Sima’s attempt to bring order out of chaos to All Under Heaven by means of history. It became the most influential and widely read book in China and continues to exert a profound impact on the cultural consciousness of the Chinese, having maintained its eminence for over 2000 years.
Since ancient times, it has been a Chinese tradition to revere zi (the written word). Erudition is still considered the epitome of virtue in China. Xi was not alone in choosing to be buried with his books. Well-known classics such as the Art of War, Book of Tao, and the Analects of Confucius written on silk or bamboo slips have been found subsequently in other tombs from the Han dynasty onward.
My grandfather told me that when he was a boy growing up in Shanghai he saw many large red boxes placed at major street corners. Each had four gilded characters written on its surface: jing xi zi zhi, “respect and cherish written words.” Workmen with bamboo poles patrolled the streets picking up any stray pieces of paper with writing, and painstakingly placed them in the red containers. The contents of these boxes were burned at regular intervals at a special shrine in the Temple of Confucius. These paper-burning ceremonies were solemn occasions resembling high mass at a Catholic cathedral, with music and incense. Candidates who had successfully passed the imperial examination were the only ones allowed to participate. They would prostrate themselves in worship and pray to Heaven until all the paper had been reduced to ashes. On their way out, they would further show their respect by placing a donation into a separate red box labeled yi zi qian jing, “one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold.”
CHAPTER 4
Binding Your Feet to Prevent Your Own Progress
Guo Zu Bu Qian
I n 1949 many Shanghai entrepreneurs fled south to Hong Kong to escape the Communists. Like Prime Minister Li Si 2200 years earlier, my father also left his home and traveled to a distant place in search of better opportunities and a fresh start. My siblings and I did not realize it then, but my father’s move destined us to become part of the 55 million Chinese living and working outside of China. From then on, we became itinerant immigrants.
At the age of fourteen, I won an international writing competition, which convinced my father to send me from Hong Kong to London for higher education. Three years later, while waiting for medical school to begin, I applied for a summer accounting job advertised in the evening newspaper. Over the phone the manager sounded eager to hire me. He gave me directions to his firm and asked if I was ready to start work that day. As soon as he saw my Chinese face, however, his attitude changed. Avoiding my eyes, he told me that the position had just been filled. He was a nice man because I could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he repeated the lie. One part of him knew that I would be a good worker and was reluctant to let me go. Nevertheless, he sent me away.
Throughout the long period of my training at medical school in London, I knew in my heart that if I were to remain in England after graduation, I would never be given the same opportunities as my British classmates. In order to secure a decent career, I realized I had to go elsewhere after graduation. Because of my dismal childhood, the feeling of being discriminated against was only too familiar. I had decided long ago that life was unfair and that a person needed to find ways of overcoming adversity herself. Even so, the bias I was encountering in Britain was far less than the blatant prejudice I had endured for so many years at my own home under my stepmother.
After graduating from medical school, I went back to Hong Kong. To my shock and dismay, I came across more prejudice. My colleagues resented me because I was not Cantonese and was a graduate of an English (rather than Hong Kong) medical school. The fact that we were all Chinese simply meant that they could be more
Since ancient times, it has been a Chinese tradition to revere zi (the written word). Erudition is still considered the epitome of virtue in China. Xi was not alone in choosing to be buried with his books. Well-known classics such as the Art of War, Book of Tao, and the Analects of Confucius written on silk or bamboo slips have been found subsequently in other tombs from the Han dynasty onward.
My grandfather told me that when he was a boy growing up in Shanghai he saw many large red boxes placed at major street corners. Each had four gilded characters written on its surface: jing xi zi zhi, “respect and cherish written words.” Workmen with bamboo poles patrolled the streets picking up any stray pieces of paper with writing, and painstakingly placed them in the red containers. The contents of these boxes were burned at regular intervals at a special shrine in the Temple of Confucius. These paper-burning ceremonies were solemn occasions resembling high mass at a Catholic cathedral, with music and incense. Candidates who had successfully passed the imperial examination were the only ones allowed to participate. They would prostrate themselves in worship and pray to Heaven until all the paper had been reduced to ashes. On their way out, they would further show their respect by placing a donation into a separate red box labeled yi zi qian jing, “one written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold.”
CHAPTER 4
Binding Your Feet to Prevent Your Own Progress
Guo Zu Bu Qian
I n 1949 many Shanghai entrepreneurs fled south to Hong Kong to escape the Communists. Like Prime Minister Li Si 2200 years earlier, my father also left his home and traveled to a distant place in search of better opportunities and a fresh start. My siblings and I did not realize it then, but my father’s move destined us to become part of the 55 million Chinese living and working outside of China. From then on, we became itinerant immigrants.
At the age of fourteen, I won an international writing competition, which convinced my father to send me from Hong Kong to London for higher education. Three years later, while waiting for medical school to begin, I applied for a summer accounting job advertised in the evening newspaper. Over the phone the manager sounded eager to hire me. He gave me directions to his firm and asked if I was ready to start work that day. As soon as he saw my Chinese face, however, his attitude changed. Avoiding my eyes, he told me that the position had just been filled. He was a nice man because I could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he repeated the lie. One part of him knew that I would be a good worker and was reluctant to let me go. Nevertheless, he sent me away.
Throughout the long period of my training at medical school in London, I knew in my heart that if I were to remain in England after graduation, I would never be given the same opportunities as my British classmates. In order to secure a decent career, I realized I had to go elsewhere after graduation. Because of my dismal childhood, the feeling of being discriminated against was only too familiar. I had decided long ago that life was unfair and that a person needed to find ways of overcoming adversity herself. Even so, the bias I was encountering in Britain was far less than the blatant prejudice I had endured for so many years at my own home under my stepmother.
After graduating from medical school, I went back to Hong Kong. To my shock and dismay, I came across more prejudice. My colleagues resented me because I was not Cantonese and was a graduate of an English (rather than Hong Kong) medical school. The fact that we were all Chinese simply meant that they could be more
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