To Emperor Qin, for commissioning a timeless mystery
MING FISHED OUT THE DREGS OF HIS BUCKWHEAT noodles with his chopsticks. He paused for a moment, grimaced, and then slurped them down. Now that the government was threatening to close the village's archaeological office, his father, bā ba, 爸爸, could soon be out of a job. Three days from now would mark the second year since the office had opened. But without an important discovery, the office would be shut down, marking the end of his bā ba's livelihood. After that, Ming would be lucky to have even plain noodles to eat for breakfast.
He set the chipped wooden bowl on the desk and picked up his English textbook. He stared intently at the strange letters. Since his bā ba's early-morning departure, he hadn't been able to focus on his homework. It had taken him an hour to meticulously line up the cryptic letters that resembled dead ants into just two short sentences: Chairman Mao are bright sun. He leader we to a happy life. Pages of dead ants were still waiting to be arranged.
Ming sighed and leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs and holding the flimsy textbook in his hand. On the cover, a worker with arms as thick as hams raised his hand, smiling broadly. Next to him was a peasant woman with round cheeks as red as fresh chili peppers. Below them were revolutionary slogans. Ming wondered if he could toss the textbook through the small door of the bucket-shaped coal stove across the room.
"Anyone home?"
The harsh voice from the courtyard startled Ming. He almost toppled over backward. He set the textbook down and ran outside.
Three grimy farmers stood beside a wheelbarrow under the hawthorn tree in the center of the yard. The first signs of spring had appeared, and the branches were tinged with new, tender buds that hadn't been there a week ago.
Despite the early March chill, streams of sweat drew tracks down the farmers' dusty faces. They were out of breath and loudly sucking in mouthfuls of the crisp air. The eldest of them leaned against the tree for support.
Ming knew these frequent visitors well. The Gee brothers were always claiming they'd found something valuable and demanding money in return. Months ago, the fourth and youngest Gee brother had vanished. Some said he had committed suicide, while others insisted that he had run off after digging up an ancient treasure. Soon after his disappearance, the villagers began referring to the remaining Gees as the oldest, the middle, and the youngest-as if the fourth brother had never existed.
"What did you find?" Ming's stern voice belied his young age. He slowly descended the steps into the courtyard. His skinny frame looked even smaller next to the broad-shouldered, solidly built farmers.
The oldest Gee brother wiped his muddy hands on his cotton jacket. Ming noticed the mismatched buttons.
"Where's Old Chen?" the man asked gruffly. The frost of his breath swirled in the air. His dark-skinned face was wrinkled like a dried peach. "We found an earth god!"
Ming backed up two steps of the stoop, putting himself at eye level with the farmers. He had long ago learned that looking up at an adult placed him in a weaker position. "My father is in Xi'an attending an important meeting," he said calmly. "He should be back later today."
Ming worked to keep his voice steady, trying to appear confident. He wasn't about to tell them that his bā ba, who appraised and bought artifacts for the museum, had gone to the city in a desperate and probably futile attempt to plead with officials to keep his office open.
The youngest Gee cursed loudly. "Turtle turds! We were counting on making some quick money." He had the same sharp chin and sour disposition as his older brothers.
Ming was irritated by the Gee brothers' greed, but his curiosity got the best of him. It was unusual for the farmers to bring anything big enough to require a wheelbarrow. He stepped down to take a look.
The youngest Gee quickly moved in front of him, blocking his view. "Now, hold on. What about our payment?" He thrust out his hand.
Ming sighed in exasperation. "You'll have to wait until my father gets home."
Every time the Gee brothers brought in discoveries, Ming's bā ba told them that he would pay them in two days, after he had had a chance to assess the value. Yet every time, they demanded the money on the spot.
"What did you find?" Ming asked, silently cursing himself for showing interest.
"Something very valuable!" declared the middle brother, the one with the bald head.
Ming's bā ba had taught him that buying artifacts from farmers like the Gee brothers was like bargaining for vegetables at the market. Once the seller knew you wanted them, he would insist on an outrageous amount of money.
"Where did you find it?" Ming asked.
"We were digging a well on the east side of the village and struck something hard about ten feet down." The oldest brother jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm telling you, this one is worth a fortune! And we want our money now!" His sharp, beady eyes challenged Ming.
Suddenly, blossoming anger replaced Ming's seed of curiosity. Most of the farmers in the village were reasonable, but the Gee brothers always looked for soft persimmons to crush. Instead of lowering his eyes, as was traditionally expected when a youth talked to an elder, Ming matched the old man's gaze.
"If you don't want to wait for my father to appraise it, just take it to the Xi'an museum yourselves. But make up your mind! I have to go to school soon." He wished he didn't have to deal with the Gee brothers all by himself.
"We can't push this old wheelbarrow twenty-two miles!" protested the oldest brother.
"All right," said the middle brother sullenly. "We'll wait. But we want to get paid as soon as Old Chen gets home!"
Weary indifference drifted over Ming. "Bring it into the house, and I'll give you a receipt."
As the men pushed the wheelbarrow up the stone steps, grunting with exertion, Ming glanced inside it. He struggled to conceal his excitement: A life-size clay torso lay among a scattering of bronze arrowheads and disembodied clay limbs. Next to one of the legs was a clay head. The young-looking face bore an expression that was blank yet somehow arrogant. The high cheekbones and thin nose made it seem distinctly refined. Atop its meticulously sculpted hair sat a small round hat.
It was the most fascinating artifact Ming had ever seen, and by far the largest. Would this discovery help his bā ba convince the government to start some serious archaeological excavations in the village? Ming wished he had a way to contact him, but the only phone in the village was at the Political Officer's home. And he wasn't about to let that man know of his bā ba's absence.
Once inside the house, Ming picked up the head. He assumed the same critical expression he used when bargaining for cabbage. As his fingers brushed a grainy square at the back of the head, a sudden warmth radiated from it into his hands and then through his body. Ming turned the head over and studied the character inscribed on it: field, tián, 田.
"Hey! Be careful with the earth god!" the oldest brother shouted.