Chapter 383: Ode of Qin

"You are hardly the first man of Yan to come here, sir."

The young voice of Wang Li, the Commandant of the Central Cavalry leading the way ahead, was casual and offhand. To Gao Jianli's ears, he was probably just another scion of a military house who had never experienced true slaughter. His grandfather Wang Jian had stormed Ji City; his father Wang Ben had destroyed the kingdom of Yan — yet this scion of a military house was like tender spring grass, ignorant of the killing frost.

Indeed, he might possess some skill in slaughter, but so had Qin Wuyang back in the day, who killed a man in the Yan marketplace at thirteen, such that passersby dared not meet his eye. But what of it?

Before his eyes were smoked blind, Gao Jianli had only ever lingered outside the perimeter of Xianyang Palace, so he never had the chance to see how towering and majestic the main hall of Xianyang Palace truly was — the hall that could make even Qin Wuyang, whom all men of Yan hailed as a brave warrior, turn pale and tremble with terror…

All he knew was that getting from bottom to top truly did cost a fair bit of strength.

Wang Li and the attending Receptionist did not support him. As if watching a joke, they looked on as the blind musician, carrying his qin-zhu on his back, used both hands and feet, groping and crawling his way up the stairs. The palace guards of Qin also burst into snickering laughter.

Gao Jianli paid them no mind. He now understood how Jing Ke had walked up here, step by step, all those years ago.

The people of Yan honored white; the people of Qin honored black. Gao Jianli could imagine it: Jing Ke must have been dressed just as he was at the Yi River — in white from head to toe, from his headscarf to his shoes, all white, gleaming and shining white. Like Gao Jianli, he would have been searched by the halberd-bearing guards at the palace gate, then passed through a throng of black-clad Qin ministers, like a bright pearl sliding into black mud, holding high the head of Fan Yuqi and the map of Dukang, ascending into the hall, advancing all the way to the steps of the throne…

It was only a pity that the place Gao Jianli came to today was not the main hall where Jing Ke tried to stab the King of Qin, but a side hall — the place where Qin Shi Huang withdrew after court. Presumably, after the great court assembly had ended, he had remembered Gao Jianli just before his meal and summoned him.

"Your Majesty, Gao Jianli is brought before you!"

Wang Li prostrated himself at the front, while behind him two palace guards kicked at Gao Jianli's feet, forcing him to fall prostrate on the ground.

Though he could not see, Gao Jianli heard the sound of food being chewed. Qin Shi Huang was taking his meal. He could even make out the scent of one of the dishes: liver roast — dog liver wrapped in caul fat, coated with the proper seasonings and roasted over a fire until scorched golden-brown, sizzling, its fragrance overflowing. This dish, back in Yan, their good friend Dog Butcher had often made for them.

After a long while, Qin Shi Huang seemed to remember only then that Gao Jianli knelt beside him, and said with great casualness, "Rise. Grant the musician a seat."

Gao Jianli could not behold Qin Shi Huang's true face with his own eyes. According to the rumors passed around before, this sovereign was said to have a wasp-like nose, a pair of long eyes, the build of a harrier's breast, and a voice like a jackal — a jackal's cry. Such a man, they said, lacked kindness, had the heart of a tiger or wolf, was frugal and could feign humility, but once he achieved his ambitions, he killed indiscriminately.

Yet the timbre of Qin Shi Huang's voice, as it reached Gao Jianli's ears, was overwhelmingly commanding, his speech rising and falling in cadence, no jackal's cry to be heard. Still, judging by his deeds, that tiger-wolf heart which, once ambitions were achieved, would enslave and exploit all the people under heaven — that was likely not far off the mark.

Gao Jianli groped his way and knelt to sit at a spot ten paces away from Qin Shi Huang. He even deliberately sat in the wrong place, facing the wrong direction, drawing the correction of the ritual officer in the hall: as a subject, he must face His Majesty.

This, however, helped him greatly.

Gao Jianli thanked the ritual officer. When he raised his head, he knew: ten paces away was Qin Shi Huang.

Qin Shi Huang was in no hurry to hear music. Seeing that Gao Jianli had worked up a sweat crawling in the hot weather, he granted him a cup of wine and asked him a question.

"Gao Jianli, how does the fine wine of the palace compare to the wine of the Yan marketplace?"

Gao Jianli lowered his head. "The wine of Yan cannot compare."

Yet as the fine wine slid down his throat, what he missed most was still the taste of Yan's crude, inferior wine.

He and Jing Ke had met over ten years ago, in the wineshops of the Yan marketplace. Jing Ke, Dog Butcher, Gao Jianli — a wandering knight, a butcher, a musician. Three men who seemed to have no reason to cross paths, yet they idled and mingled together day after day, because they all shared one common passion: wine.

In Yan, wine was not a luxury; it was a necessity. Once winter arrived, if you didn't drink a few mouthfuls of warmed bitter wine every day, you could forget about stepping outside.

When the three of them were deep in their cups, Gao Jianli would strike the zhu, Jing Ke would harmonize and sing, and Dog Butcher would sway his body, draw his sword, and dance. Carefree, utterly joyous — but after the joy passed, they would then burst out weeping, as if no one else were there.

Jing Ke wept that he had a body full of skills, that after years of wandering, though he had earned a small name in the rivers and lakes, his traveling pack was empty and he had accomplished nothing.

Gao Jianli wept for the beauty growing old, for the graying temples of the stalwart man, for the musical canons abandoned by the people after the collapse of rites and music — the Shao music had ceased, the sao and fu verses were no more.

As for Dog Butcher? They never knew why he wept.

But now, of those three friends of old, Jing Ke had gone to Qin and died, his body pierced by many wounds, and even after death was torn apart by chariots. Dog Butcher, too, when Wang Jian attacked Ji, had acted the brave commoner and been shot into a sieve by random arrows.

Now, only Gao Jianli remained.

He was exactly like a blind lone wild goose, unwilling to drink, refusing to eat, only flying low and crying out in sorrow, longing and searching for his companions.

But he did not fly in aimless confusion, for he knew that the hunter who had shot down the flock was just ten paces away…

In a daze, Qin Shi Huang had already finished his meal. Before beginning his official work in the afternoon, he wished to first listen to some music.

"What music does Your Majesty wish to hear?"

Gao Jianli was a master at playing tunes. Whether it was the Airs of the Fifteen States or the "Spring Snow," "White Snow," "Xiali," and "Baren" of the Chu region, he could play them all, and they possessed a pent-up melancholy that ordinary musicians lacked — this, too, was the reason the Emperor could not bear to kill him.

"Only when the heart holds purpose can the tune played possess spirit."

However, the man beside Qin Shi Huang, the Prefect of the Central Carriage Office named Zhao Gao, after listening to Gao Jianli's playing, had delivered this assessment in a strange, 阴阳怪气 tone.

And now, that man was also not far away, staring at Gao Jianli without so much as blinking.

But Qin Shi Huang's wariness had already been set aside.

"The other day you played 'Clear Shang,' 'Clear Zhi,' and 'Clear Jue' for me. The tunes are fine, but each one is sadder than the last. These sorrowful tunes of fallen kingdoms — I do not like them!"

Qin Shi Huang still remembered: the day before, with Gao Jianli twenty paces away, as the bamboo slip rose and fell, the sound of the zhu was like an endless, continuous fine rain, and also like a heart-wrenching, grief-stricken lament.

But he wanted to hear something joyous, something that could match the empire's daily advance, peace within the four seas, and the submission of all the barbarian tribes — yet he did not want those old tunes from the Book of Songs that he had heard since childhood until his ears were calloused.

So Qin Shi Huang conceived an idea.

"An Ode is the delineation of magnificent virtue, by which one's achievements are proclaimed to the spirits and gods. Shang, Zhou, and Lu all have their Odes. I, with my insignificant person, raised troops to punish tyranny and chaos, swept clean the six directions, and unified all within the seas. My merit surpasses the Three Sovereigns, my virtue exceeds the Five Emperors — how can I be without an Ode?"

And so, this ode was named the "Ode of Qin." Over the past half month, the officials of the Music Bureau had racked their brains and exhausted their wits to complete the lyrics. After testing all manner of instruments, Qin Shi Huang still felt that what best matched the awe-inspiring majesty and vigorous spirit of the Ode of Qin was only the impassioned, vehement sound of the zhu!

And the finest zhu player in the world was none other than Gao Jianli.

Qin Shi Huang wanted the friend of the would-be assassin of old, who was also the finest musician under heaven, to personally compose a new ode for him!

The Emperor was no longer satisfied with mere commoners kowtowing, or with the six captured kings submitting in surrender. He needed the opponents of the past to also bend their knees beneath his might, to let the world know the Emperor's virtue, the Emperor's achievements.

The reason Qin Shi Huang had summoned Gao Jianli today was to hear how his new composition was coming along.

"This lowly subject has finished composing it."

No emotion could be read in Gao Jianli's lifeless blind eyes; only the corners of his mouth curved upward. "Allow your subject to play it for Your Majesty."

Just as in the previous times, with the help of an attendant, Gao Jianli set the zhu in place. But before he could play, Qin Shi Huang ordered him to shift position.

"Five paces closer!"

…

There was one matter that, aside from the Imperial Physician Xia Wuju, no one else — not even Zhao Gao or the consorts who attended the Emperor — knew at all.

During the last western inspection tour, Qin Shi Huang had discovered that, perhaps disturbed by the din of chariot wheels and whinnying horses, his left ear had some difficulty hearing sounds clearly; there was always an echo. This, too, was the reason he had sent Heifu and Li Xin to pray to the mountains and rivers on his behalf.

After returning to Xianyang Palace, the condition had not worsened, but neither had it improved. Qin Shi Huang always complained that the music was not loud enough, not clear enough, and repeatedly made Gao Jianli come a little closer, and a little closer still.

The Emperor's voice was calm and self-assured. This was already the third time Gao Jianli had been permitted to move closer. The first time was below the palace stairs, then ten paces away, and now, at last, five paces…

Gao Jianli gathered his mind. His teacher had once told him that for a student of music, the first thing was to calm the heart. If the heart was not calm, the music would be chaotic.

He could not be chaotic. Still feigning clumsiness, he groped his way forward, once again sat facing the wrong direction, and drew the ritual officer's stern rebuke.

But the moment Gao Jianli's hands lifted the zhu and grasped the bamboo striker, his bearing became utterly different from the clumsy blind man he had been before!

He began with the "Bianzhi mode"—a desolate, expansive melody that perfectly matched the laudatory verses he sang out in a ringing voice.

"Within the Six Directions, all is the Emperor's land.

West to the Shifting Sands, south to the farthest households of the north.

East to the Eastern Sea, north beyond the Great Xia.

Wherever human tracks reach, there is none who does not submit!"

These were lyrics the First Emperor had specially ordered the Music Bureau officials to revise. Though Heifu's westward expansion strategy had only just been proposed, and the southern campaign against the Hundred Yue was still far in the future, the Emperor already regarded those lands as territory he could take with a mere stretch of his hand!

As Gao Jianli played, what rose before the First Emperor's eyes was an unprecedented great conquest: tens of thousands of households from the Central Plains would soon set out in succession for the border passes to farm and garrison; new towns and cities would spring up from the ground. As these strongholds gradually pushed beyond the frontier, the Di, Qiang, and Western Rong would all be swallowed up by Qin.

The sons of Guanzhong would saddle their warhorses with high saddles and stirrups, don warm woolen coats, cross the Long Walls, and march beyond the borders. Westward they would seize Hexi, venture far into the Shifting Sands, and border the realm of the Queen Mother of the West. Northward they would drive out the Xiongnu, so that the Hu dared not come south to graze their horses!

Every place human tracks could reach would become the soil of Great Qin!

But as he accompanied these praises, what Gao Jianli saw was a senseless distant campaign that bled the people of their fat and marrow—attacking the Hu and Mo in the north, building fortifications on the frontier; attacking the Yang and Yue in the south, stationing troops to garrison. The purpose was not to defend the borderlands or save the people from death and injury, but because the First Emperor harbored greed and cruelty in his heart, loved grandiosity and glory, and cared nothing whether the common folk lived or died. Men from east of the mountains were sent far away to Guanzhong; garrison soldiers died at the frontier, supply transporters collapsed on the roads. The common people took to the roads as if going to an execution ground, yet the authorities paid no heed and forcibly conscripted them. Everyone in the world called it: "penal exile."

When Gao Jianli played and sang the next line—"His achievements surpass the Five Emperors, his grace extends to cattle and horses. None fail to receive his virtue, each rests secure in their dwelling"—what rose before the First Emperor's eyes was how he had raised troops to punish the tyranny of the Six Kings, ended the five hundred and fifty years of warfare since the Spring and Autumn period, collected weapons, demolished border defenses, and brought an end to the era when feudal lords used their neighbors as drainage ditches.

Across the realm, carts shared the same axle width and writing shared the same script; the same weights and measures were used. The black-headed common people were free of the extra exploitation of enfeoffed lords and needed only to pay taxes to the authorities. Everyone lived and worked in peace, enjoying the benevolent grace he bestowed.

But what Gao Jianli saw and heard was Qin officials razing famous cities, killing heroic champions, and collecting all weapons under heaven—also to weaken the people of the six kingdoms. And Qin's harsh laws and ordinances, imposed across the lands east of the pass, meant that the slightest misstep brought punishments like facial tattooing or wall-building labor. Thus treachery and evil flourished side by side; convicts in reddish-brown prison garb clogged the roads; jails became marketplaces; the people had no means of livelihood…

Different standpoints, different views of the same matter—the Emperor and the remnants of the six kingdoms lived in just such a fractured world.

As the "Ode to Qin" neared its end, Gao Jianli shifted from the Bianzhi mode to the Yu mode, and the melody grew ever more resounding:

"From generation to generation, eternal prosperity, for a thousand autumns and ten thousand years.

From generation to generation, eternal prosperity, for a thousand autumns and ten thousand years!"

This was the First Emperor's hope—that his imperial dynasty would endure for ten thousand generations in a single line, prospering forever.

At the same time, he harbored the expectation that his merits and virtue would be acknowledged by Vast Heaven, and that he would be deemed worthy to be paired as a Supreme Thearch!

Not merely as a mortal, a king among men, but as a divine emperor, deathless and ageless, for a thousand autumns and ten thousand years!

But Gao Jianli did not see it that way.

Yes—the Son of Heaven's wrath leaves a million corpses lying and blood flowing for a thousand li. Those words are true. As the Son of Heaven, as Emperor, one may do whatever one pleases.

But if a scholar must be wrathful, then two corpses lie, blood flows for five paces, and the whole realm wears mourning white!

That came from a strategist's essay circulating out of Wei, telling the story of Tang Ju—most likely a fabrication—but in it, Gao Jianli saw the image of his dear friend Jing Ke.

A common man's wrath splashes blood within five paces. That year, the distance between Jing Ke and the King of Qin was just about that, was it not? With Jing Ke's skill, had he not been trying to take the King of Qin hostage, his Lady Xu dagger would surely have pierced the King's chest!

But Gao Jianli had no such confidence. He had neither a dagger nor Jing Ke's extraordinary abilities.

The only thing he had was the zhu in his hands, and the keen judgment of sound and position that came from being a blind man and a musician!

"At the very least, I can aim true!"

He could make it out: five paces ahead of him, the First Emperor's breathing was audible! The Emperor was clapping his hands in praise of the melody's power, preening with self-satisfaction, taking these words of meritorious praise as his own achievements!

Just as the "Ode to Qin" was about to end, while the First Emperor and his ministers were still immersed in the music, without the slightest warning, Gao Jianli suddenly stood and fiercely raised the zhu high.

Gao Jianli knew very well in his heart that the zhu alone probably could not kill the First Emperor.

But he could injure him—make his face turn ashen, make him dizzy and dazed for a long while, just as he had been the time Jing Ke tried to assassinate him.

Let him know that there were still unyielding hard bones in the world who would not submit. Let him know:

"Do not delude yourself into thinking your line will last ten thousand generations!"

"The so-called First Emperor of Qin is merely a mortal! He can be wounded, he can bleed, he can be terror-stricken!"

"And in this world, there is no kingdom that does not perish!"

Even if you truly can live for ten thousand generations, so what? Sooner or later, someone will, like him, Gao Jianli, cry out those words:

"When will this sun die? I will perish together with you!"

Gao Jianli's voice was like a shattered earthen pot as he shouted aloud, and the zhu in his hands flew free, hurling straight at the First Emperor!

PS: Haven't had time to fix the punctuation yet. Also, the song "Ode to Qin" is available online—look it up and listen if you're interested.

(End of chapter)