The World of Chinese 2014, Issue 3: TV

Beijing Chinese Language and Culture College

TELEVISUALLY IMPAIRED A look at what’s wrong with Chinese TV

LF E S Y L TH he

A e and t e E H , N ors fac iolenc A I C I ct ev s do s th PHYS r d nge t bree a d The em tha t s ys

MANICHEAN MIDDLE KINGDOM 2014 ISSUE 3 BI-MONTHLY

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3/2014 Bad TV, Beleaguered Doctors, and Buried Religions

W

e’re trying a few new things here at TWOC, namely, not going with an overall theme.

Instead, we’ll be bringing you stories from a variety of perspectives from around the country to help provide a more comprehensive view of the modern Middle Kingdom, and we hope to continue to bring you the best in Chinese culture, society, entertainment, language, and long-form journalism for a long time to come.

Since we have been blessed with this warm inviting weather, have you been spending your every moment basking and frolicking in the warmth of the sun? No, of course not. You’re inside watching TV because outside is scary and full of people. Just one problem: Chinese TV is awful. One must ask why—with all the money, influence, and talent in the world—is the Chinese tube so horrible? There are a variety of factors that make Chinese TV so difficult to make and watch, and it’s important to remember that China didn’t have a running start at network TV before the internet came along. Some of it is censorship, some of it is organization, but whatever the reason, Carlos Ottery is on top of it in “Televisually Impaired” (see page 28).

“Physician, Heal Thyself ” (see page 36) discusses the violence doctors face and the broken, corrupt system that breeds China’s health care mess. It’s a tough job for low pay, and now doctors and nurses risk getting beaten up, stabbed, and kidnapped for just trying to help. A number of high-profile malpractice cases have bred paranoia, but the system of prescription drugs and doctor kickbacks has made things worse. Doctors and nurses are at the bottom of the healthcare administration food chain, and patients—sick of the long lines and expensive drugs—are starting to take matters into their own hands.

Manichaeism—a dead first-millennium religion—is not an everyday topic of conversation, but this interesting religion combines Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, and Christianity in an extremely complex philosophy that, for a time, spread the length and breadth of China, from emperors to rebel cults.

In fact, many of the surviving texts from this ancient Persian religion only survive in Chinese. James Palmer brings us “Manichean Middle Kingdom” (see page 42) to take a look at what we know about this dead religion and the impact it had on the politics of ancient China.

Also, Group Think (see page 64) this issue wades into the world of Boys’ Love comics—their seemingly dark plots and the young girls who love them. Made In China (see page 24) has a quick look at the bloodless blood sport of cricket fighting. And, it wouldn’t be TWOC without a quick look at sex, so check out Pioneer (see page 88) to hear what Pan Suiming has to say about his sex surveys around the country and his investigations into red-light districts. If language is more your thing, check out how to speak out in On the Character (see page 92) or learn to speak like a TCM doctor in Social Chinese (see page 72). Also, be sure to check out our new app, called China Dispatch, which contains our magazine content in an easy-to-read format as well as a bi-monthly, topic-centered supplement.

From all of us here at TWOC, enjoy this weather while it lasts.

Managing Editor Tyler Roney Issue 3 /2014

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3/2014

28 TELEVISUALLY IMPAIRED 电视荧幕上除了婆媳大战，我们还能看什么？ China’s broken boob tube is causing controversy at the highest levels of government; is it too late to fix it?

42 MANICHEAN MIDDLE KINGDOM 扒一扒武侠小说中的明教 In the eyes of history, this long dead Persian religion burned brightly and then faded away—but not before changing the political landscape of ancient China

Issue 3 /2014

36 PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF 谁来保护医生？ Doctors and nurses today face lethal violence from their patients, and while authorities twiddle their thumbs in the face of a broken system, medical professionals are left to fend for themselves

3

GALLERY

52

PRIMITIVE EXTREME 身体即道具－－行为艺术家张洹 A sit down with Zhang Huan, one of China’s most outstanding artists, provides a unique look into the significance of contemporary art and the motivations of a modern art master

12 DRAGON’S DIGEST

CHAOS OF FICTION

18

《说部之乱》

Zhu Yue brings us a short story, a surreal tale of a world destroyed by fiction and two men looking for meaning in a literary armageddon

随波逐流的广东渔民生活 Once a year, the danjiaren move their boats to land for maintenance, providing a rare glimpse of these water people out of their element. It may be a hard life but it's one these folks will fight to maintain.

64

48

SAVING CHINA DEADLY DIRT

BOOKMARK THE OF JUDGE DEE CCTVWORLD NEWSPEAK

腐女的前世今生

危险的土壤

CCTV在说什么？ 荷兰汉学家续写狄仁杰断案传奇

Understanding the bizarre world of BL comics and the young girls who love, read, and write male homoerotic fiction

The dystopian air may get all the attention, but the real dangers from pollution in China are right under your feet

Get to grips with the into the works James Palmer delves pandering propaganda of immortal of Robert van Gulik and his the China news Judge Deestate-media to look at how this odd program that never seems character has survived over the to end centuries

GROUP THINK GIRLS LOVE BOYS’ LOVE

4

RIDING THE TIDE

84

1 EDITOR’S LETTER 卷首语

6 MISHMASH 多棱镜

8 WEIBO WHACK 微亦足道

11 STREET TALK 街头俚语

24 MADE IN CHINA 中国制造

70 COUNTERPOINT 锋面

72 SOCIAL CHINESE 社交汉语

80 CHI LE MA 88 PIONEER

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ON THE ROAD

DREAM IN THE JUNGLE 布朗族家庭寄居记

by

Meng Qingchun (fisherman), Ginger Huang (Children)

吃了吗

Photographs

A world-weary traveler finds peace and humility with a Bulang village in the rainforest, a haven of kindness and beauty

76 ZOETROPE BLACK COAL, THIN ICE 《白日焰火》 Terence Hsieh critiques Diao Yi’nan’s coal crime thriller Black Coal, Thin Ice, an arthouse flick you’d be mad to miss

Issue 3 /2014

对话先锋

92 ON THE CHARACTER 魅力汉字

94 AGONY AYI 麻烦阿姨

96 COMICS 酷漫

WANT MORE LIKE THIS? You can find more written, visual, and audio content on our website, theworldofchinese.com, which is updated daily with recipes, travel tales, language lessons, and more!

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MISHMASH

SQUARE DANCE INFESTATION In late March, an ominous message rang out through Songtai Square in Wenzhou: “Please comply with the law of the People’s Republic of China on Prevention and Control of Pollution from Environmental Noises and stop this unlawful activity right now!” Were they a rioting mob of club kids? Angry protestors? No, they were square dancers. Largely a pastime for the elderly, square dancing is found everywhere in China, and it can get a little noisy. One of the key components to square dancing is “calling” the steps, which means it needs to be loud enough for everyone to hear. In short, nearby Wenzhou neighbors had had enough. The site near their homes was a popular square dancing spot, where up to 20 groups of square dancers would dance their cares away. Angry with this nightly hoedown, residents pooled their money together, spending 260,000 RMB on a set of powerful speakers to drive the square dancers away. Their equipment consisted of a long-distance, directional public address system that is usually used for military command purposes, not regular, private use. For now, the square dance infestation seems to be squashed, but keep a weather eye on the horizon for any do-si-do-ers in your area. - ZHU MENG (朱梦)

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NOODLE ADDICT MAKES GOOD Instant noodles make for a pretty odd hobby, but a noodle obsession led one lucky student to a spot at an American university.

Wang, a senior high school student from Fujian, is especially fond of instant noodles, some might say unnaturally fond; he has tried every type of instant noodle from around the world. When applying to study abroad, he included this special experience in his personal statement, and his peculiar enthusiasm paid off. The admission notice from the University of Rochester said: “The counselors recommended that you be admitted in part after reading about your enthusiasm for ramen noodles. The committee and I are confident you will both stand out and grow stronger as part of the Rochester family.” Of course, this was all part of Wang’s master plan. Thousands of Chinese students apply for schools in the US with good grades, but very few with an overpowering noodle fixation. Wang admitted his noodle addiction was a tactic for grabbing attention. So, this is a lesson to all the wannabe students looking for a spot in US universities: it’s not about the grades or even the absurd amounts of money Chinese parents pump into an overseas education; no, it’s all about the 泡面 (instant noodles). - Z.M.

TOO COLD TO DIE It was a long, cold night for the police officers of Huaxi Police Department, Chongqing. They received a call at midnight from a panicked woman saying her husband had jumped into the Huaxi River after they had a fight. Driving home, the husband accused his wife of adultery and a blazing row ensued. The furious husband stopped the car, jumped out, took off his shoes, declared that he was committing suicide and ran off. His wife chased after him, only to hear a splash and her husband nowhere to be found. Police arrived and set about looking for him. Judging from footprints on the river bank, they concluded that the man had jumped to his doom. The husband’s brother and mother arrived later, only to hear the terrible news. But the tearful sibling insisted his brother was a strong swimmer and they kept searching.

Curiously, at 4 am odd water marks were found on the river bank, and police posited that the man had climbed ashore. So, the brother led the officers to the man’s house and found him in bed sleeping soundly.

Evidently, the man, fully intent on suicide, had his survival mechanism triggered upon hitting the icy water and climbed out of the river and went home.

Of course, he might have just gotten cold feet. - Z.M.

MONKEY SELLS MONK MEAT The well-known legend of the Monkey King has been favored by film, TV, and books, but now the grand trickster is garnering a new reputation. In March, a vendor at the Huazhao Festival in Wuhan cooked up a storm at his stall by dressing up as the Monkey King and selling off cooked chunks of the Tang Monk.

Accompanied by billboards of the legend’s main characters beside him, the vendor’s slogan read: “Tang Monk Meat” (唐僧肉). The Monkey King selling the flesh of his master caused a bit of a stir and a few questions, not least, what exactly was the meat? Traditionally the protector of the monk, it seemed the troublesome trickster had finally had enough with the monk’s penchant for getting into danger and sold him out—literally, bit by bit. The vendor’s stall was crowded by curious monk eaters, largely due to the stall’s oddness but also because the mythical monk’s flesh is purported to hold the secret to immortality. Thus ends the tale of the great Tang Monk, who was chased throughout the nation on a mission to bring Buddhist texts from the West, ending his journey on the end of a stick at a Wuhan food stall. - Z.M. Issue 3 /2014

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WEIBO DEAD DRUNK

The first day that Zhong Xiefei, deputy chief of Xingbing District in Laibing, Guangxi Province, went to work, after finally getting his shot in the Chinese government big time, he found himself sadly departed from both his iron rice bowl job and the mortal coil. The fatal blow came in the form of his welcome lunch to ease him into his new position. That easing, however, involved the lubrication of more than a few drinks, accompanied by the dreaded and constant toasts that come with such a position.

After an undoubtedly tough day of binge drinking, the newly appointed official retired to his home, only to be found dead in his bed the following morning. His family blames his death on the excessive alcohol consumption, and the government, which sacked seven officials as a result, seem to agree. This all comes amidst a crackdown on corruption and official excess. As such, netizens waded into these murky waters.

- WEIJING ZHU (祝伟婧)

常人大个：为了全中国人民的利益抛头颅洒热 血，不顾个人安危带病坚持饮酒，不幸壮烈牺 牲，英雄走好, 你永远活在人民的心中。 独恋明天：工资基本不动，老婆基本不用，吃 喝有人请，烟酒他人送－－天朝官员。 麦佳鑫-陛下：经上级通报，为惩罚贪污腐败官 员，惩罚贪官特供茅台一车，喝死为止……

For the benefit of the Chinese people, he was willing to give up his life. He carried on drinking despite his personal safety and sacrificed his life gloriously. Hero, rest in peace, you’ll always be in the hearts of the people.

Hardly use their salary, rarely touch their wives, get treated to drink and food, and get gifted with alcohol and cigarettes—officials of the Heavenly Kingdom.

After reporting to higher levels, in order to punish corrupt officials, they will be sentenced to a crate of Maotai, which they’ll have to drink until they die.

MEDIA CIRCUS OR RIGHTEOUS REVENGE A celebrity scandal about TV star Wen Zhang cheating on his wife, Ma Yili, caused a record-breaking stir online. Wen’s apology to Ma for infidelity, on Weibo broke social media records, eliciting more than 1.2 million shares and 2.9 million comments in only 12 hours after it was published. The couple were once known as two of the most affectionate lovebirds in entertainment, and Wen was praised as a model husband by fans. He never hesitated in showing his affection on public occasions. Nevertheless, here he is, stuck in the muck and mire of scandal. As the situation deteriorated, it turned into a media feeding frenzy; a long Weibo article from Ma’s father pled with the media and public to let go of Wen Zhang, and the two families, successfully, turned public attention to the controversial topic of media ethics. Some sided with the family, others with the press. - ZHU MENG (朱梦) 8

姜雨晨：文章固然有错，应该承受做错事情所 带来的后果，但由于媒体不顾人权隐私的曝 光，将直接手刃多个家庭，我看到的是媒体将 利益和关注建立在伤害他人的基础上，很可 怕……而公众嫁接自己的价值观去谩骂，等同 于增加伤害的帮凶，这种对别人家庭、孩子的 伤害真是大家的目的吗？ 要努力学习的木铎：我不觉得《南都》让公众 知道真相有什么错，文章可以以好男人形象欺 骗大众赚大众的钱，大众骂他也无可厚非。有 一句话说得好，不作死就不会死，那么多出轨 的男明星为什么他最受关注，就是因为他一直 说自己是好男人，大众都相信了。 顾小沫儿：不想被曝光，就别做公众人物。

WHACK SUMMER IS HERE AND SO IS THE CLEAVAGE

Summer has come and the coats are in the closet, but shorter skirts and lower tops are causing a few problems. One college boy from Nanjing Normal University complained that girls are dressing so sexily that he cannot concentrate when studying in the library.

The complaint form was released online—to which the authorities in the library supposedly responded: “Danding” (淡定, calm down).

However, it was later found that this response was actually from a student making fun of the complainant. Regardless of the purpose of the complaint, he surely succeeded in touching many. Some agreed, some disagreed, and, as is so common on the Internet, some were just plain offensive. - Z.M.

兆丰年2011：真心看不惯有些不自重的女孩子, 其穿着得暴 露，恨不得把自己裸了。 张锴喔：呵呵，这种男同学注定孤独一生。 V_IOLENTINE：呵，那群男的穿着背心上课，裸着上身打 篮球就不怕被说成扰乱校园风气吗？别往自己头上戴道德高 帽，性别歧视直说啊。 I really can’t stand girls who lack a sense of self-respect; the way they are dressed seems as if they wish to be naked.

Huh, boys like him are doomed to be alone for a lifetime.

Ha! Boys go to classes wearing vests and play basketball half-naked. Aren’t they worried that it will damage the school’s image?

Don’t be so hypocritical, singing praises of morality; just be frank about your gender bias.

Wen Zhang certainly is to be blamed and should take responsibility for the consequences of wrongdoing. But the careless exposure of personal privacy by the media will directly bury more than one family. The mass media build their profits and popularity on the basis of causing damage to others, which is terrible…Is this really what everybody wants, to hurt someone’s family and kids?

I don’t think there’s any problem with Southern Metropolis Weekly letting the public know the truth. When Wen Zhang cheats, even though he puts up the image of a good man, then it is understandable for the public to criticize. As the saying goes, “If you don’t look for trouble, trouble will not look for you.” There are so many celebrities who have affairs, why should he be the one that gets the most attention? It is because that he has always claimed to be a reliable man, and the public believed him.

Don’t be a public figure if you don’t want exposure.

Issue 3 /2014

STREET TALK

I

t’s often said that being a “real man” is a question of having moral fiber—you know, the difference between right and wrong and all that stuff.

Menicus, that second most famous of Confucians, probably said it best: “To not be overwhelmed, nor to be led astray by riches or honor, nor to abandon one’s aspiration in poverty, nor not yield to threats or violence— that is a real man.” (富贵不能淫，贫

贱不能移，威武不能屈，此之谓大 丈夫。F&gu# b&n9ng y!n, p!nji3n b&n9ng y!, w8iw^ b&n9ng q$, c@ zh~ w-i d3zh3ngfu.)

Jiecao (节操) is Chinese for moral principle, and it is exactly what Mencius was talking about, except today a lot of Chinese, cynics that they are, use it a little differently. Old notions that one should strive to be morally elevated are ridiculed, and 无节操 (w% ji9c`o, to have no moral fiber) has become a new buzzword. In most circumstances, it is used jokingly to mock absurdly silly, mischievous behavior—small acts of forgivable meanness or embarrassment. But, today, it is rarely used in cases of serious moral lapses.

A modern usage might be: “My cat

Issue 3 /2014

will roll around and act all cute for a little snack, it has no moral fiber.” (我

的猫给点儿吃的就打滚儿卖萌无节 操。W6 de m`o g0i di2nr ch~ de ji& d2g^nr m3im9ng w% ji9c`o.)

Or, for a minor misdemeanor, perhaps, “Every time you invite me to dinner you forget to bring your wallet.

Where is your moral fiber?” (一到请

我吃饭的时候你就忘记带钱包，你 的节操在哪里？Y!d3o q@ng w6 ch~f3n

I went into the deep, unpredictable world of jianghu, I no longer know such a thing as moral integrity.) Jianghu is the imaginary underworld in China’s wuxia romances. Now, the word jianghu is usually replaced with anything that brings out the immoral, as in, “Once I went into politics, I no longer knew such a thing as moral integrity.” (一入

政坛深似海，从此节操是路人。Y!

de sh!hou n@ ji& w3ngj# d3i qi1nb`o, n@ de ji9c`o z3i n2l@? )

r& zh-ngt1n sh8n s# h2i, c5ngc@ ji9c`o sh# l&r9n.) 无节操无下限 (w% ji9c`o w% xi3xi3n)

Alternatively, to express morbid embarrassment, you can use 节操碎 了一地 (ji9c`o su#le y! d#, moral integrity being shattered to the ground), as in, “I got wildly drunk at the company party and flirted with the new intern; my moral integrity was shattered to the ground.” (我在公司的聚会上喝

or “without moral integrity and having no bottom line”, might be used to express dissatisfaction of something that is morally questionable, such as “This editorial claims that people should tolerate moderate corruption.

It’s without moral integrity and has no bottom line!” (这篇评论竟然声称人

多了，还跟新来的实习生调情； 我的节操碎了一地。W6 z3i g4ngs~

们应该容忍适度的腐败，真是无 节操无下限！Zh- pi`n p!ngl&n j#ngr1n

de j&hu# sh3ng h8 du4 le, h1i g8n x~nl1i de sh!x!sh8ng ti1oq!ng; w6 de ji9c`o su#le y! d#. )

sh8ngch8ng r9nmen y~ngg`i r5ngr0n sh#d& de f^b3i, zh8nshi w% ji9c`o w% xi3xi3n!)

Chinese people love couplets, and, of course, a couplet was invented especially for jiecao: “一入江湖深似 海，从此节操是路人。”(Y! r& ji`ngh% sh8n s# h2i, c5ngc@ ji9c`o sh# l&r9n. Once

So, whatever you’re up to—be it dodging a bill, drinking, dancing, flirting, or simply looking at cute cat pictures on the Internet—be sure to hold onto your moral fiber. - CARLOS OTTERY, ADDITIONAL RESEARCH BY GINGER HUANG (黄原竟)

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歹毒的人。我是一个其貌不扬的人。 我想我的肝脏有病。但是我对自己的 病一窍不通，甚至不清楚我到底患有 什么病。我不去看病，也从来没有看 DIGEST 虽 然 我 很 尊 重 医 学 和 医 生 。 再 过DRAGON'S 病， 说，我极其迷信；唔，以至于迷信到 敬重医学。（我受过良好的教育，决 不至于迷信，但是我还是很迷信。 ）不，您哪，我不想去看病是出于恶 意。您大概不明白这是什么意思。可 是，我明白。当然，我向你们说不清 楚我这种恶意损害的到底是谁；我非 常清楚，我不去找医生看病，对他们 丝毫无损；我比任何人都清楚，我这 样做只会有损于自己的健康，而损害 不到任何人。但是我之所以不去看 病，毕竟是出于恶意。肝疼，那就让 它疼好了，让它疼得更厉害些吧！

Shu4b& zh~ Lu3n

说部之乱 In a world ravaged by a literary epidemic, two men survive an armageddon of fiction 当文学变成一种病毒，感染那些对它毫无知觉的人们 12

Illustration

by

Gao Fei

T

he whole incident began long ago with the babbling of a baby boy. The first words out of his mouth were not “mom” or “dad”, but rather complex fragments, such as “it makes no difference”, “all through you” and “ugh, sir!”, which naturally stunned his parents. They believed that people secretly introduced the baby to these words, so they decided to move him to a relatively isolated environment. However, the boy’s language proficiency grew of its own volition, seemingly free of any external control. He began to articulate complicated sentences: “The driver gazed at me, sighing and astonished,” “I shouted savagely,” “You are certainly out of your mind,” and “I am alone, and they are EVERYONE.” The frightened parents took the boy to various specialists, from otolaryngology to neurology, to have him studied inside and out. Without any accompanying symptoms, not a single doctor could find anything wrong with the boy. With modern medical science exhausted, the couple turned to witch doctors, shamans, and priests; they provided all kinds of explanations but they still couldn’t cure the boy.

After many futile attempts to remedy the situation, the child’s father started to record every single word the boy said. He had a vague idea that all these words belonged to an integrated system.

He also began to show the record to everyone he knew. Finally, a long-parted friend who came back from overseas saw it and told them the origin—the novel Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. The friend even fetched an old translation from the library and marked everything the boy said. But the boy was far from a prodigy—he simply recited these sentences randomly and mechanically without comprehending them.

The story attracted extensive attention when it was exposed.

People were baffled by this seemingly supernatural phenomenon.

Psychologists, linguists, philosophers, geneticists, and even experts in artificial intelligence participated in the study.

Eventually, the only explanation from the standpoint of science was a “coincidence”, which really equaled no explanation at all.

The expert opinion was no more than “continue observation”; implying, “until you are tired and forget all about it.”

However, the incident quickly grew beyond the experts’ expectations. Notes from the Underground recited by a baby boy was just an early sign, much like a mysterious crack on a cup’s rim.

Soon, people discovered that the boy was not alone, as another odd case surfaced. An old, dying man on a hospital bed recited entire passages from Wuthering Heights while half conscious. His family testified that he rarely read any novels.

It is said that to name an inconceivable thing can somehow suppress its power. Based on this belief, the medical world gave the “disease” a beautiful name: romantism. In the beginning, the term was only used in the professional field, but the situation soon worsened, turning it into a household name. People who involuntarily uttered excerpts from fictions, victims of romantism, increased in number. Besides reciting sentences, their consciousness

Issue 3 /2014

ZHU YUE 朱岳 Zhu Yue (朱岳) , a 37-year-old lawyer turned writer and editor, was named the “Chinese Jorge Luis Borges” by the publishing house of his 2006 short story collection The Blindfolded Traveler (《蒙着眼睛的旅行者》). Despite Zhu’s rejection of the moniker, it does speak to his style, short stories composed of surreal, imaginative fantasy. Many of his stories start with an absurd premise, only to unfold in surprisingly plausible and logical fashion: a man who writes the biography of a table and invents a robot in constant pain, a movie trilogy that erases reviewers’ memories, and masters skilled in the art of deep sleep. Humor and absurdity abound in his language: “I hate when a watermelon disguises itself as a taxi driver,” “My poor girlfriend’s 10 fingers were removed because of her illness.

The doctor installed 10 pieces of noodle to replace them,” or “He makes wine with skylark, which induces hallucinations of soaring in the sky.”

Having also been published in People’s Literature magazine, Zhu represents a breath of fresh air in otherwise realist dominated contemporary Chinese literature.

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was seemingly invaded and occupied by different fictional worlds. The patients would fall into a sleepwalking state. Left unattended, they could still find water and food out of instinct. But, they would remain listless and senseless, without ever being conscious or self-aware again. The disease spread rapidly and became unstoppable. No one was able to find the cause; therefore, nothing could be done for prevention or treatment. People began to blindly destroy fiction books and fled in all directions. All patients were strictly quarantined. However, none of these efforts were effective. In a matter of a few years, the entire world gradually collapsed.

We obtained all the above information from the newspapers of the time much later, which inevitably contain elements of imagination. As to how we, Lu De and myself, managed to escape, it was a mystery.

It, perhaps, was because we were far enough from human civilization at the time, both physically and psychologically.

In the first few years after the disaster hit, we were in an unmanned area of the western region, living a life of seclusion. This was thanks to Lu De, who accidentally discovered a legend in the historical records about the ancient Tuvas. Lu De’s discovery was that a black dragon once broke out of the ground to terrorize the Tuvas; even their sorcerers ran out of tricks to defend against it. At that moment, a wandering monk happened to pass by this wild land. He subdued the black dragon and sealed it underground with a small talisman. The Tuvas all vanished around the fourth century, but the legend aroused Lu De’s intense interest.

He believed that the black dragon was in fact

AFTER THE GREAT DIFFICULTIES INHERENT IN RETURNING TO THE CITY, WE FOUND IT WRACKED BEYOND RECOGNITION BY ROMANTISM 14

petroleum erupting, which indicated a possibly rich oil reserve in the land on which the Tuvas had lived. He urged his friends to investigate, but they all dismissed him as a crackpot—such legends were common in various ancient civilizations and were not concrete proof of anything. However, Lu De was persistent in this theory, even somewhat obsessed. He was the kind of person who was intent on destroying his own idealism with failures, but he could never succeed. The reason I agreed, immediately, with Lu De to venture into the untamed land at the time was down to severe misanthropy induced by a failed relationship. I just wanted to go to a trackless, wild land as soon as possible to hide.

It was a futile attempt toward archeology and discovery—there was only desert. Lu De ended up with nothing, but my wish to be left alone was granted.

I thought we were sufficiently prepared, but later our supplies were exhausted and passing caravans disappeared. We almost became savages. Faced with this brutal reality, Lu De had to compromise and agreed to return to civilization, replenish our supplies, and resume the expedition. After the great difficulties inherent in returning to the city, we found it wracked beyond recognition by romantism.

We spent more than a year looking for our family and friends, but they had already fallen into oblivion among the chaotic sea of people. As a matter of fact, along with the confusion of human consciousness, the world appeared to be dislocated as well. In our city, large groups of foreigners with romantism were seen in every corner. Later we realized that it was the result of a great civil disorder and large-scale exoduses around the globe.

They poured into the city on a tide of insanity. When the tide receded, they were left stranded like scattered rubbish.

We decided to settle down before considering the next move. So, we picked a university campus as our temporary base and drove all the sleepwalking people infected with romantism away. We managed to find a generator to restore the power supply to the campus.

We stored bottled water, petrol, gas tanks, medicine, all kinds of food, tobacco, coffee, and even alcohol. We had an old pick-up truck that we could drive around to gather the things we needed. One day, without premeditation, we picked two unkempt girls from the street. After they were tidied up, the two girls looked pale, fragile, and in a daze, with empty eyes and slight frames, almost like a pair of dolls. The only difference was that they still had basic survival instincts and mobility. They could speak, but all they said were

SINCE THE DISASTER ORIGINATED IN BOOKS, HE BELIEVED THE SOLUTION TO BE IN BOOKS

inscrutable sentences from unrecognizable fictions.

We took the girls in, and not just because of our lust.

Our desires were reduced to sand in the untamed wilderness. Perhaps we were just trying to create illusions of life through the presence of women. That was also the day that Lu De went for a drive at sunset and returned late at night with a rifle and two boxes of bullets—who knows from where.

We turned two spacious top-floor offices in the main building into bedrooms and lived there with our respective female partners, like two small families. Just like that, we settled down on the campus. Lu De was up very early everyday, had breakfast, and went to the big school library to “do research”. At noon, he would get a bite on the bench outside the library and work until half past five, only resting during the weekend. I was puzzled by his insistence on keeping regular hours.

He then explained to me in great detail about his motives. As a matter of fact, his reasons were simple.

He believed that our existence had lost all frame of reference. Therefore, saving the human race was the only meaningful thing left to do. Since the disaster originated in books, he believed the solution to be in books—those books stacked in the library. This idealist with infinite energy invited me to work with him, just as we did in the desert. However, I was unmoved by his words. I didn’t believe in “meaning”. To me, the world is a grand enigma, and we are just subtle branches within it—like the stream deep in an abyss shrouded by thick fog; all we have to do is to flow in silence and roll with the tides.

A short while later, Lu De proposed a plan of salvation to me. His strategy was as follows: put together all the possible sentences that could have been said by a normal person in their entire life; then he would construct a novel using these sentences. When this novel occupied the conscience of a subject, this Issue 3 /2014

person would be able to master the language of a normal person. Lu De was looking through books such as Daily English 900 to find examples. After gathering all possible permutations, he would start on the novel.

I had to point out that the plan wouldn’t have any real effect, because though the number of sentences a person utters during their lifetime is limited, the permutations are infinite; to put it in another way, a person masters not just sentences, but a core method for generating sentences. Lu De agreed that I was right.

Unable to contain his disappointment, he aborted his plan to create an “example sentence novel”. After that, he proposed many other plans of salvation, but all failed to stand up to even the most cursory scrutiny.

His moods rose and fell dramatically with increasingly long hours spent in the library. He gradually became a stranger to me.

I had chosen an alternative way of life. The assignment I put myself to was “to patrol”. Twice every morning and evening, I walked along the quiet boulevard to watch over the entire campus with an Akita dog I picked up from the streets for company.

After I finished with the patrol, I would spend a little extra time taking a walk on the empty school sports field. Along the racetrack, I walked in circles without thinking about anything. There used to be a well-kept lawn encircled by the racetrack. Now, only a few spots of wild grass were left. Sometimes, I would take my female companions and set them in the stands, letting them enjoy the sunshine. In the afternoon, I loved to spend time in a garden tucked in a corner of the campus. The garden may have belonged to botany or horticulture students. There was also a small glass green house outside, which held a board of withered Chinese peony surrounded by excessively growing wild grass. Creepers covered the walls. Under the evening twilight, the glass room reflected a faint yellow luster.

The field of flowers, though faded and decayed, was still able to display distinctive layers of color. Before the afterglow died, I would start my evening patrol.

I also liked to pick a book or two from a small bookstore close to the library, taking them back to my bedroom and flipping through the pages in bed. I would return them once I’d finished. I never set foot inside the library for a book, as I was terribly afraid of the place. It was the territory of the mad Lu De. From time to time, for some reason, I would imagine the library as a giant aquarium and Lu De as a latent sea monster in one of its deep tanks.

Another pastime was listening to my female companion reciting long passages from different novels, 15

like a radio broadcast—all while steady patterns of rain and night roared with wind.

“As the train left the station, Robert tarried at the window of his compartment and took a last unemotional look at the island shrouded in a pale, reddish grey mist, and at the sea, where the violet afterglow of the setting sun floated in distant waves…”

“A camp in the open, a countless number of men and army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood…”

“The three of us remained silent for a while; blankly standing by the gate, staring at the lawn ran riot and the dry, old pond…”

These words were uttered by my female companion, sounding alien and pleasant. She gazed straight ahead, her expression calm and peaceful; her consciousness seemed to be locked away in a fictional world created by novels. But how could I be sure that I was free? Perhaps I was in the middle of a fiction as well, revisiting the same paragraph again and again.

I used to be keen on literature. In many cases, I could recognize a novel by just a few sentences.

However, I had no idea about the fictions my female companion sang. Most of them were obscure to me; after all, there are too many novels in the world.

Winter replaced summer. Just like that, we spent two years on the school campus. It could be said that I enjoyed the distinctive tranquility of surviving the apocalypse, until one gloomy winter afternoon when Lu De came to me to propose his latest theory.

Lu De was emaciated due to his lengthy stays in the library. His skin had become unhealthily pale.

He wore his hair long and his eyes were red. The way he spoke sounded nervously excited. Extensive reading over the two years had greatly enhanced his literary merit, making his theory sound delightful and well-versed.

He asked me to read through “The Chamber of Statues” by Jorge Luis Borges carefully. The story states that, in Andalucía, there was a strong castle with gates that were always locked. Every new king to the throne would add a new lock to the gate. A usurper later ordered the locks removed against the advice of the court and entered the impenetrable 16

castle. In its first room, there were many metal and wooden carvings of Arabic figures. In its last room on the back wall, an inscription could be found, stating that any intruder would be overtaken by warriors that looked like the statues. Before long, the kingdom was indeed conquered by the Arabs. Borges added a note at the end of the story, stating that it was based on the story told on the 272th night of A Thousand and One Nights.

“What’s the point?” I asked, unable to put my finger on it. Lu De immediately passed me a copy of the Outlaws of the Marsh, asking me to read the first chapter “Zhang the Diving Teacher Prays to Dispel a Plague, Marshal Hong Releases Demons

by Mistake”, in which Marshal Hong discovered the Suppression of Demons Hall during his visit to a mountain. A dozen seals crossed and overlapped each other on the gate to the hall. The accompanying abbot explained to him: “A Divine Teacher known as the Royal Master of the Way locked the demons in there in the age of the Tang. Each subsequent Divine Teacher added his own seal, prohibiting any successor from opening the doors. If those demons escaped, it would be awful.” Marshal Hong didn’t believe the abbot and opened the gate against his advice, releasing the demons inside.

Lu De then passed me a third fiction, Life: A User’s Manual by French writer Georges Perec. On the 20th page, Perec retold the small story of Borges with a larger background: When every king dies and a new king comes to the throne, he would add a new lock to a gate, resulting in 24 locks, each representing a king.

After I finished reading, Lu De presented his theory.

From A Thousand and One Nights to Outlaws of the Marsh, from Borges to Perec, why did they retell the same story of adding a lock or seal? It was very likely that, by writing the novel, they were performing the action of “adding a lock or seal”. They were trying to contain the “demon of fiction”. Originally, fiction was printed on paper, static like statues. Without a seal, they would become dynamic, even alive, invading people’s minds and running rampant. The breaking of the seal led to the great disaster we were experiencing. In order to save mankind and squash the chaos induced by fiction, one had to carry on the work of the author of A Thousand and One Nights, Shi Nai’an, Borges, Perec and many others like them, to retell the story of adding a lock or seal.

When Lu De presented his strange, absurd theory, I was already working on refuting him. I reminded him of the fact that Borges had read Shi Nai’an

and even wrote an article about him once. As to A Thousand and One Nights and the 127th night’s story, it could be a pretext. Borges certainly could have done it. So, the story could very well originate from the Outlaws of the Marsh, and all Borges had done was to give it a new look. As to Perec, he was just parodying Borges. Everything could be simply explained. Lu De’s idea about the seal was too outrageous and entirely unscientific.

To my surprise, Lu De seemed to have little confidence in his latest theory. All the nervous excitement and passion was bluster. My counter argument soon diminished his willpower. He fell into silence like a ball of flame suddenly extinguished.

It began to snow that very night and didn’t stop until the next morning. I woke up languid and sensitive to the chill; I felt like I had a nasty cold. I took my temperature, which confirmed a low fever. I got some medicine from the classroom-turned-warehouse and lay huddled up in bed, skipping the patrol. At almost noon, I heard a crisp, loud gunshot. I anxiously tilted my head to one side, and heard one gunshot after another from the top of the main building in which we resided. Could it be enemies? I sprang up, throwing off the blanket and rushing out of the room.

On opening the small door to the roof, cold air filled my nostrils. Large flakes of snow poured down, blurring my sight. But I immediately saw Lu De, laying on his stomach on the snow covered ground and shooting in the air. It was in the direction of the sports field, already a vast expanse of whiteness.

“Who are you shooting at?” I asked.

“I was shooting at the snowflakes; they are endless,” said Lu De. “Don’t freeze yourself,” I said.

“I don’t care.” He sat up and smiled a little at me.

“Come down with me and we’ll eat something hot together.”

“No, thanks. I want to stay for a while.”

“Okay.”

I returned to my room, somewhat worried. But the gunshots completely died down. It was clear to me that his hopes were only wild, feckless fantasies. When they burst, all that would be revealed would be sharp, unforgiving reef. Right now, Lu De had to learn to live with, even gaze into, this reef.

After taking the cold medicine, I became drowsy and soon fell into deep sleep. The uneasiness turned into disturbing nightmares. At last, I was awoken by a loud noise, unflustered this time. I carefully got dressed and slowly strolled to the roof. The snow had stopped. On Issue 3 /2014

the horizon, a corner of a dark cloud lifted, revealing a bright red setting sun. I found Lu De in a pool of blood in a corner. He was already dead. He sat down, pointed the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger.

Later, I attempted to carry on with my old pattern, but every time I passed the now dark library during patrol, I sensed a vague restlessness. The ghost of Lu De seemed to linger inside. I now know that the peaceful illusion I built over the last two years had shattered into pieces with that gunshot. Every time I recalled Lu De’s suicide, I always wondered: if a person knows that he has only two or three hours left, would the world, in his eyes, turn into a sort of film or novella?

I tried not to contemplate the fact that “I was the only person left with consciousness”, but I could no longer live an easy life. I considered the idea of moving away from the campus, to look for a wild, primitive beach to build a small cabin and reconstruct the peaceful illusion. However, I felt that I had to complete a mission before I left, otherwise, Lu De’s spirit would keep haunting me. This was a subtle sense of responsibility. So, I took in the last theory of Lu De, and started to write a story of “adding a lock or seal”. I would run away as soon as it was complete. At this moment, the beach in waiting flicks in front of my eyes—the musky tide slaps against the bare reef, roaring to remind me to gaze into it. - TRANSLATED BY LIU JUE (刘珏)

Author’s Note: I came up with this story when I was working as an editor in a publishing company. Immersed in fiction every day, I would end up reading lengthy novels like Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe three or four times. My mind seemed to be somewhat eroded by them. The atmosphere in my office was cold and indifferent, and I rarely talked to my co-workers. I only knew that they were also reading all kinds of novels. Such depression led to despair, but I found a plus side to the despair; it gives you a clear head, as it is what’s left after the illusions of life shatter. However, it was also hard to endure. This is probably the inspiration for “Chaos of Fiction”. In addition, the similarities between certain plots, and the adding of a seal in Outlaws of the Marsh, as well as the story about the locked gate told by Jorge Luis Borges gave me inspiration for the story.

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KALEIDOSCOPE

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RIDING THE TIDE PHOTOGRAPHS BY MENG QINGCHUN (孟庆春) TEXT BY LIU JUE (刘珏)

A rare glimpse into the danjiaren on land “水上吉卜赛人”短暂的陆地生活

U

nder the blue, subtropical sky of Foshan City, Guangdong Province, the annual fishermen’s camp revives a normally deserted dock in Sanshui District by the North River. Dozens of overturned wooden fishing boats lay stranded on the sandy river bank, with fishermen busy trimming panels for replacement and wiping lime on their tired boats. Typically sunny and warm, the end of December is the only time the fishermen spend a few days on dry land—even then only for boat maintenance.

This is a group of devoted “water people” who are born, live, and die on their boats. Small children are usually tied with a rope in the cabin or on the deck for safety while adults catch fish and find pearls; it’s not uncommon for a single boat to house three generations. Unlike a village on land, the river folk ride the tide and go where it takes them.

Having no hometown, they travel rivers, lakes, and coastal waters, stretching from the Pearl River Delta and coastal provinces in the South all the way to the Nansha Islands.

Landlubbers, arrogant as we are, considered the lives of these fishermen fragile, thus giving them the name danjiaren (). Dan () shares the same pronunciation as (egg), used to describe their shell-like fragility. However, the lifestyle is surprisingly sustainable and has been around for centuries; the first historical account appeared in the South Song Dynasty (1127-1279). Today, the “homeless” river people are encouraged to settle down on shore, and like the once nomadic Mongolians, many of them have abandoned their traditional lifestyle. But, there’s still a small group of lifelong fishermen who fear the land as most fear the sea, trying to save the last threads of their cultural heritage by holding tight to their oars.

Issue 3 /2014

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PULLING A BOAT TO THE SHORE IS BOTH A SPECTACLE AND A SOCIAL EVENT. NEARBY FISHERMEN COME TOGETHER TO HELP EACH OTHER WITH THE DIFFICULT TASK, A CHORE THAT SOMETIMES INVOLVES BOATS UP TO 20 METERS LONG.

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A FISHERMAN TRIMS WOODEN PANELS TO REPLACE THE ROTTEN PIECES ON HIS BOAT (TOP)

THE RUST ON THE BOTTOM OF THE BOAT MUST BE SCRUBBED CLEAN BEFORE APPLYING A LAYER OF LIME. WHEN THE LIME DRIES, TWO LAYERS OF OIL ARE ADDED. DRY WEATHER IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT DURING THIS PROCESS (BOTTOM).

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FAMILIES MOVE TO THEIR SHEDS ON SHORE, SPENDING A FEW DAYS OR WEEKS ON LAND DEPENDING ON THEIR LUCK WITH THE WEATHER

AFTER THE BOATS ARE PAINSTAKINGLY REPAIRED, THE BOAT PEOPLE HOLD RITUALS, BURNING INCENSE, LIGHTING FIREWORKS, DISPLAYING A SACRIFICE OF FRUIT AND BISCUITS BOUGHT FROM THE LOCAL STORE, AND PRAYING TO THE RIVER GOD FOR A SAFE AND PROSPEROUS YEAR TO COME

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IN A UNITED EFFORT, THE FLOATING COMMUNITY PUSH THEIR NEWLY REPAIRED BOATS BACK INTO THE RIVER ONE BY ONE

LIFE ON THE WATER CARRIES ON AS BEFORE, BUT FEWER AND FEWER ARE CHOOSING TO HOLD ON TO THIS TRADITIONAL LIFESTYLE

Issue 3 /2014

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MADE IN CHINA

A

CRICKET COMBAT

gaggle of men form a circle, sweat on their brows as they wave hundred yuan bills in the air in a darkly lit room in Beijing. Sure, gambling is illegal in China, but that won’t stop these blood-sport enthusiasts. The fight is on, and they wildly cheer on the two males in question.

Adrenaline, tension, and expectation hang in the air. And, after just a few seconds, the slightly larger opponent has been pinned to the ground in defeat— the smaller insect is declared the victor before returning to his cage. China has indulged in blood sports for centuries, with some a bit less gruesome than others, namely, cricket fighting.

Typified by speed, strength, and ferocity, cricket fighting is an excellent, yet tense, spectator sport despite the small size of its competitors. In fact, cricket fighting bears a resemblance to boxing and wrestling. Before the match, fighters are weighed and categorized into different weight classes; the cricket combatants can only compete with fighters in the same weight division.

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The two are then moved into the ring, separated by a divider in the middle. When the fight officially begins, the divider is lifted. As soon as the two crickets sense each other’s presence, they immediately become alert and hostile, chirping their battle cries. Driven by their natural instincts, they engage in a duel for the privilege of mating. As with humans, males will go considerable lengths to secure some action.

Like two wrestlers, the crickets size each other up before locking into a war of strength and wit. They tackle, evade, break apart, and sound their fury like Spartan warriors. The difference is that a fight between two crickets, no matter how cruel or ferocious, never ends bloody. It is hard to imagine just how fierce a fight between two small insects can be, but their jaws are very powerful. Some crickets have been known to bite through human skin and flesh.

For over 3,000 years the Chinese have kept crickets as singing pets, but for those with fire in their blood, this wasn’t enough. Some people just want to watch a fight.

Illustration

by

Huang Shuo

STIMULATING AND SATISFYING ITS SEX DRIVE ARE ESSENTIAL IN MAXIMIZING THE BUG’S INHERENT “MASCULINITY”

Cricket fighting, 斗蟋蟀, has been a popular blood sport in China for centuries, originating in the Tang Dynasty ( 618–907). When ancient Chinese discovered that if you locked these wild insects in a closed space, they start attacking each other, they soon drowned themselves in this wild pleasure. Cricket fighting soon spread, and flourished during the Song Dynasty (960-1279). Virtually all Chinese, no matter royal or common, indulged in cricket fighting recreationally.

In the Qing Dynasty (1616-1911), cricket fighting was further developed as a serious blood sport, and theories on the selection of crickets expanded to better distinguish winners and losers. If you’re thinking of investing in your own stable of fighters, it’s important to remember this general rule: “白不如黑，黑不如 赤，赤不如黄” (white ones are inferior to black ones, black ones are inferior to red ones, and red ones are inferior to yellow ones).

Crickets, nicknamed 蛐蛐儿, are also called 促织 (hasten weaving) because ancient Chinese thought the chirping of crickets resembled the sound of looms, believing that the crickets were telling women to weave more before winter arrives. Since they only live for about 100 days in autumn, they are also called 百日虫 (a hundred day insect).

For years, hundreds of years, crickets were a way of life, from big fights to fiction. In the story “The Cricket” (《促织》) in the Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (《聊斋志异》), Pu Songlin (蒲松龄), who wrote mainly in the 17th century, begins with the unhealthy obsession with crickets in Ming (1368-1644) society: “Cricket fighting was very much in vogue at court, with levies of crickets being exacted from the people as a tax…The price of crickets rose very high; and when the beadle’s runners came to exact even a single one, it was enough to ruin several families.” The piece goes on to tell how a little boy was almost beaten to death for losing a cricket his father prepared to submit to the magistrate, and his soul morphed into a Issue 3 /2014

fierce cricket to help his family survive.

Nowadays, cricket fighting is mostly recreational and enjoys popularity in Beijing and Zhejiang Province.

And, of course, there is some underground gambling.

In underground casinos, the wager for a single fight can be as high as several thousand yuan, sometimes even tens of thousands. Zhao Boguang, owner of a cricket store in Beijing, is a cricket-fighting master. A professional cricket breeder, he has been in love with cricket fighting, ever since he began cricket combating childhood friends in Beijing’s hutongs decades ago. “A cricket cannot be trained to be a good fighter. It is born a good fighter,” Zhao claims. This is why, although anyone can catch a cricket in the wild, crickets on the market can cost more than 10,000 RMB. Although crickets cannot be trained to be good fighters, training is essential to raise the cricket’s morale, dexterity, and determination to win. The night before a big match, Zhao lets his mighty warrior indulge in an epic bout of love-making with its female partner. Stimulating and satisfying its sex drive are essential in maximizing the bug’s inherent “masculinity” and helps ensure dominance during the next day’s combat. During training sessions, he also use a “探子” (a stick with rat whiskers or grass) to imitate his cricket’s opponent. Pretending to be a cricket is also an important step before the divider is lifted from the fighting ring at a match. An experienced and skilled trainer can lead a cricket into a most vicious frenzied state before the fight begins, and it will fight fearlessly against its opponent.

Crickets fight by instinct, but their techniques are ingenious. Some of the most classic finishing moves include: 霸王举鼎 (overlord lift the ding, an ancient sacrificial vessel), where the winning cricket hoists the other one up and keep its body in the air by locking with the opponent’s jaws; 仙人夺影 (immortal tricks the shadow), a move that tricks the spectators where one cricket is lying on top of the other, yet the one that is on the bottom wins the fight; and 狗 掐鸡 (dog pinches the rooster), which is very similar to professional wrestler John Cena’s signature move, where the winning cricket uses its jaw strength to flip its opponent over.

There is one important rule in cricket fighting: a cricket that has lost never fights again. Master Zhao believes that crickets serve as the perfect example of a Chinese saying: 胜者为王，败者为寇, meaning winners are crowned, and losers are outcast. In the world of cricket fighting, once a loser, always a loser.

- WEIJING ZHU (祝伟婧)

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