Chapter 382: Black and White

"Physician Xia, do you know why the people of Yan esteem white?"

As Xia Wuju applied medicine to Gao Jianli, Gao suddenly spoke these words without any apparent reason.

Physician Xia pondered for a moment, then said, "I have heard that the land the Yan people dwell in is the old ruin of the Yin-Shang. They inherited Shang's legacy: their script is like Shang, and their customs, too, like Yin-Shang, hold white supreme."

"No, no."

Gao Jianli, however, shook his head and smiled. "The Yan people are simple and honest, not much for culture; they wouldn't fuss over traditions from a thousand years past. The reason the Yan people love white is simply that after winter sets in upon the state of Yan, every year brings such heavy snow. The snow blankets all colors, all sounds, all stirrings — boundless, merging into the vault of heaven, as if at the beginning of primordial chaos, the origin of heaven and earth: vast and serene."

"Living within that endless white, we naturally came to love white as well."

As he spoke, Gao Jianli also recalled the scene from many years ago, by the Yi River, where everyone in plain white robes and black caps saw Jing Ke off on his journey.

"So that's the reason?" Xia Wuju, indifferent, continued unwinding the hemp cloth bandage covering Gao Jianli's eyes.

"Something like that, only..."

Gao Jianli sighed. "In the month and more since I entered Xianyang, I no longer know what white is."

"That is only natural."

Xia Wuju laughed. "You've gone blind — all that remains in your eyes is black!"

The bandage came off. Accompanied by a faint medicinal smell, Gao Jianli's eyes, so clearly divided between black and white, held not the slightest luster — a dead stillness, staring hollowly into the darkness that enveloped him.

He had been blinded by Xia Wuju under the "Huò Punishment" on the First Emperor of Qin's orders: fresh, hot horse urine was placed in a sealed barrel, then heated over a fire. Gao Jianli's head was forcibly pressed inside until the horse urine had completely steamed dry.

By then, the person would have fainted. Upon waking, though the eyes appeared normal outwardly, they had become rigid, their light withered away, turned into dead things.

Still not at ease, Xia Wuju tested Gao Jianli several more times. Only after confirming he was completely blind did he report back to the First Emperor of Qin.

The Emperor merely said flatly that he understood, and assigned Gao Jianli to serve as a musician in the Music Bureau.

As a fugitive wanted for arrest, Gao Jianli was originally to be sentenced to death by waist chop. But after being brought to Xianyang Palace and hearing Gao Jianli play a tune on the zhu from afar, the Emperor could not bear to part with such exquisite music. He intervened with a special pardon and spared his life.

The Emperor loved his music, yet disliked how bright his eyes were — there was too much emotion in them. Looking at them always reminded the Emperor of certain unpleasant past events, so he ordered Xia Wuju to blind him with the Huò Punishment.

This was the mercy a cat shows a mouse it refrains from killing, listening to it squeak beneath its paw.

But could a blind man still play music as he once did? Xia Wuju was deeply skeptical.

"Does Physician Xia not know that, in ancient times, the music officials in the courts of the feudal lords were mostly blind men?"

Gao Jianli, meanwhile, groped for his zhu and gripped the bamboo slip firmly in his hand, saying, "The ancient divine blind musicians examined the middle tones and measured them to establish the rules. Those who set the musical pitches were, in truth, a group of blind men."

Master Shixiang, who played the Shao music and made Confucius forget the taste of meat for three months, was blind. The Grand Steward Shi Kuang of Duke Ping of Jin's time was also blind. As a child, he studied the qin under the Wei court musician Gao Yang, but made no progress for a long time. Later, he believed the reason he could not devote himself wholly to musical pitch was that his eyes saw too many things. So he used mugwort to smoke his own eyes blind, then threw himself into bitter practice. His qin skill gradually surpassed his teacher's, and he could play the most wondrous music in the world.

"Now I, too, am blind. It seems this is ordained by Heaven, to make me concentrate solely on music."

Gao Jianli showed no righteous indignation at having been blinded. Even when facing Xia Wuju — the very man who, years ago, had hurled his medicine bag and struck Jing Ke — he displayed no hostility whatsoever.

His ambition and his hatred seemed to have been extinguished along with those bright eyes of his...

"These past two years, fleeing east and west, working as a hired hand, eating the food of dogs and swine, I've lived a bitter life. Now, having received His Majesty's merciful pardon, I am given fine clothes and good food. What is there to complain about?"

"That is true."

Xia Wuju nodded. "Just like studying medicine — among those who study the qin or the zhu, who comes from a poor background?"

As they spoke, Gao Jianli, with the help of an assistant, set up his zhu and began to play...

When the bamboo slip in Gao Jianli's hand lightly brushed across the strings of the zhu, Xia Wuju no longer harbored the slightest doubt. Gao Jianli's music was as beautiful as before, and it now carried an added, distinct flavor — only, Xia Wuju was no connoisseur of musical pitch and could not articulate it.

After listening for a moment, Xia Wuju felt a surge of mingled emotions in his heart. He shook his head and departed, his medicine basket on his back.

Gao Jianli, of course, knew that Xia Wuju had left. After going blind, he had not adapted at first: in his dreams, he would see the white snow of Yan's Upper Capital, the clearly defined colors of streets and lanes, the whole world illuminated by the dazzling sun, moon, and stars.

Upon waking, he would snap his eyes open, gazing around wildly, only to find the daylight a sheet of darkness. Then he would realize he had lost his sight. Yet he refused to close his eyelids, keeping them wide open, as if hoping to find a sliver of light.

But he found nothing.

Over the course of a month, Gao Jianli had gradually adapted to the darkness. He measured the furnishings of his room by pacing, judged people's positions by ear, and felt along the wall to reach the chamber pot to urinate. Sometimes he would miss, filling the room with a foul stench, and could only wait awkwardly for the servants to clean it up.

At such times, he would recall the story from the Spring and Autumn period of the blind Zheng musician Shi Hui, who deliberately urinated in the open court of the Song state, and he would chuckle to himself in spite of himself.

"Is there anyone in this court? There is no one here!"

His laughter grew louder and louder, frightening the palace maids badly; they simply thought the blind man had gone mad.

The hardest thing to endure was that his eyes required constant application of medicine. Otherwise, they itched and ached, as if countless ants were biting inside his eye sockets. Sometimes the pain made Gao Jianli drenched in sweat, but he never once cried out or groaned. He bore it all in silence, as if his tongue had been cut out as well.

They, the people of Yan, were accustomed to the northern wind and had grown up amid icy skies and snowy earth. This was their temperament: stoic and resolute.

After a month of training, Gao Jianli could now distinguish the types of food by the smells wafting from the kitchen at dawn. At mealtimes, he could savor the flavors and aromas, feel the rough texture of a Xianyang flatbread beneath his fingers, taste the smoothness of fish, and sense the sting when hot soup splashed onto the cuts on his hands left by the instrument strings.

Hearing, smell, taste, touch — even without sight, there were many ways to perceive the world, enough to keep him alive.

For instance, not long after Xia Wuju left, Gao Jianli heard another visitor arrive outside his dwelling. The visitor wore soft-soled silk shoes, and his steps on the stone were so faint as to be nearly soundless — yet Gao Jianli still detected them.

The visitor removed his shoes outside the door and entered wearing only his foot-wraps, striving to be as quiet as a mouse, as if not wanting to disturb Gao Jianli. But he was far too fat and large, and it was difficult to conceal his clumsy footsteps.

Only after Gao Jianli finished his piece did the sound of clapping arise from where the man stood.

"What a splendid performance of the 'Clear Shang' music!"

Every person's voice has a unique timbre. Gao Jianli already knew who had come; he could even smell what snacks the man had brought him again.

Jùnǚ pastries from the south market of Changyang Street, Shi-family honey cakes, and one kind of snack that was new — soft and sticky when pinched between the fingers, sweet and fragrant upon entering the mouth.

"That is sugar ci-ba, a food popular in Nan Commandery in recent years. A good friend of mine had some made at home and sent it over. I thought, since you, Master Gao, are a northerner, you surely haven't tried it before."

But Gao Jianli merely tasted one and then stopped. He raised his wide sleeve and bowed in the direction of the voice, saying, "We Yan people live near the seacoast and are used to a bitter diet of salt-preserved food. We cannot get used to sweets. I have troubled the Archivist with your kind attention."

The visitor was indeed the Archivist Zhang Cang. Ever since Gao Jianli had entered the Music Bureau, Zhang Cang had developed an immense interest in him — or rather, in his music.

Zhang Cang was widely read, but when it came to his greatest passions, the first was mathematics, and the second was musical pitch. He had been collecting musical scores from the Six States, intending to compile them into a new system of pitch, and had recently been making frequent visits to the Music Bureau.

In ancient times, establishing the calendar and judging the seasons relied not only on observing celestial phenomena but also on consulting the direction of the wind. The Canon of Yao records the use of observing the "Winds of the Four Directions" to establish the calendar. And the observation of wind relied primarily on listening. Blind musicians, sightless but sharp of ear, could predict the seasons by determining the wind's direction. Moreover, the ancients believed that musical pitch itself was the handiwork of the wind — wind being the mingling of heaven and earth's qi — and from this arose the "Twelve Pitches."

Now that Zhang Cang wished to revise the pitch-standards and calendar, he naturally had to begin with musical pitch. And Gao Jianli, who had studied many ancient musical pieces, had clearly become a living fossil in his eyes.

"In Xianyang Palace, the musicians who can perform the complete 'Airs of the Fifteen States' can be counted on one's fingers."

"And those who can play the 'Clear Shang' piece are exceedingly few in the world — to say nothing of the long-lost 'Clear Zhi' and 'Clear Jue,' which it is said only Master Gao can perform."

Zhang Cang weighed his words carefully. After a month of interaction, he and Gao Jianli had gradually become familiar with each other. But would asking him to teach his most masterful pieces still be too presumptuous?

"I will teach you."

No one expected Gao Jianli to be so utterly direct — he laid the matter bare at once.

"My eyes may be blind, but my mind is not. How could I fail to grasp what the Archivist of the Pillar intends?"

He simply had Zhang Cang bring the qin over; he would play slowly and let Zhang Cang memorize the score.

In this world, Gao Jianli was the only one left who could play "Pure Zheng" and "Pure Jue." This was also the reason Qin Shi Huang had spared his life.

But very soon, this music would be lost…

This, too, could be counted as Gao Jianli's last trace of regret and reluctance in the world. All his disciples had died in Qin's war against Yan; his wife and daughter were scattered, their fates unknown. For all his mastery, he had no successor.

"To be able to pass these melodies on to a brilliant disciple of Master Xun, and see them flourish — this is truly Gao Jianli's good fortune."

Gao Jianli did not know how much time he had. An hour passed in a flash. Just as Zhang Cang finished recording the scores of both pieces onto hemp paper, Gao Jianli stilled his hands upon the qin, turned his hollow eyes toward the outside, and smiled.

"I must go now."

Zhang Cang was somewhat baffled. Only after a moment did he notice a group of people approaching from outside — it was the usher and the palace guards attending the Emperor.

The usher announced in a loud voice: "Musician Gao Jianli, His Majesty is at leisure in his private quarters and summons you to play music for his amusement. Come with me at once!"

This was the sixth time within a single month that the Emperor had summoned Gao Jianli — a clear sign of how much he adored his music.

Gao Jianli rose and let an attendant beside him straighten his attire, then cradled the zhu in his arms — he never allowed anyone else to touch it.

Holding the zhu to his chest, Gao Jianli bowed slightly toward Zhang Cang.

"I do hope the Archivist of the Pillar will study diligently and remember these melodies well. Do not let them become a lost song!"

With these words, he followed the usher toward the palace complex, his steps light and brisk. No one who did not know would ever imagine he was blind.

These words left Zhang Cang somewhat muddled. He shook his head and, without dwelling on it, took the scores and left the Music Bureau.

The Music Bureau was under the Lesser Treasury, so at the entrance of the Lesser Treasury, he ran into Heifu, who was hurrying back.

"Zihu!"

Heifu had traveled through the night from Du Town. Unfortunately, the gates of Xianyang only opened at dawn, and he lacked the privilege to enter directly, so he had been delayed until now. Upon entering the city, he rushed straight to the Lesser Treasury — he had not expected to run into Zhang Cang.

He jumped down from the carriage and, without pausing to explain, asked Zhang Cang directly: "Shaorong told me you are close with Gao Jianli. Where is he now?"

"Master Gao?"

Zhang Cang was still immersed in the wondrous sounds of those two peerless melodies. Only when Heifu called out did he startle awake. Pointing toward the Xianyang Palace, he said: "Master Gao has gone to play for His Majesty. By now, he should already be in the imperial presence!"

Author's Note: When Zhang Cang served as Chancellor of Reckoning, he set in order the pitch-pipes and the calendar. Because Emperor Gaozu first arrived at Bashang in the tenth month, and the former Qin dynasty had originally taken the tenth month as the start of the year, this was not changed. He calculated the cycle of the Five Powers and determined that the Han should correspond to the Power of Water, honoring black as before. He blew the pitch-pipes to tune the music, incorporated it into the notes and tones, and used these as a basis to compare and fix the statutes and ordinances. Like the hundred craftsmen, all under Heaven took these as their standard. By the time he became Chancellor, he brought this work to completion. Thus, those in the Han who speak of pitch-pipes and the calendar trace their lineage back to Zhang Cang. Zhang Cang was fond of books from the start; there was nothing he did not read, nothing he did not comprehend, and he was especially skilled in pitch-pipes and the calendar. — Records of the Grand Historian, Biographies of Chancellor Zhang

(End of Chapter)