXWELL SIMPSON (李雷神)
HOUSE SISTER In January, 2013, news headlines were bombarded with incessant revelations of civil servants and their relatives owning many houses, which, supposedly, their salaries can’t afford. These unlucky officials have been nicknamed “house sister” (房姐 f1ngji0, 41 apartments), “house brother” (房哥 f1ngg8, 14 apartments), “house sister-in-law” (房 嫂 f1ngs2o, 14 apartments), “house uncle” (房叔 f1ngsh$, 84 apartments) and “house ancestor” (房 祖宗 f1ngz^zong, 170 apartments).
知道你为什么是房奴了吧? Now you know why you are a “house slave.”
房价高的原因终于找到了，经 济学家都弱爆了。 That is the reason for high housing prices. The economists were idiots. - G.H. Issue 2/2013
BOOK NEWS: FINNEGAN’S WAKE By James Joyce
Translated by Dai Congrong Published by Shanghai People’s Publishing House, 2013 Despite 70+ years on the shelf, Finnegan’s Wake is making headlines due to the unexpected popularity of the Chinese translation. The first run of the publication completely sold out in just five weeks, hit-
ting number two on Shanghai’s good books list, and 30,000 more copies are in the works. Translator Dai Congrong (戴从容), a 41-year-old professor at Shanghai’s Fudan University, claims that this version, something she has been working on since 2004, may actually be easier to read than the original but that she didn’t compromise on complexity. There’s certainly no doubt that Dai put in the work. When interviewed by AP, she said: “It was dull and depressing during the first two years.” She also added that she was beginning to have doubts about her ability to even complete the translation after having spent two years on the book without having translated a single word. Joyce’s fiendishly complex novel is, to many, his seminal work after Ulysses, which was published in Chinese just 17 years ago. Finnegan’s Wake is written in a lexicon that is a dream to many and a nightmare to others, always drifting from stream of consciousness to something just inside lunacy. The book made headlines around the world from The Guardian to The Sydney Morning Herald, and it’s a rare treat for readers around the globe to learn that a book anywhere has sold out. James Joyce is often seen as, depending on your point-of-view, the holy grail of translation. Seeing as how the German version took 19 years and the French 30, many are skeptical and quick to criticism regarding Dai’s eight-year hell spent translating. But, for now, it seems the only thing people are interested in is getting their hands on a copy. - TYLER RONEY
11
T
he ThreeCharacter Primer of Film Please don’t read the Three-Character Primer of Film by Liu Cheng (柳城). If you do, you’ll become extremely wise in the ways of screenwriting, and I don’t need the competition. ——David Seidler ( American playwright, The King’s Speech won for Best Original Screenplay at the American Academy Awards in 2010 )
www. theworldofchinese .com Order online for discount prices Chinese Edition (Yellow) English Edition (Red)
街头 俚语
STREET TALK
Illustration
by
Gao Fei
W
e all love a good giggle, and there are dozens of ways to express it in English, from a barely audible titter to an all-out howl. But how often have you “fainted with laughter” or figuratively “spat out a mouthful of water” in amusement? Here are a few ways we can talk about laughing in Chinese so that you’re never left speechless in a fit of hysteria. The feeling is familiar: you find something funny. A smirk crosses your face. Slowly, an unstoppable fizz engulfs your entire body. Laughter bubbles up inside you. You’re desperately trying to stifle these inappropriate waves of giggles, but you just can’t do it. You may feel like you are going to 笑爆 了 (xi3o b3o le, explode with laughter or totally crack up). When you just can’t hold it in any longer, out comes the
Issue 2/2013
full-blown cackle. Hopefully, you’re not in the midst of eating; otherwise, you may laugh so much that you spit out the contents of your mouth 笑喷了 (xi3o p8n le), the closest English translation being “to burst out laughing.” As this laughter continues, the familiar ache in your stomach rises as your 笑得肚子 疼 (xi3ode d&zi t9ng, belly laugh) rolls on. After a while, the oxygen supply to your brain begins to slow, and you need to stop. You stand up, but just can’t halt the guffaws, stooping over and 笑 弯了腰 (xi3o w`ngle y`o, to bend over laughing). It’s getting ridiculous, but the hysterics persist. You are now 笑得满地打滚 儿 (xi3ode m2n d# d2g^nr, rolling on the floor) with laughter! You start to feel a little light-headed and might 笑晕 了 (xi3o y$n le, laugh so much that you
I ALMOST DIED LAUGHING! W6 ch3di2n xi3o s@ le!
我差点笑死了!
pass out) or even worse, 笑得不行 了 (xi3ode b&x!ng le, laugh so much that you think you might die). Luckily, you survive. You dry your eyes, clear your…throat, compose yourself and joke with your friends about how you almost died laughing, “我差点笑死了!” (W6 ch3di2n xi3o s@ le!). No worries though, it’s healthy to 傻笑 (sh2xi3o, laugh yourself silly). - LEE MAXWELL SIMPSON, RESEARCH BY ALICIA ZHANG
(张华阳)
13
三味 书屋
DRAGON'S DIGEST
DAD, YOUR NAME IS BAO TIAN B3, N@ de M!ngz# Ji3o B2oti1n 《爸，你的名字叫保田》 Up-and-coming writer Sun Yisheng (孙一圣) was born in 1986 in Shandong Province. After graduating with a degree in chemistry, he worked as a security guard at a cement factory, waiter and a technician in a pesticides factory. He has had short stories published in several mainstream literary journals, including Shanghai Literature (《上 海文学》Sh3ngh2i W9nxu9). “Periscope” (《而谁将通过花朵望天空》Ér Shu! Ji`ng T4nggu7 Hu`du6 W3ng Ti`nk4ng) appeared in Chutzpah (《天南》Ti`nn1n) after it was sent to the magazine’s founder and editor on spec, appearing in issue seven. Sun featured as one of three young writers at a Chutzpah “Literary New Blood” event in Beijing on the 9th of September 2012 and has also seen works published in modern literary trailblazer Words Without Borders.
Author’s Note: This surreal short story is an assemblage of disconnected images, in a landscape that flows like an inkwash painting. The Bao Tian of the title never makes an appearance, has no surname or family, and is thus “everyman.” The narrator’s many questions can be reduced to two: Where have I come from? and Where am I going? All the characters, the crowd and the narrator, are faceless, so that the reader can see them as anyone, including themselves. I chose the name Bao Tian, (“field–keeper”), not only because it is a typical countryman’s name, but because it has a good sound and rhythm to it. The rhythm of the language is very important to me, and I have made the cadence and the imagery as close as I can to poetry.
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I was this old before I remembered my father. Before, I didn’t know his name and had no memory of him. My mother never told me. In any case, she’s dead now. As she lay dying, I sat at her bedside, tugging on her withered hand. The moonlight fell on her face and I really wanted her to tell me about stuff that happened outside the window. But until her last breath, she just kept repeating, “I’m going to die.” And then she did, looking as if she had just fallen asleep. Anyway, it was then that I remembered my father. “There was no warning your dad was going to leave us,” said my mother, “I don’t know what he was thinking of. The day he went, we ate dinner like normal, and he went out for a stroll, just like he always did. I sat in the cane chair sewing a pair of trousers. He was out for the usual time, then he came back in and squeezed my hand––he squeezed my hand––then he said he was going out for a knife, as if he was going out for another stroll. He didn’t come back. And he hasn’t been back since.” “What’s my dad’s name?” I asked my mother. “Everyone says your dad’s name was this.” “Was what?” “Your dad’s name was Bao Tian.” “Dad, your name was Bao Tian?” I said. “That’s right, it was Bao Tian. And your dad went off down the road that goes past the front door.” My mother
raised her hands. All the candlelight pooled in the centre of the room. My wife sat weeping in the corner where I could hardly see her. A draught blew the drooping candle out and she got up for some matches to re–light it. The room came back into view. My wife sat back down in her corner and carried on sobbing. Her shadow flickered on the wall. My mother’s swollen legs lay on the quilt. If she hadn’t left us so soon, she’d have got up and had a go at my wife, for sure. My wife stood up, quivering, her belly supported on slender legs. She came over and wrenched the quilt off: “What’ll I do when you’ve gone?” she cried, sounding just like my mother. “Why are you pulling the quilt off ?” I asked her. She smoothed my mother’s raised hands flat, put the quilt back and repeated: “What’ll I do when you’ve gone?” “I’ll be back soon,” I said. But my wife was still crying. “What’ll our son do when you’ve gone?” Me: “I haven’t got a son.” Wife: “You might have.” Me: “Our son hasn’t been born yet.” Wife: “He might be. And when he is, and his dad’s not around, what am I supposed to tell him?” Me: “OK, this is what I’m supposed to tell him.” Son: “Where are you going?” Me: “To look for my dad.” Son: “What’s your dad’s name?” Me: “His name’s Bao Tian.” Son: “Dad, your name’s Bao Tian.” Me: “Son, your dad’s name’s not Bao Tian. My dad’s name’s Bao Tian.” I sat on a pile of stones by the roadside, pressed down by dense leaden clouds. A crowd of people climbed towards me, dipping and rising, disappearing and reappearing, like wheat bowed by the wind. The road snaked away ahead, I couldn’t see where it ended, there was only broiling hot air. I had walked all this way without coming across any towns, or even a village. There were a good number of trees to keep the sun off me though, so I could take short rests. Up the hillside ahead, the next section of road wavered and shimmered. There were no birds, no frogs, and no barking dogs, just lush green undergrowth on either side as I walked. I sat down for a rest while I waited for the scarecrow in the wheat field to point the way. The pile of stones scorched my bum but I sat there anyway. Then dark clouds gathered and the tree shadows were swallowed up. After a while, I saw them climbing towards me. I had passed them just before, on the last Issue 2/2013
hilltop. They had fallen into a gully, and the sun shone down on their backs. Their feet scrunched in the stones and they panted hoarsely as they turned and looked around them. The sky hung low over their heads. When they saw me, their gaze seemed to settle on the hillside a few hundred meters away. There was not a breath of wind, and their shouts echoed behind me. I didn’t look back, just plodded on until I could no longer hear them. The road stretched away, clinging to the surface of the land. I crested one rise after another, disappeared down one dip after another, until finally I got to this tree. My feet hurt and I sat down for a bit. I could hear the shouts again now, and saw exhausted figures approaching. Their gaze shortened before finally coming to rest on me. “Where are you all from?” They passed me and carried on a bit, then another bit, without slackening their speed or even leaning to one side. “Where are you all from?” I asked again. “You’re in our way,” one of them said. “How long will it take to get to the next village, do you know?” I asked. “Get out of our way,” someone else said. I couldn’t tell which two were talking. Their coloring was all the same and they all dripped with sweat the same way. Even their flat faces were identical, so they were hard to tell apart. I crossed to the other side of the group. As I stepped around them, I said to the ones on this side: “How long will it take to get to the next village, do you know?” “We’ve just come from the next village,” one said. “Yes, I know,” I said. “So how long will it take me?” “How long have you been walking?” asked one. I couldn’t decide if the speaker was the same as the one who had just answered me. “I haven’t been to the next village. I don’t know how long it’s going to take,” I said. “I’m asking how long you’ve been walking to get here.” “About this long,” I said, spreading my arms wide. “Walk as long again and, if you come to a river, follow it. If you come to a bridge, don’t turn off, carry on walking and you’ll find it.” I couldn’t stop. We walked along the narrow road, its edges overgrown with weeds. The road drifted away ahead of us. We turned onto the wasteland, but we didn’t let the brambles get in our way or slow us down. The sun was as fierce as ever, and its rays seemed to sap their energy. “Where are you all going?” “We’re going to stop,” they said. 15
I said, looking back at the twisting, winding road: “Why are you still carrying him? You must be tired.” “Back off a bit,” said someone. “Your feet are in my space.” I jumped back a bit. “Back a bit further…” they said. They stood in a mown patch of weeds and lowered the coffin from their shoulders. They dug out a deep pit and left the soil piled up around the edges. Then they put the coffin in. shoveled fresh soil over Actually, that’s not what she said, it’s my best guess. They the person and heaped up the 她 没 这 么 说 ， 这 些 是 我 的 猜 测。 grave mound. “You’re stepping on my shadow, please back off,” “What are your names?” I she said. “ Take your shadow further away from me. ” said. 她 说 ， 你 踩 了 我 的 影 子 ， 请 你 离 我 的 She knelt at the graveside, her 影 子 远 点 ， 也 请 你 的 影 子 离 我 远 点 。 body so bloated her grief could not get out. The clouds parted, the sun burned fiercer than ever. More hot air amassed in the vast sky. Their jackets, “What are you carrying?” and hers too, were soaked with sweat. Before she bowed “A person.” to pay her respects, she looked up at me: “I’m begging “What’s his name?” you to stop talking. The sound of your voice might disturb “Nothing to do with you.” him.” Actually, that’s not what she said, it’s my best guess. They were off the road now, and onto open ground. I “You’re stepping on my shadow, please back off,” she said. kept pace, and asked again: “Where are you all off to?” “Take your shadow further away from me.” “We’re stopping. Get out of our way.” They smirked, and someone said to her placatingly: “I just want to know his name.” “We’d better go.” She scattered some paper money into They had left the road far behind and were on the the air but the notes didn’t flutter upwards. She threw her wasteland. They gazed all around them; everywhere arms up again but the bunches of notes just spattered on was engulfed in lush green undergrowth. They came the ground. They took the money and left, and I followed to a halt. She walked out from the centre of the crowd. them. She was dressed in filthy clothes. “I’m begging you to Me: “What are your names?” stop talking,” she said, looking imploringly at me. Them: “What’s your name?” “We’re begging you to stop talking,” they said. Me: “Do you know someone called Bao Tian? I’m “I just want to know his name.” looking for him. “I’m begging you to keep your voice down,” she said. Them: “We’re not called Bao Tian.” I kept my voice down. Still she didn’t answer me. Me: “Have you seen him?” “Why aren’t you saying anything?” I asked. Them: “We don’t have anyone called Bao Tian.” “He’s asleep,” she said. “I’m begging you to stop Me: “Do you know how I can find someone called Bao talking. You might wake him.” Tian?” “You might wake him,” they said. They all talked at once. “I’m not called Bao Tian.” “I I lowered my voice even more: “Can you tell me his don’t know anyone called Bao Tian.” “I don’t even know name?” how you can find someone called Bao Tian.” “Maybe “His name is Keep Your Voice Down,” she said. Ferry knows someone called Bao Tian.” The tall grass rustled against our legs. In a little while “Who’s Ferry?” I asked.
The clouds parted, the sun burned fiercer than ever. 云 层 也 散 开 ， 阳 光 更 显 燥 热。 M o r e h o t a i r a m a s s e d i n t h e v a s t s k y. 空 旷 的 天 空 郁 积 着 更 多 的 热 气。 B e f o r e s h e b o w e d t o pay h e r respects, she looked up at me: 她 跪 拜 前 抬 头 对 我 说: “I’m begging you to stop talking. The sound of your voice might disturb him.”
“我求 你 别 在 这 儿 说 话 了， 你 的 声 音 会 惊 扰 了 他 。”
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“Ferry’s no one. Walk as long again and, if you come to a river, follow it. If you come to a bridge, don’t turn off, carry on walking and you’ll find Ferry.” The boat sliced through the water and, at the next bend in the rapids, turned into the lower reaches. The roar was getting louder, and the water slapped against the side of the boat. We couldn’t stop the boat creaking and groaning. The rain was chucking it down and the gale was driving rainwater into the boat. Our clothes were soaked. He rocked the oars to steer us through, trying hard to avoid running aground or capsizing. I was being shaken to bits. Eventually the water grew quiet and you see reflections again but still the rain did not stop. I couldn’t see anything through the dense, leaden fog, just the rain-drenched rain. Our progress had slowed, and the riverbank wasn’t flashing past as fast as before. “Has it rained where you come from?” he asked. “The sun’s scorching there, more than it’s raining here.” “Have you come to pray for rain?” “That’s right. I’m excessively pious,” I said ironically. “My belly’s bursting with the water I’ve drunk.” Even the most pious can’t resist making up stories. “Who’s Bao Tian to you?” “He’s nothing to me, just like I’m nothing to you.” They clip–clopped on past me. We were a long way from our destination and still moving slowly on. They blew dandelion seed heads and crunched puncture vines thorns under their feet. Now there were vast expanses of golden wheat on either side. They had gone quiet, and no noise came from the wasteland either. I could hear the silence. But it didn’t last long, they seemed to wake up again, only now they were making an effort to curb their excitement. Down the next hillside, they scattered into the wheat fields. As I waited for them to come back to the road, I saw sparks that quickly started a field fire. The smoke billowed up into the sky. I stopped them. “Aren’t you hungry?” “Are you?” “Of course I am, what about you?” “We are too.” “So why are you burning the wheat?” “Don’t you want to find Ferry?” they said. “It’s going to rain soon, and the girl’s getting married, understand?” I got to the river but didn’t find Ferry and the river was in spate. A gust of wind had blown the boat here. The sound of sculling had lost the restraint it should have had. “OK, can you tell me where Ferry is?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of him so I can’t tell you,” he said. “Someone told me that I should come and find Ferry.”
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“Did you come alone?” “No. There were a lot of people but they were walking too quickly and they left me behind. I wanted to keep up with them but when I got here, I realized there was only me left.” “Who are they?” “They’re the crowds I was talking about.” “Was it raining where you came from?” “The sun’s scorching there, more than it’s raining here.” “What have you come for?” “To find Bao Tian.” “Who’s Bao Tian to you? “He’s no one to me, just like I’m no one to you. Do you know someone called Bao Tian? I’m looking for him.” “Maybe he passed by here, or maybe not, I don’t remember. You can go on along the river and keep looking. But there’s a village up ahead, you should take a detour.” “Why should I take a detour?” “Because there’s a village up ahead.” “Can’t I go through the village?” “You can, if you want to.” “Huh,” I said. “What’s your name?” “Ferry.” “Your name is Ferry?” “No. Ferry’s not a person’s name.” “Ferry must be the name of the pierhead,” I said. “No,” he said. “Ferry’s the name of the river. You see this water? The place it’s just gone past is called Ferry. The place it’s coming to is called Ferry, and where we are now is called Ferry. Everywhere on this river’s called Ferry.” If I leave the river bank, the rain must ease off. There’ll probably be less mud on the road. The sky’s still leaden but the clouds have scudded away and the sun’s out. At the fork in the road, I’ll follow the woods. The wind howls through the dense foliage and blows on my face. Murky air from far away echoes among the trees and morning raindrops spatter in the mud. I’ll make my way through the rustling sogon grass and smell horse manure. One step, then another. Each step leaves hardly any echo. The silence of the step ahead soon overlays the silence of the step before. If I can just complete this stage of the journey, I’ll be able to carry on with the adventure. - TRANSLATED BY NICKY HARMAN To continue this story, check out The World of Chinese website at theworldofchinese.com
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A Monk and a Monkey Walk into a Bar...
I
t’s tempting to imagine people in long gone centuries writing war poems beneath a cherry blossom or love poems in a lonely cabin, but these folks needed a laugh just like we do today. Well, for the literature of laughter, we can turn to Xiaolin Guangji (《笑林广记》, lit. Extensive Gleanings from the Forests of Laughter), a book that transports you back in time hundreds of years and gives a concrete quality to the humor and life of the age. Compiled in the Qing Dynasty (1616-1911), the joke book is divided into 12 volumes, containing original jokes as well as classics from various texts from Ming Dynasty (13681644) and the early Qing. The compiler was a rebellious scholar, one who took the trouble to collect texts that were regarded as lowbrow at the time, but, unfortunately, his real name remains a mystery. He called himself the “Master of Games” (游戏主人 Y5ux# Zh^r9n) and his editor had a sense of humor as well, with the moniker, “Householder of Laughter” (粲然居士 C3nr1n J$sh#). These jokes took aim at everyone, from the poor to the Imperial academy and from monks to merchants. However, corruption was a particularly prominent theme, and officials were mocked for their avarice and injustice. With many focusing on satire, these jokes can make you laugh, but they also have very sharp teeth. In one trialbased joke, the plaintiff bribes the presiding official with 50 taels (2,500g) of gold without realizing the defendant paid twice that amount. When court is in session, the official immediately condemns the plaintiff to harsh punishment. At a loss, the plaintiff opens his palm to remind the official: “My lord, I have rights.” The official then reaches out his palm and replies, “Peasant, you are correct.” Then he turns his hand over and says, “But the defendant had more rights than you.” Issue 2/2013
And it wasn’t just officials that got the hatchet; students trying to seek their fortune in officialdom through imperial examinations were also ridiculed for their ignorance and incompetence. One joke says that when a student crashed a monastery under the guise of hitting the books, he spent all of his time fooling around every day. One afternoon, he returned to his study and asked his servant to bring a book. When the servant brought Selections of Refined Literature (《文选》W9nxu2n), the student said: “too low.” When he saw Records of the Grand Historian (《史记》Sh@j#), he said “too low” again. He said the same of the Book of Han (《汉书》 H3n Sh$). A nearby monk was baffled and asked: “A person is regarded as wise if they are familiar with just one of these books. Why do you consider them low?” The student replied: “I need a nap, and none of them are large enough for my pillow.” Besides social problems, many jokes were simply aimed at family life. These jokes provide a unique glimpse into ancient lives, one that is not as conservative as you might assume. In one gag, a bride gives birth to a baby boy at her wedding ceremony. Her mother-in-law is severely ashamed, so she scoops up the baby and hides it away. The bride mistakenly says, “Mom, I didn’t know you loved children so much; hurry up, someone please go and fetch my two older sons.” As a matter of fact, there were quite a few blunt and vulgar jokes that led to the book being banned at one point. In 1868, Ding Richang (丁日昌), Governor of Jiangsu Province, came up with a list of 268 books he thought were obscene, including Xiaolin Guangji. With government funds and donations from country lords, Ding bought these works from booksellers to destroy. It obviously didn’t work. - LIU JUE (刘珏) 19
镜像 中国 KALEIDOSCOPE
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3D
HK
A sh o w o f o r g an ic an d art i f i c i al spat i al g e o m e t r y 镜头下真实的香港印象， 一座延续着传统的现代城市
P H O T O G R A P H S A N D T E X T B Y T E R E N C E H S I E H (谢燕辉)
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ong Kong is a place that explodes with opposites; one side of this city is full of the smells, odors and soft curves of old Hong Kong. The neon signs, pornographic posters, dim sum dives and night markets remind the casual visitor that, no matter where the rest of Hong Kong goes, this part of Hong Kong will lumber on as it always has. The other side of Hong Kong is crisp, clean, hard geometry that tells of commercialization, finance and modernism—the push to keep this city relevant in the world. I took a four-day trip to Hong Kong to see just how much I could tease out the geometry of both places: the mosaic and organic versus the optimistic and the commercial. Inevitably, I found myself wandering through streets, taking shots down hallways and narrow alleys, trying to capture how spatially awkward this city is. During my short stay, I walked from the old rickety neighborhoods of Yau Ma Tei (油麻 地) through the crusty food tents and night markets of Tsim Sha Tsui (尖沙咀), down to the pier and on the ferry to the blazing night life of Causeway Bay (铜锣湾), the quiet sloshing of waves against the shores in Sun Yat Set Memorial Park and up into the hills and beyond. I tried to show how geometry can reflect the dynamics of a city—the growth, development and decay of this thriving (and dying) metropolis.
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LITTLE DRIED BIRDS AND OTHER ASSORTED ANIMALS LINE THE SIDEWALKS NEAR QUEEN'S ROAD, HONG KONG
THE INNARDS OF KOWLOON—DAY OR NIGHT— RETAIN THEIR DUNGEON-LIKE APPEARANCE
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THE HARBOR AT SUN YAT SEN MEMORIAL PARK IN HONG KONG IS A PLACE FOR DEEP REFLECTION
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A LONE PASSERBY ALONG THE WALKWAY TO THE STARR FERRY PIER, TSIM SHA TSUI, KOWLOON
OLD, RICKETY CHINESE APARTMENT BUILDINGS LINE MONG KOK, KOWLOON.
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CENTRAL, HONG KONG'S BUSIEST FINANCIAL DISTRICT, BUSTLES WITH SKYSCRAPERS
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封面 故事 C O V ER S T ORY
For their ba w dy bran d o f b rav e r y, ancient Chine se j e st e rs de se r v e re spe c t 中国古代君主身边的俳优们，以谐谑 的讽谏艺术，成就了常人所不能之谏 B Y L I U J U E (刘珏)
B
eing a jester in ancient China was no joke. While jesters laughed, sang and danced to keep the emperor entertained, they were also despised for their inferior social status and were even made scapegoats for failing empires. Hanfei Zi (韩非子), the Chinese Machiavelli, felt particular rancor towards jesters, categorizing them as traitors of the royal court for their persuasive sophism. However, he was not the only person with a jester-shaped axe to grind. Even the revered Confucius hated jester—so much so as to order an on-the-spot execution after being treated to a comical performance at a diplomatic event.
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