Soul Mountain Read online

  In the Temple of the White Emperor, the smashed altars have been replaced with brightly painted clay figures modelled on new versions of the historical opera so that the place looks like an opera, theatre instead of a temple.

  I go around the front of this ancient temple and discover a fairly new hostel. The landscape here is rough and barren with just a few bushes, but halfway up the mountain are the ruins of a large semi-circular Han Dynasty city wall. It can only be seen here and there but it stretches for several kilometres. The director of the local cultural office points it out to me, he’s an archaeologist and is passionate about his work. He tells me he submitted a report asking the relevant government department to allocate funds for preserving the wall. I think it’s better in its present state – if funds are allocated, they’re sure to put up a gaudy building, then a restaurant, and the scenic beauty of the place will be utterly destroyed.

  He shows me a four-thousand-year-old stone dagger, ground and polished to a jade-like sheen, which was unearthed in the area. The hole drilled through the handle suggests it probably hung from a belt. Along both banks of the Yangtze they have excavated many beautifully crafted stone implements as well as red pottery from the latter period of the Neolithic Age. In a cave at one site on the bank, a cache of bronze weapons has been found. He tells me that straight ahead, just a little way into Kuimen, in the cliff caves where legend says that Zhuge Liang had hidden his books on military strategy, the last hanging coffin was pulled down on ropes and smashed up by a deaf-mute and a hunchback a few months ago. They sold the wind-dried bones as dragon bones to a Chinese medicine shop and when the shop owner was asked for authentication, the matter was reported to the public security office. The police tracked down the deaf-mute but after spending a long time interrogating him, they were none the wiser. It was only after they slapped him a few times that he took them there. He rowed out in a small boat to the bottom of the cliff and demonstrated his skill in scaling cliffs. Wind-dried slivers of wood were found at the site which was ascertained to be a tomb of the Warring States period. The coffin must also have contained bronze relics which hadn’t been smashed but it was impossible to find out from the deaf-mute what had happened to these.

  There are a large number of earthenware spinning wheels in the display room of the cultural office. They are painted with red and black swirling patterns and are probably from the same period as the four-thousand-year-old earthenware spinning wheels unearthed at Qujialing in the lower reaches of the Yangtze in Hubei province. In both cases there is a close resemblance to the Yin-Yang fish design. When the wheel turns emptiness and fullness diminish and grow in the one rotation then return to the beginning again. It has the same source as the Daoist Taiji Chart. My guess is that these are the earliest origins of the Taiji Chart, and also the origins of the complementarity of the Yin and the Yang, the alternation of good fortune and bad fortune, and the concepts of natural philosophy dating from the The Book of Changes to the Daoists. Mankind’s earliest concepts are derived from totems, afterwards these came to be linked with sounds to form speech and meanings.

  Initially, the kiln stokers firing the spinning wheels had inadvertently added some extraneous material to the clay, but it was the women using the spindles who discovered that after one rotation there was a return to the beginning. The man who gave this meaning was called Fuxi. However the bestowal of life and intelligence to Fuxi must be attributed to a woman. The general name for the woman who created man’s intelligence is Nüwa. The first named woman, Nüwa, and the first named man, Fuxi, constitute the collective consciousness of men and women.

  The depiction on Han Dynasty tiles of the mythical union of Fuxi and Nüwa, both with the bodies of snakes but human heads, is derived from the sexual impulses of primitive humans. The animals subsequently became spiritual beings, and then ancestral divinities. Surely these all embody the basic instincts to sexual lust and lust for life?

  At that time the individual did not exist. There was not an awareness of a distinction between “I” and “you”. The birth of I derived from fear of death, and only afterwards an entity which was not I came to constitute you. At that time people did not have an awareness of fearing oneself, knowledge of the self came from an other and was affirmed by possessing and being possessed, and by conquering and being conquered. He, the third person who is not directly relevant to I and you, was gradually differentiated. After this the I also discovered that he was to be found in large numbers everywhere and was a separate existence from oneself, and it was only then that the consciousness of you and I became secondary. In the individual’s struggle for survival amongst others, the self was gradually forgotten and gradually churned like a grain of sand into the chaos of the boundless universe.

  In the quiet of night, listening to the faint lapping of the waves of the Yangtze, I ponder what I might do in the remaining years of my life. Should I continue along the banks of the Yangtze collecting stone fishing net weights used by the Daqi people? I’ve already got one of these rocks with the middle chipped out by a stone hammer – it was given to me the day before yesterday by a friend upstream in Wanxian. He told me you can pick these up all along the riverbed when the river dries up. The silt accumulates and the riverbed gets higher each year and this is why they want to build a dam at the end of the Three Gorges. When this ridiculous dam is built, even this ancient Han Dynasty wall will be submerged so what meaning would there be in collecting the memories of people of remote antiquity?

  I am perpetually searching for meaning, but what in fact is meaning? Can I stop people from constructing this big dam as an epitaph for the annihilation of their selves? I can only search for the self of the I who is small and insignificant like a grain of sand. I may as well write a book on the human self without worrying whether it will be published. But then of what consequence is it whether one book more, or one book less, is written? Hasn’t enough culture been destroyed? Does humankind need so much culture? And moreover, what is culture?

  I get up early to catch a small steamboat. This sort of boat, with the waterline reaching almost to the top of the sides, is swift in the water. At noon I reach Wu Mountain where King Huai of the state of Chu one night dreamt he and a goddess made love. The Wu women filling the streets of the county town however, are not at all attractive. On the boat are seven or eight jean-clad young women and men with Beijing accents. Carefree and uninhibited, they talk, laugh, romance and squabble over money. It is they, with their kettle drum and electric guitar and a few pop songs and disco (rock’n’roll is banned), who in their own words win hearts on both sides of the Yangtze.

  A volume of the county gazette, with the tattered pages mounted onto brown paper, contains the following entries:

  During the time of Emperor Yao of the Tang Dynasty, Wu Mountain was so named after Wu Xian who through his knowledge of the occult became physician to Emperor Yao. In life he was an aristocrat and after death a noble spirit. This mountain was his fief, hence its name (See Guo Pu, “Wu Xian Mountain, a Fu Poem”).

  Yu Dynasty. The Shundian says: “Wu Mountain is a part of Jingliang.”

  Xia Dynasty. The Yugong says: “Nine prefectures were established. Wu Mountain remains within the boundaries of the three prefectures of Jingliang.”

  Shang Dynasty. In “Jiu you jiu wei” of the Shang Songs is the annotation: “Wu Mountain continued to be administered as during the Xia Dynasty.”

  Zhou Dynasty. Wu was Yong Kingdom, then in the Spring and Autumn period became the territory of Kuizi Kingdom. In autumn of the thirty-sixth year of Duke Xi, the Chu people subjugated Kui and absorbed it into Chu. Wu thereupon belonged to Chu.

  Warring States period. There was a Wu Commandery in Chu. The Zhanguo ce says: “Su Qin told King Wei of Chu: ‘In the south there is Wu Commandery.’” The Kuodi zhi says: “The commandery lies one hundred li east of Kui, later it became Southern Commandery.”

  Qin Dynasty. The “Record of Qin” in the Shiji says: “In the thirtieth year of King Zh
aorang, Wu Commandery of Chu Kingdom was changed to Wu County under the administration of Southern Commandery.”

  Han Dynasty. As in the Qin Dynasty, it continued to be called Wu County and was administered by Southern Commandery.

  Later Han Dynasty. During the Jian’an period, the early rulers placed it under the administration of Yidu Commandery. In the twenty-fifth year, Sun Quan placed it under Guling Commandery, then Wu Sunxiu placed it under Jianping Commandery.

  Jin Dynasty. First, as Wu County lay at the border of Wu and Shu it was administered by the Jianping Commandery Military Command, and established as Beijing County. In the fourth year of Xianhe, the military command changed to Jianping Commandery, and it was established as Nanling County.

  The dynasties of Sung, Qi and Liang continued this.

  Later Zhou. In the first year of Tianhe, Wu County was administered by Jianping Commandery, and established as Jiangyin County.

  Sui Dynasty. At the beginning of the Kaihuang period, Jianping Commandery was abolished, renamed Wu Mountain County, and administered by Badong Commandery.

  Tang and Five Dynasties. Administered by Kuizhou Prefecture.

  Song Dynasty. Administered by Kuizhou Prefecture.

  Yuan Dynasty. As before.

  Ming Dynasty. Administered by Kuizhou Prefecture.

  Qing Dynasty. In the ninth year of Kangxi, Dachang was incorporated into Wu Mountain County . . .

  The ruins are located 50 li to the south.

  The Wheat Bran Monk’s name was Wenkong and his style name Yuanyuan. A native of Ji’an Prefecture in Jiangxi Province, he built a temple on the northern cliff of Jidong Mountain where he sat in meditation. After forty years he attained enlightenment. He ate only bran and hence his name. Many years later when the monk died and there was no-one in the temple, for three years people living on the opposite mountain saw lamps burning there at night.

  Legend says that the Red Emperor’s daughter Yaoji drowned when travelling on the river. She was buried on the south side of this mountain and a temple erected. Shamans dance to summon her spirit.

  Anping town is ninety li southeast of the county . . . . . . (text missing) the above towns are now wasteland. After the ravages of troops in the late-Ming period, the villages and towns became deserted. Most of the people have settled here from other provinces and the name is constantly changing . . .

  Do these villages and towns still exist?

  You know that I am just talking to myself to alleviate my loneliness. You know that this loneliness of mine is incurable, that no-one can save me and that I can only talk with myself as the partner of my conversation.

  In this lengthy soliloquy you are the object of what I relate, a myself who listens intently to me – you are simply my shadow.

  As I listen to myself and you, I let you create a she, because you are like me and also cannot bear the loneliness and have to find a partner for your conversation.

  So you talk with her, just like I talk with you.

  She was born of you, yet is an affirmation of myself.

  You who are the partner of my conversation transform my experiences and imagination into your relationship with her, and it is impossible to disentangle imagination from experience.

  Even I can’t distinguish how much is experience and how much is dream within my memories and impressions, so how can you distinguish between what I have experienced and what are figments of my imagination? And in the end is it necessary to make such distinctions? In any case, they aren’t of any significance whatsoever.

  She who is the creation of experience and imagination transforms into various images which beckon and seduce you, because you who are my creation also want to seduce her. Neither of you want the loneliness of your selves.

  I am on a journey – life. Life, good or bad, is a journey and wallowing in my imagination I travel into my inner mind with you who are my reflection. The perennial and perplexing question of what is most important can be changed to a discussion of what is most authentic and at times can constitute what is known as debate. But let others discuss or debate such matters, they are of no consequence for I who am engrossed in my journey or you who are on your spiritual journey.

  Like me, you wander wherever you like. As the distance increases there is a converging of the two until unavoidably you and I merge and are inseparable. At this point there is a need to step back and to create space. That space is he. He is the back of you after you have turned around and left me.

  Neither I nor my image can see his face, it is enough to know that he is someone’s back.

  You who are my creation, created her and her face naturally would have to be imagined, but why must one insist on describing the face? She is a hazy image of associations induced by memories and is therefore indefinite, so let her remain indistinct. Moreover, her image is forever changing.

  For you and me, the women who constitute they are simply a composite image of her.

  And the men who constitute they are also a composite image of him. In the boundless world, there are all sorts of mysteries external to you and me. In other words, they are all projections of my back which I can’t get rid of. If I can’t get rid of them, why try?

  I don’t know whether or not you’ve noticed but when I speak of me and you, and she, him, feminine they and masculine they, I never speak of we or us. I believe that this is much more concrete than the sham we which is totally meaningless.

  Even if you and she and he and masculine they and feminine they are images of the imagination, for me they are all more substantial than what is known as we. As soon as I refer to we I am immediately uncertain, how many of me are in fact implicated? Or how many of you who are the image of me, or he who is the back of you and me, or the illusion of she who was borne of you and me, or the composite image they of she or he? There is nothing more false than this we.

  However I can use a plural you when I confront many people. Whether I am trying to please or criticize, am angry with, happy with, or scornful of, I am occupying a definite position and I am more substantial at such times than at any other time. What does we imply except for that incurable affectation? So I always avoid this bloated sham affectation of we. Should at any time I use the word we it is when I am being extremely hypocritical and cowardly.

  I have established for myself this way of sequencing which can be thought of as a sort of logic or karma. Ways of sequencing, logic or karma, have been established by people in this vast unordered world in order to affirm oneself, so why shouldn’t I invent my own sequencing, logic or karma? I can then take refuge in this way of sequencing, logic or karma, and be secure in my own actions and have peace of mind.

  However the totality of my misfortunes also exist within you, the unlucky demon I have invoked. Actually, you are not unlucky for all your misfortunes have been conferred upon you by me, they are all derived from my self love – this damned I loves only himself!

  I don’t know if God and the Devil in fact exist but both were invoked by you who are the embodiment of both my good fortune and my misfortune. When you vanish, God and the Devil will in the same instant disappear.

  It is only by getting rid of you that I can get rid of myself. However having invoked you, it is impossible to get rid of you. I’ve thought of an idea. What would happen if you and I were to change places? In other words I would be your image and you instead would be the concrete form of me – this would be an interesting game. If you listen carefully to me from my position I would then become the concrete expression of your desires, it would be a lot of fun. It would also be yet another school of philosophy and the writing would have to start from the beginning again.

  Philosophy in the end is an intellectual game. At limits unattainable by mathematics and the empirical sciences, it constructs all sorts of intricate structures. And as a structure is completed, the game ends.

  Fiction is different from philosophy because it is the product of sensory perceptions. If a futile self-made signifier is saturated in
a solution of lust and at a particular time transforms into a living cell capable of multiplying and growing, it is much more interesting than games of the intellect. Furthermore, it is the same as life and does not have an ultimate goal.

  I am riding a hired bicycle. At noon in the height of summer the temperature is over forty degrees and the freshly repaired bitumen road to the ancient city in Jiangling has begun to go soft. The wind passing through the city gate archway of the ancient Three Kingdoms city of Jingzhou is also hot. An old woman is stretched out dozing on a cane chair behind a tea and drinks stall. Unabashed, her hemp jacket, thin and frayed from washing, is unbuttoned, and exposes the sagging skin of her sunken breasts. I drink a bottle of soft drink which gives off heat in my hand. She doesn't even bother to look if I've paid enough. At the end of the archway a dog is sprawled with its tongue hanging out, panting and dribbling.

  Beyond the city wall are paddy fields with patches of unharvested rice which are bright yellow and heavy with ripe grain. In the harvested fields the new seedlings of late crop are lush green. The road and the fields are empty, everyone is at home resting and cooling off.

  I am cycling down the middle of the highway and the surface of the road is steaming with waves of air like transparent flames. Sweat is running down my back so I strip off my polo-neck sweater and tie it around my head to block off some of the sun. As I cycle faster my T-shirt flaps up so there is a bit of a damp breeze around my ears.