S S E N I S U M B E S I H T UDDH B F O
the uation of g n i r q Exploructive e steries, dest ks, mona mon money a nd
Beijing Chinese Language and Culture College
1/2015 Monastic Money, Science Supremacy, Trash Troops, and Zodiac Zeal
M
asters of kung-fu, sources of ancient and infallible wisdom, religious leaders beyond reproach—the Buddhist monk and the grand tradition of monasteries is of incalculable value to the culture of China. But the modern world brings with it something far more dangerous to these traditions than all the martial arts and religious purges in the world: money. For the faithful, the introduction of the free market is finishing off the work that the Cultural Revolution started. “Fake” monasteries have become the new norm, and places of worship are becoming money pits and tourist traps. While this modern trend does ensure the spread and popularity of Buddhism, purists and the monks are fighting against the tide and losing badly (see page 28). Far from the realm of spirituality is that of science, and in that dominion none is more fundamental than physics. For years, the world has marveled as the Middle Kingdom has thrown itself into the world of science, and China’s current discoveries and ambitions are changing the way we understand the physical world. Communicating via photons over Qinghai Lake, hunting for dark matter beneath a mountain in Sichuan Province, finding dancing black holes galaxies away, and planning the most magnificent and important physics experiment the world has ever seen—China is the world’s new physics playground (see page 36). From those lofty heights, we look to our garbage—to those some consider the lowest of society. The people we see with cardboard and plastic piled high on bikes and in bags, digging through rubbish to build a life on the trash everyone else leaves behind. They are over ten-million strong and they keep the country efficient and clean, but their livelihoods and safety depend on the larger whims of the manufacturing and raw materials industry, a drop in which can be devastating. Find out more about these people, their role, and their fragile lives in “Scrap Empire” (see page 42). Looking back up to the stars, we take a look at the Chinese zodiac and its importance to modern society. Be it Chinese or Western, astrology is objectively the worst kind of hokum, but in China these long held beliefs effect everything from birth rates to marriage booms. The younger generation seems to be throwing off the restraints of these traditions—even as they lean on the newly-vogue Western astrology—but the ties are still strong and the insistence of the older generation keeps these superstitions active and essential (see page 48). If your tastes run a bit more toward the creative, check out Qu Guangci in our Gallery section (see page 58) for a look at a surreal, subjective utopia, or head on over to Dragon’s Digest (see page 12) for a new short story about a mother, a daughter, and a relationship gone wrong. If trivia is more your thing, try out Made in China (see page 24) for some porcine partying or our new column Time Machine (see page 74) for the sad tale of those who built China’s first atomic bomb. We’ve got all that and more inside, so cuddle up warm with a copy of our magazine for the last leg of this long winter, and, from all of us here at TWOC, enjoy and travel safely.
Managing Editor Tyler Roney Issue 1 /2015
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1/2015
36 PHYSICS
FEVER
中国物理的最高境界 Dark matter, quantum communications, binary black holes, supercolliders—China’s new ambition for scientific supremacy is leading the country on a journey to some very exciting experiments and discoveries in the world of physics
EMPIRE 42 SCRAP 垃圾帝国 You pass them every day, people living on what the nation throws away. This recycling industry suffers from the same problems as any other, and its people, those who keep China clean and efficient, don’t often get the attention they deserve.
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48 ANIMAL ATTRACTION 属相的权威 It’s hard to imagine dynamic, modern Chinese people making decisions based on the ancient zodiac, but the entrenched beliefs of the older generation mean that the younger lot are saddled with zodiac superstitions in everything from having babies to getting married
COVER STORY
28 THE BUSINESS OF
BUDDHISM 商潮中的佛土
The face of Buddhism in China is changing— temples to tourist traps and monasteries to money pits. The faithful are fighting to save the ideals they see being trampled on for the sake of cash and populism, but it’s a battle they’re unlikely to win.
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GALLERY
58
NORTHERNMOST COUNTRY 终北国：对乌托邦的蔑视
Controversial artist Qu Guangci uses ancient concepts and iconic caricatures to mock the modern concept of utopia with pale white sculptures and clever use of space
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DRAGON’S DIGEST
LET IT ALL GO 《轻轻喘出一口气》 Take a trip to a heartbreaking beach with Zhou Jianing in her new short story. The tale follows a stoic young woman with a broken heart and her overbearing mother as they try to enjoy their sour holiday.
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家族的盛会
We have a visual feast for you in the form of a Huang family reunion. The elders sleep, the youngsters learn, and everyone talks and feasts into the night; part solstice ancestor worship, part filial duty, this reunion is a slice of history not to be missed.
8 6GROUP THINK
76
用创意对抗雾霾
桌游在中国
CCTV在说什么？ 抱怨中的负能量
David Dawson takes a look at some of the stranger ways the country is trying to combat smog: activism, pollution-free parks, cloud-seeding, and even smog-fighting drones; but, in the long term, the answers are much more complicated
Whether you’re a sword-and-board warrior or a skill-monkey mailman, tabletop gaming has come to China in a big way. These games have a burgeoning fandom, but it’s building every year and gaining that little extra Chinese flavor.
SAVING CHINA WAR ON SMOG
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FAMILY MATTERS
REAL GAMERS DO IT WITH DICE
SOCIAL CHINESE CCTV NEWSPEAK DESTRUCTIVE CRITICISM Get to grips withcomplaining? the Having trouble Well, so pandering of discusses is everyonepropaganda else. This piece the state-media news the China trouble with speaking your mind program that never in China—how to doseems it, how to avoid it, to end and how to deal with it—from cradle to grave.
1 EDITOR’S LETTER 卷首语
6 MISHMASH 多棱镜
8 WEIBO WHACK 微亦足道
11 STREET TALK 街头俚语
24 MADE IN CHINA 中国制造
72 NERD NEWS 宅资讯
74 TIME MACHINE 时光机
84 CHI LE MA
Photographs
by meng qingchun
(men
and temple
), Cfp (woman)
吃了吗
86 BOOKMARK
62 ON THE ROAD
THE BITTER COFFEE OF HAINAN 华侨的咖啡
Deep in a southern Chinese province lies a community of immigrants— Indonesian, Malaysian, Vietnamese. All fled their homeland for a better life in China decades ago; Ginger Huang listens their stories and drinks their coffee.
80 ZOETROPE BROTHERHOOD OF BLADES 《绣春刀》 Terrence Hsieh takes us through Lu Yang’s latest martial arts masterpiece—a tale of chivalry, melodrama, love, and justice—for a dose of that enjoyable wuxia violence that promises to keep you entertained throughout Issue 1 /2015
好书有笺
90 PIONEER 对话先锋
92 ON THE CHARACTER 魅力汉字
94 AGONY AYI 麻烦阿姨
96 COMICS 酷漫 For all you subscribers out there, we've changed our bank here at TWOC. Please send your future subscription payments to Beijing Municipal Branch, Industrial and Commercial Bank of China, Account Number: 0200 0960 1900 0061 081. Thanks for subscribing! 5
MISHMASH
TOP GRADE CHICKEN Quantifying the deliciousness of braised chicken would seem to be a tall order, but when faced with this seemingly insurmountable task, one Shanxi doctoral student provided more than enough food for thought. The student, Sun Lingxia, prepared an 80,000 word report on the dish in an effort to find out how spices affect the taste of meat. The focus was on methods of standardization, and according to The Wall Street Journal, the report focused on star anise, a
particularly popular spice in pork and chicken dishes in China. A board at Shanxi Normal University approved the project, saying it would contribute to food science, and one professor has pointed out that these kinds of papers are not unusual, citing Japanese research into bread. In fact, the professors are so enthused by the project that one has even asked Sun to conduct further research into salt and other ingredients. Then again, maybe they just really like chicken. - DAVID DAWSON
SPARE SOME CHANGE? Bank tellers in Jilin Province perfected the art of the raised eyebrow in December, 2014, when some poor guy, who had been paid 50,000 RMB in 1 RMB coins, attempted to make a deposit. The man had apparently been owed 100,000 RMB, but the company agreed to pay him immediately if they could pay him in coins. He couldn’t carry that many coins and eventually settled for 60,000. Only 50,000 was in coins, the remaining 10,000 wasn’t a whole lot better—all one yuan notes. When he fronted up to the banks with his treasure, some told him to go to hell. Eventually one agreed to take the 10,000 RMB in notes, and three staff members spent two hours counting it. Unsurprisingly, when confronted with the request to count the coins, they too told him no way. In the end he found an ICBC bank willing to take the 300 kilograms of coins.
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Funnily enough, this isn’t the only time this happened that month. Early in December, a woman showed up with a truck at a bank in Chongqing, with 100,000 RMB in coins. - D.D.
UNDERCOVER CON A man in his 50s reportedly approached a freshman student in November, 2014 at the Huazhong University of Science in Wuhan, Hubei Province, claiming to be from the Ministry of State Security—roughly equivalent to the US’s NSA. According to a report in the China Youth Daily, he explained that he was on “official duty” and asked the young woman to pretend to be his daughter, stating that his identity was to be kept in absolute secrecy. As he spoke into an earpiece with a “teammate”, he told the woman that the criminal he was hunting was in critical condition in hospital. When they arrived at the hospital, in what should have prompted alarm bells after an already suspicious story, he explained that a cash drop had been delayed and that he needed 2,000 RMB from her. Ever the good citizen, she agreed and helped him out. He explained that the criminal would be released from hospital and that they would use him as bait, but they would need to rendezvous at a nearby hotel. After registering for a room with the woman’s ID, they went to the room, and he then said they
had to pretend to be lovers, of course, to dispel suspicion from the dastardly foes who were supposedly monitoring the room. This, apparently, was taking things a little too far. The woman refused, left the “spy” to his fate, and alerted the university, which then issued a notice warning other students of these kinds of scams. Fake spies, as it happens, are even less trustworthy than real ones. - LIU JUE (刘珏 )
STONE FEAST They are heavier than stamps, but they’re much easier to find; rocks in many ways are an ideal item to collect. They come in many forms, some rare, some common, and some look tasty, apparently. Note the use of the phrase “look” because that’s an important distinction at the Stone Feast in Guangdong Province. On December 12, 2014, the feast took place and consisted of 31 “dishes”. All had been carved from stone. The dishes included lychees, pork ribs, lamb, fried sticky rice dough, beef pies, to name just a few, all made of stones that had not been
Issue 1 /2015
artificially processed except for being carved. While it may be a bit weird to feel hungry over some rocks, it would appear people do feel something at these exhibitions. A similar event took place two months earlier in Xi’an, where 108 stone dishes went on display. And you don’t need to eat them to have health problems; the price of a single dish might give you a heart attack. It’s 8,000 RMB for a slice of “pork” or 50,000 RMB for some stone stewed fish. It’s hardly earthshattering news though—one of the most famous sculptures in the Forbidden City is a jade cabbage.
had been robbed by two men wielding hammers. The victims were strangely evasive. Instead of providing a concise account of the crimes, they stuttered, stammered, and avoided questions. Alas, they had been robbed of not just cash, but sweet lovin’ as well. The robbers, dubbed the “hammer bros” by police, found a spot near a make-out point, where eager lovers smooched and more in their cars. Of course, on learning their favorite spot to strike, the police caught them pretty fast. Apparently they hadn’t been at the game long but had hit upon a pretty good way of ensuring vague accounts from victims. “We were sure that the couples we robbed would not defy us or report it to police,” they said. The police asked how they came up with the idea. One replied, somewhat bluntly, “That’s how it goes in TV shows.” - G.H.
- GINGER HUANG (黄原竟)
HAMMER BROS: CAN’T TOUCH THIS In the course of a single week in December, 2014, police in Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province, received reports of several victims who
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HEATED DEBATE Every winter, a line is drawn in the sand. Northerners and southerners are divided, not by culture or creed, but by who gets heating. Places to the north of Qinling Mountain and Huaihe River are heated, while places to the south are not. This line was drawn in the 1950s when China lacked fuel. But the line isn’t drawn far south enough; it’s still brutally cold for anyone who isn’t in Guangdong, Hainan, or Yunnan. People living in southern provinces have long realized this is unfair, and where better to complain than Weibo? - DAVID DAWSON
魏三爷: 北方的冷是干冷，只要穿厚实捂严实就能抵御住 严寒。而南方的冷是噬骨的湿冷，穿再多寒气也能渗透 进来。所以，供暖不能以海南的那种南为标准界定南方 的冬天，这让我们这些生活在不算南方的南方人每年都 在寒冬中备受煎熬。
In the north it is cold and dry, so you can ward yourself against the cold as long as your clothes are thick enough. In the south it’s damp, and the chill goes into your bones no matter how thick your clothes are. To be exact, “the south” should be places like Hainan, but we southerners are suffering freezing winters from not being south enough.
大熊男神: 1.冬天是可以每天洗澡的；2.晚上睡觉也可 以裸睡不需要穿保暖内衣的；3.不需要盖两床被子也不 冷；4.冬天永远不会冻手冻脚冻耳朵；5.走到哪都有暖 气；6.屋子里一定比屋外暖和；以上就是北方的冬天，南 方人读到第几条忍不住流泪了？ 1. You can take a shower everyday in the winter; 2. You can sleep naked without wearing thermal underwear; 3. You don’t need to have two layers of quilts; 3. You have never had frostbite on your hands, feet, or ears; 5. Everywhere you go there is heating; 6. It’s always warmer indoors than outdoors. That’s the northern winter. So, if you are a southerner, which one makes you cry?
暴走漫画: 南方没暖气才是最大的南北差异！豆腐脑儿甜 咸根本就不是事！ The biggest difference between the south and the north is whether there is heating, not whether tofu jelly is sweet or salty.
湖北卫视: 北方取暖靠暖气，南方取暖靠正气。
In the north one feels warm from the heating, and in the south one feels warm from being brave.
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JAPANESE DRAMAS REFUSE TO DIE In 2013, SARFT cracked down on anti-Japanese themed TV shows. For years they had been seen as a “safe” topic for studios to go overboard with, but perhaps seeing Chinese soldiers shoot three Japanese dead with a single arrow or kill them with just a slap was getting to be a bit much, even for the authorities. SARFT banned most of the newly made anti-Japanese dramas so that “history can get its due respect”. Evidently history has had enough respect, because the ban has been lifted. According to Gao Mantang, a famous script writer: “There are about 50 TV show casts in Hengdian (China’s biggest film base) busy killing the Japanese invaders.” - D.D.
PLA: “YOU MORONS” When Guangzhou-based newspaper the Southern Weekly basically labeled Chinese soldiers as cheap to equip compared to the US, the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), perhaps unsurprisingly, was not happy. After the publication said that it cost around 9,400 RMB to equip a soldier—around ten percent of the cost of equipping an American soldier—the PLA posted a scathing criticism of the report online, with a point by point rebuttal. The Wall Street Journal translated the PLA’s online response, which was far from measured. It said, “one should know that even criticism needs to be done professionally and is not something any moron can pull off by smacking one’s water-filled brain.”. - D.D.
安俊king： 那些数据摆出来能怎么样？解放军的单兵作战系统 和国际一流就是有差距的嘛！这是事实啊！“黑”和“吹”都 没意义！ So what? The equipment of PLA soldiers is indeed far worse than first class by international standards. It’s the truth, no matter how you slander or boast about it.
山顶的高山： 这有什么好争的，军方公布一下标配就可以了。 难道说又是军事机密？ What’s the fuss? Can’t the PLA just make the details of standard equipment public? Or is this confidential again?
勾魂电眼李明博： 解放军装备方面的问题多了去了，偏偏全黑 得不在点上，也是极不容易的！ The PLA’s equipment has a lot of problems, and the Southern Weekly did a very skillful job not to point out any of them correctly.
封堵不住的嘴： 地球人都知道，现代剧、古装剧、穿越剧、喜剧 、悲剧都会有意无意触碰“敏感瓷”，只有抗日剧最 保险最能获得通过。 It is common sense that other genres of TV shows—whether contemporary, ancient, time travelling, comedy, tragedy—can all be “sensitive”, and only anti-Japanese shows are safest and most likely to go through censorship (easily).
俞心樵： 唉，日子平淡无奇，太不刺激了，我又想跟着我军主力部队前去横店抗日了。
Oh my life bores me. I need something exciting, such as fighting against the Japanese with my country’s armies in Hengdian.
严锋： 很难理解现在那些抗日神剧，杀鬼子像割麦子切西瓜那么顺溜。这更像恶搞和高级黑。
Those insane anti-Japanese dramas make fighting a war as easy as harvesting wheat or cutting a watermelon. These are more like bad-taste jokes and crafted satire.
时艰： 抗战不是8年，而是77年。1945年后，中国媒体和电视台接过抗日大旗，一打就是69年。这场人类历史上最为旷 日持久的战争，在横店在无数影视基地惨烈进行，丝毫没有结束的迹象。问家里成天守着抗日剧的老人为什么不看点 别的，回答也挺让人无语：还有啥可看的？ The anti-Japanese war lasted not for eight years, but 77 years. After 1945, Chinese media and TV stations took over and continued the war for 69 years. This war of unprecedented length is fought in the numerous film bases in Hengdian without any sign that it will end. I asked old people who watched nothing but anti-Japanese dramas at home why they don’t watch something else, and they replied, “Do we have other options?”
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9
E
H I O HEN L ADTHE
STREET TALK
H
umans have been cracking open skulls since Neolithic times, with some surprisingly specialized tools left behind during that mind-shatteringly long history. Archeological digs in South America have unearthed surgical tools made of bronze and volcanic rock, seemingly designed to drill or scrape into heads and prod the sensational goop within. But Chinese has a few less threatening ways to open one’s head hole. In traditional Chinese medicine the brain is less of an object of focus, since the body is seen as more of an intertwined system, with the organs working together to create intelligence. Despite this, the brain, or skull, 脑袋 (n2odai) is heard often in day-to-day speech. One common saying in Chinese, however, seems right at home with the Western history of trepanning: 脑洞大开 (n2o d7ng d3 k`i), “head hole wide opened”, refers to the type of madness evoked by a book or movie when one’s imagination is set free, a sort of artistic inspiration where your mind flutters in and out of the escape hatch left in the skull. Commenting on Liu Cixin (刘慈欣)’s famed sci-fi trilogy The Three-Body Problem (《三 体》), one Weibo user says: “这些书为我打开了数个世界，不，不是世界，是星 系？是维度？是空间？是脑洞大开。(Those books opened a number of worlds for me—no, not worlds. Galaxies? Dimensions? Space? They opened my head hole).” The saying overlaps with “open your mind”, much in the same way a book would “open your mind”. But, it wouldn’t be proper to say “open the hole in your head”, when you wanted someone to be more acquiescent to an unusual idea, like, say, the dubious merits of skull perforation, or perhaps something that was merely progressive such as gay marriage. In that case, it would be more appropriate to say “想开一点儿” (xi2ng k`i y# di2nr), or “think openly”. People often say a song’s lyrics can open their head holes, 这段歌词让我脑洞大开 (zh- du3n g8c! r3ng w6 n2od7ng d3 k`i). In English similar expressions have actually appeared in songs: “Ooh, boy d’you miss me like a hole in the head,” goes the chorus of the Sugababes 2003 hit single “Hole in the Head”. Returning to the notion of madness, one Baidu user cleverly postulates that the “hole” is where the water gets poured in when one is suffering from 脑子进水 (n2ozi j#n shu@), or “water in the brain”, a clichéd term for acting crazy. Be it books, movies, or songs, we are all thankful for these inspirational little fissures. - BY NICOLAS RICHARDS (芮尼克)
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DRAGON'S DIGEST
LET IT ALL GO A tale of different generations and love lost 一个失恋的女儿带着母亲去海边旅行，一段散心之旅 却面临意想不到的无奈
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hen I woke from my afternoon nap, Mama had already left for the beach. “You don’t need to join me,” she said. Before leaving she poured me a glass of water, chopped an apple and left me half. The side of the fruit exposed to the air was already turning brown. I could sense that morning’s vicious headache curling up behind a nerve ending. For the whole trip jet lag and swinging temperatures tormented me. In the bathroom I turned on the shower and waited as hot water traveled through the creaking pipes. Up on the rack, the neatly folded hotel towels and washcloths were still clean and stiff while the dingy old towel she brought dangled from a bar. Every inch was frayed, a jarring image clashing against that pristine backdrop, making it impossible to look away. But that wasn’t the end of it. Pulling away the towel I would find a neat film of cellophane coating the bar. It was like a Resident Evil reenactment, where skin rot is spread by touch. I already knew she had brought mosquito repellent, 12
alcohol, and cotton swabs, but hadn’t imagined she would bring an actual box of cellophane wrap. “Don’t be such a worry wart,” I told her the first night, after finishing in the bathroom. “I wouldn’t be so certain,” she said stubbornly. “Don’t you know these hotel-chain maids wipe the toilets with the towels?” “You take the newspapers way too seriously. This isn’t one of those cheap hotel chains. Look out the window. We have a view of the ocean.” As I spoke, I pressed the remote switch next to the bed that opened the curtains. She shifted uncertainly to stand beside the window, but the murky night obscured everything. “Once, when I stayed at a hostel, I wore someone else’s slippers and got a fungal infection,” she crowed. “How long ago was that? Twenty years?” “Right after I got married, 20, no, 30 years ago. But what does that have to do with this? “ “The world is changing!”
Liu Yi by
Illustration
“Well it’s not getting any cleaner!” “Your outlook is way too bleak. You see danger everywhere.” “Exactly. Why else would you have been made to suffer like that? I can tell that your heart was shattered.” “What!? Where did that come from? You need to stop watching all those TV shows.” “I’m not like you. People my age just want to pass their time away cheerfully. What do you want me to change?” “Nobody wants you to change,” I snapped, getting crabby. Now, with her out of the room I felt I could relax. I pulled my hotel-shampoo-washed-hair into a bun that persistently dripped water. Opening a window, I could see the beach in the distance dotted with people, dogs and seabirds: no clatter, no clamor, just silent serenity. I didn’t put on any clothes—perfect. I assumed there would be a strong wind blowing—delusion. But surfers rushed into the ocean with their boards to meet waves that rose abruptly before disappearing into white foam. Grabbing my book, I went down to the hotel cafe. Originally, I had planned to read it on the plane, but there were two women from Wenzhou sitting behind me. They had opened a grocery store and gossiped endlessly about shopkeepers opening shops and business in Chinatown. The splintered, seesawing pitch of their chitter-chatter Issue 1 /2015
ZHOU JIANING 周嘉宁 Zhou Jianing was born in 1982 and published her first short novel collection when she was 20 years old, now working as the style director of literature magazine, Newriting (《鲤》). She writes in a simple, accurate, and restrained style that Chinese literary critics often connect with Richard Yates, Carver, and Hemingway. Her representative works include Clear Is the Sky, How I Ruined My Life Step by Step, and Waste City.
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tugged at my nerves. Beside me, however, Mama slept through the whole flight. Her seat belt was pulled tight, eyebrows knitted and short breaths uneven. Midway, I fell into a hazy sleep, but soon the dehydration and rumbling of the cabin came back to torture me. At least I was acclimatized to sleep deprivation. Just sitting still like that, my bones, nerves, skin, and hair felt like pieces of weather-worn porcelain. In the restaurant adjoining the cafe I now saw two chunky waitresses in aprons standing hands-on-hips against the fire retardant kitchen door. They shot a cold glance in my direction. There were no other customers, so I walked out onto the terrace that faced the beach and where I could have a smoke. We were near the tropics and there was a shocking gap between morning and evening temperatures. The sun’s glare turned everything into a dazzling white mirage, but whenever a dark cloud passed, the ocean wind would scream like a headache. Some of the people on the beach wore sweaters. Others were in bikinis playing beach volleyball with pasty sand plastered to their bodies. A hobo came along pushing a cart and stopped on the other side of the terrace railing. He pointed at my cigarette pack to indicate he wanted one. I hesitated for a minute, slid one out, and handed it to him. He had his own lighter, but the wind had picked up and the click clack click clack went on for ages. Once the cigarette was lit he leaned against the rail and took a deep drag. He wore a small, purple hat with a sequined crown. His face was pale, and the corner of his mouth split into a long scar. “Where you from?” “China,” I said. “Ah, aha. Beijing?” “No, I am not.” I was in no mood to talk. “I once had a girlfriend from Beijing,” he actually started singing. “I once loved a girl, she’s from Beijing, from Beijing.” “Uuh.” “Why are you here? On vacation?” He continued. “Correct.” “And your friends are?” “I came with my mother. She went to the beach. The sun is too hot.” “Vacationing with your mother. That can’t be easy. Ouch!” He whistled and said, “How old are you, 20?” “Huh?” I couldn’t help but giggle, “You know how to talk nice.” “Don’t you know it,” he chuckled. “Are you one of those sad, gloomy, depressed types?” “No way.” 14
DEEP, RED SUNBURN SPREAD FROM HER NOSE TO HER CHEEKS. SHE WAS HUFFING AND PUFFING BUT LOOKED OVERJOYED AND CONTENT. “My guitar’s broken, or else I’d play a song for you. I only know Elvis. I’m old school.” “Some other time.” “I have to go. It’s been an unlucky day,” he pointed to the cart behind him. “See, the plastic bin ripped. Paul from the restaurant over there has a new one for me. I’m on my way to get it.” He put out the cigarette, pushed his cart forward a couple of steps and then turned around and said: “Let me give you a tip. Don’t eat the fish and chips from Paul’s place. His fish isn’t fresh!” Mama returned after a while. The two waitresses were changing the tablecloths and arranging the tableware for dinner. I could see her in her orange hat approaching from far down the beach. She’d bought it just for travel. It was crumpled and aged her a few years. She’d also bought a handbag in the same color scheme. It was canvas, not leather, and she wouldn’t stop complaining about it. She lurched through the sand. Deep, red sunburn spread from her nose to her cheeks. She was huffing and puffing but looked overjoyed and content. “Where did you go?” I asked. “I went for a walk along the shore.” “For the whole afternoon?” “Yes. I hiked passed two bays. All the way behind that rock,” she pointed energetically. I looked, but couldn’t see anything. “You should get out and walk around a little. Stop thinking about him. We’re here to relax and forget our troubles. Remember?” “I wasn’t thinking about him at all, but now I am! Now I’m thinking about him!” “Do you still have a headache? What a shame. It’s the last day, and you didn’t get to see the bay.” “Let’s just go eat. I’m hungry again. You?” The soft evening sun draped over our shoulders as we walked along the beach. It wasn’t dark yet—naturally that meant it wasn’t dinnertime either. All the restaurants we looked into were dead black. There was only a scattering of white people sitting on chairs outside and drinking beer. I caught a glimpse of a shop with the letters for Paul on the sign and for whatever reason hurried my steps. But I
couldn’t help looking back. A golden deep-fried fish and a fizzing bottle of cola were printed on the placard by the door—next to it, a guy with a mohawk was making a phone call. Eventually we found a Japanese restaurant and sat down. On the first night she gorged herself on the rich food here: greasy, deep-fried local snacks and pungent Southeast Asian cuisine. Like all the other tourists, we sat at a table veiled by tree leaves and observed the beachgoers from our reclined repose. At this hour the sunbathers rose in ranks and began languidly shuffling away. “We should talk,” she said. The food was slow and she could no longer stand the silence. “We talk every day,” I said, with as much good humor as I could manage. “You still haven’t told me the truth,” she said. “You should have told me earlier.” “I’m not as upset as you think. I’ve totally accepted it.” “Just like that, you’ve accepted it?” She looked at me skeptically. “It’s nothing. He fell in love with someone else. Anybody can fall in love with someone else.” “Fool’s talk. As if you loved someone else?” She nearly thrust her face into mine, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Never!” She spoke loudly, but her voice quivered and fell flat at the end. I thought she was on the verge of crying and couldn’t understand why she was getting so upset. All we could do was twist our heads toward the dimming horizon. When our dishes arrived I kept silent and absorbed myself into the food. She took two self-conscious mouthfuls and pushed her bowl away. I didn’t look up at her. A fly whirled around between us. “Did he beat you?” She asked abruptly. “What?” “Did he beat you?” She repeated. Sliding my bowl away, I jammed two trembling hands into my purse, pulled out a wad of change, and slapped it down on the table. She followed me out of the restaurant. In single file, we toiled across the sand. Heading to the hotel we passed by Paul’s restaurant again. The neon lights were now glowing and the seductive smell of deep-fried food wafted out of the entrance. Before I had the chance to slip by, the hobo with the sequined hat bowed out of the doorway. Pushing his cart he stumbled toward me enthusiastically. ‘‘Ha, I knew I’d run into you again.” He smiled and spread open his arms. A tacky, pink, plastic box was now fixed to his cart. “Paul gave me a new container Issue 1 /2015
and I also got a blues harmonica in C!” Feeling awkward, I nodded without smiling and stepped off to the side. “Is that your mom? She’s got your good looks.” He turned to her and said, “Hi.” “Who’s that man? What’s he saying?” She locked her hands together, glared at the strange man, lowered her shoulders, turned to me and shrilled, “Who’s that man!?” “He’s a garbage collector,” I said. “What does he want?” “He says good evening.” “Make him leave.” “It’s okay, Mama, he’s just saying hello.” “Make him leave. Now.” She yanked on my sleeve and shooed him away in a panic. “We should return to the hotel,” I said to him. “You know...” “For sure, for sure.” He continued standing there without saying anything else. Then, she put fire in her stride. My shoes were filling with sand as I tried to keep up, when a group of teenagers rushed toward us from a nearby surfing school. They wore tight wetsuits and carried surfboards as tall as a person. One last strip of daylight still glowed on the horizon. The surfers hastened past and the boys in the lead soon charged into to the ocean. Back at the hotel we changed into our swimsuits, having decided to go down for a swim in the outdoor pool. We walked down a long corridor and onto the deck where an oasis of tropical plants thrived in the inky darkness. Without warning it began to rain. By the time we got to the edge of the pool we realized that temperatures had dropped by at least ten degrees. Ocean winds blew from all directions and I could feel my headache stirring behind the nerve ending. I pulled my jacket tighter. “Let’s go back. It’s too cold,” I said. “What a shame. This is the last night,” she said. “We could get a drink at the bar,” I said deliberately. “You drink?” She stared at me and turned to the pool that crackled under the shower. We headed back the way we came and neither of us spoke for a while. “I don’t hate him and I don’t expect you to understand, so you’re better off just accepting it,” I said. “I understand. The world is changing. Times are bleak.” “No, that’s not it. You don’t understand.” “In our day people didn’t get divorced. Even if you didn’t love each other, you still lived together. It was 15
normal. We suffered the heartache. These days nobody can suffer it. One day, he’ll realize that finding someone like you isn’t that easy. It doesn’t matter who you’re with. It’s all the same in the end. He’ll see that one day.” “That’s not the point.” We arrived at the entrance of the bar. She halted, peered inside and immediately took a step back. “They’re all foreigners,” she said, staring at me. “It’s too cold. I’m going to get another headache. I need to sit for a while and have a drink, and then I’ll come up.” “Tomorrow we have to leave for the airport before dawn,” she stammered. But all of the arguing was clearly exhausting her as well. She gave in and headed for the elevator. I found a seat by a window overlooking the terrace; darkness now engulfed the vista, but the ocean was right outside. The bar was tiny and there was hardly any space between the seats. There weren’t many people. A man facing me had a hot sandwich and glass of beer in front of him. It was already his third glass but the sandwich was still intact. He spent most of his time focused on the window. Every so often he would turn his head and smile. I drained a glass of wine and ordered another. He pulled his chair closer and started talking from across the table. “Are you from China?” he asked politely. “Yes.” “There aren’t many Chinese restaurants around here. There’s the Li Ji next door. They serve hot pot.” “Good choice actually, for this weather.” “It is cool this evening, but tomorrow will be nicer. You could go out to sea. Have you been?” “No. My mother will get seasick.” “So you’re keeping your mother company?” “You could say that,” I said, knowing she thought it was the other way around. “I have three kids. Two of my daughters work in the city and my son’s divorced. He once brought my granddaughter here on holiday and they spent the whole time out on the boats.” “You live here?” “I own a rental shop across the street. It’s got anything you might need, from skateboards to boats.” “Do you catch fish on the ocean?” “Sure, I was good with a line and hook once, but I got tired of the sea and don’t go out anymore.” “Uh-huh.” “What do you say I invite you out for dinner tomorrow?” “But...” This was the last night I thought. “But what? Bring your mother along, or do you have 16
any other family members here? I want to hear about your city. I had a pacemaker implanted this year. I’ll never be able to travel again, but I’m tired of this place.” He swallowed another mouthful of beer. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not. The man wrote down his phone number. It had a long area code and country number and he insisted I call him the next evening. Picking up my room card I said goodbye and walked onto the terrace to smoke my last cigarette of the night. The rain stopped, and the air was cleared of floral aromas, leaving only the fishy stink of the sea. It was so much colder. I huddled up to light my cigarette and turned around to see the old man sitting; lonely in a leather chair. His eyes were shut as though he were sleeping. “Stop holding me so tight. You’re pulling my clothes,” he said into the wind. “What!” I shouted, but it was as though the wind was whisking our words back from where we came. “You’re pulling my clothes!” He turned his head around. “Slow down. They drive on the left here. You keep hugging the line.” “I’m only going 60. Stop nagging!” “But there’s too much wind. I’m getting a headache.” “Then why don’t you wear a helmet?” “Mm-hmm.” “You never listen—we need to stop at a pharmacy— did you put on sunscreen?” he said softly, lowering his voice. He didn’t know that his words were scattered by the wind. Ten whole years had passed since. We had been driving down an island road with a magnificent Buddha and swarms of irritating bees in the distance. But now everything was fine. I couldn’t even remember that island’s name. All I could dredge out of my memory were worthless bits and pieces. At any rate, there and then I inhaled a mouthful of smoke and let it all go. – TRANSLATED BY NICOLAS RICHARDS (芮尼克)
Author’s Note: This piece was written after I went on a trip with my mother. What I want to discuss is the distance between people—be it family, lovers, or strangers—how we communicate as individuals, how such communication is effective, and, ultimately, how we interpret solitude and solve the problems it causes.
T
he ThreeCharacter Primer of Film Please don’t read the Three-Character Primer of Film by Liu Cheng (柳城). If you do, you’ll become extremely wise in the ways of screenwriting, and I don’t need the competition. ——David Seidler ( American playwright, The King’s Speech won for Best Original Screenplay at the American Academy Awards in 2010 )
www. theworldofchinese .com Order online for discount prices Chinese Edition (Yellow) English Edition (Red)
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FAMILY
MATTERS
A family reunion you don’t want to miss
冬至这天，有黄家人的年度家庭 聚会，也有平地村黄氏大宗祠里 最热闹的祭祖仪式 PHOTOGRAPHS BY MENG QINGCHUN (孟庆春) , TEXT BY LIU JUE (刘珏)
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inter solstice marks the shortest day in the northern hemisphere; perhaps this was the reason for the Huang family’s annual reunion—celebrating being halfway out of the dark. Given the fact that there are over one thousand extended family members coming over, the shortest day possible is certainly a blessing for anyone forced to put on a smile for the arduous duty of maintaining family spirit. Joking aside, the Huang family of Pingdi Village in Foshan City, Guangdong Province, have been there for almost a century. Originally from the Yangtze River Delta, their ancestors decided to move south to escape the
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constant war and upheaval. Over the past century, the family became successful in Guangzhou, as its members spread all over the country and abroad. Like all large clans with wealth and reputation, the Huangs have kept a grand ancestral hall at their home base. A sacred place for the spirit of the ancestors to rest and guard the family, it also serves as the venue for local festive occasions such as weddings and birthdays. First built in the Ming Dynasty (1368 – 1644), the ancestral hall, though “protected” by the spirits, has gone through a number of tribulations, including being vandalized during the Cultural Revolution and used by the local government as a conference hall, teahouse, and later a warehouse. In the 1990s, donations from the Huangs restored their ancestral hall to its former glory, having been given the status of a historic relic site and continuing to serve as a spiritual symbol to unite the family. Winter solstice worship is one of the two major Chinese ancestral worship events throughout the year, the other being the Qingming Festival in the spring. On this day, seniors over 60 in the Huang family pray in a group in front of the shrine and later, as with every family reunion, pose for a photo together. Everyone is treated to a grand feast while they chatter on into the night—the Chinese family experience.
KALEIDOSCOPE
THE FESTIVE OCCASION BLENDS THE OLD AND THE NEW, APPARENTLY CALLING FOR BOTH TRADITIONAL DRESS AND SELFIES Issue 1 /2015
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BEFORE THE MORNING RITUAL TAKES PLACE, AN ELDERLY FAMILY MEMBER POSES FOR A PICTURE IN THE NEWLY-DECORATED COURTYARD OF THE ANCESTRAL HALL
THE SENIOR MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY, TIRED FROM THE DAY’S GRAND EVENT, TAKE A BIT OF TIME FOR A MIDDAY NAP 20
THIS WINTER EVENT IS A PERFECT OCCASION FOR YOUNG BOYS TO LEARN THE HISTORY OF THE FAMILY
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WOMEN USED TO BE FORBIDDEN FROM ENTERING THE ANCESTRAL HALL, BUT TODAY A SELECT FEW CAN JOIN THE WORSHIP. HOWEVER, IT’S STILL NOT THE NORM FOR WOMEN TO ATTEND AT ALL.
A GROUP PHOTO OF THE ELDERS AND THE YOUNGSTERS IN FRONT OF THE MAIN HALL
A GRAND FEAST TO FEED THE ENTIRE FAMILY CARRIES ON INTO THE NIGHT Issue 1 /2015
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MADE IN CHINA
SACRIFICIAL SWINE I Pretty pigs trotted out for contest, slain for clan ancestors
潮汕年俗赛大猪
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t’s not often a “beauty pageant” aims to select the fattest contestant, and it’s even rarer for all the entrants to be dead, but when the pigs of Chaoshan (潮汕) celebrate the New Year, they do it in style. The clans of Chaoshan, a coastal region nestled along the border of Guangdong and Fujian provinces, have been holding the Big Pig Competition (赛大猪) for over a century. Part beauty contest, part animal sacrifice, part New Year’s feast, the event takes place on the 17th day of the first lunar month each year. Although these dolled-up pigs may be the stars of the event, they never live to see it. They are slaughtered the night before, to be put on display and judged by
Meng Qingchun by
Photographs
their weight and decoration, in what effectively amounts to a sacrifice to clan ancestors. Celebrations take place in village all over the Chaoshan area. In each village, the event is organized by two of the area’s clans—which are essentially sprawling extended families that all share a surname. Each family within the two clans contributes pigs to the competition, while elderly members of the clans decorate the halls, organize the contest and act as judges. The Zhou and Xu clans are the key players each year in the event held in Guanshan (冠山) Village of Shantou (汕头) City, Guangdong Province. In 2014 they revealed their swine for all to see, in an event which locals believe helps ensure a plentiful harvest with healthy livestock. But although those clans are the key players, they do not face off against each other. Each year there are effectively twin competitions, and everything is kept within the family, which means judges are only judging pigs from their own clan and are less likely to be accused of favoritism. On the morning of the competition, the slaughtered pigs are laid upon a wooden frame about a meter high. They are decorated with items such as stamps and ribbons, often with fruit stuffed in their mouths. Some even place slaughtered goats— also regarded as animals suitable for sacrifice to ancestors—above the pigs to increase their “value” to the ancestors, and perhaps just as importantly, their value to the judges. They are first brought to large tent areas in front of the ancestral halls of the clans. Hauling the pigs, which often weigh hundreds of kilograms, to these tents used to be an arduous challenge, which required the family to have a team of strong, young men on hand. Fortunately for those young men, these days hoists are used. But plenty of locals—most probably the ones who don’t have to do
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the carrying—express regret that the tradition of hauling the pigs has fallen by the wayside. Each pig is labeled with the name of the person who provided it. At the 2014 event the photographer counted over 600 hundred pigs in the tent of the extended Zhou clan, whereas the Xu clan, with a tent just a few hundred meters away, was much smaller in scale. Elderly clan members serve as judges, reviewing the decorations and overseeing the weighing of the pigs. A “Pig King” for each of the two clans is then chosen based on its weight and presentation. In recent years, these “kings” have weighed over 500 kilograms. After its coronation, the Pig King is moved to the front of the tent and the owner receives a cash prize, which was donated by the clan’s richer family members. Naturally, any proper coronation requires a parade. In this case, the festivities are designed to lure a deity into the ancestral hall— the scene bursts into life as gongs are sounded and music is played, while colorful flags are twirled amid the “lion dance” performance. Clan members then file into the hall to burn incense, while the local “Teochew opera” (潮剧) is performed outside the hall throughout the day. And, as with most traditional opera, the audience tends to be dominated
A local man paints his pretty pig, preparing for the final judgement
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by older people. At the end of the day, each family brings home the bacon, ready to settle down to a meal, which undoubtedly consists of a great deal of pork. The families then almost certainly need to keep pigging out for the rest of the week in order to use up all that meat. The Chaoshan region is the most densely populated area in China. Ever since the tenth century, people in this coastal region have had a reputation as famed sailors, leading them to make their mark all over the world. In the Ming and Qing dynasties, when trade and commerce began to take off, this focus on the ocean was reinforced. From the 19th century to
(Top) A man stamps his porcine princess before the competition (Bottom) Trussed up and decorated, the pig awaits judgment
the 1940s, increasing numbers of Chaoshan people emigrated, taking traditions and customs overseas with them. In many Chinatowns across the world, Chaoshan culture is very well represented. Today, there are more Chaoshan people living abroad than in the region, with an estimated population of 15 million diaspora throughout the world, compared to the 10 million in Chaoshan. The strong emphasis on clan and family ties runs in tandem with a generous attitude toward education and philanthropy. As a result, the Chaoshan area provides the most private donations for school funds and public
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facilities out of all regions of the country. The precise origins of the Big Pig Competition are unclear, but the links to ancestor worship indicate a fairly long history. Some clues to its history are actually revealed within the characters used in the title itself. The character 赛 was first used to refer to “contest” roughly 1,500 years ago, but the nature in which it was used is very telling—it was used in reference to when families provided sacrifices such as geese or pigs, and tended to compare them, in order to boost their status— sounds familiar, does it not? – DAVID DAWSON AND LIU JUE (刘珏)
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C O V ER S T ORY
THE BUSINESS OF BY GINGER HUANG (黄原竟)
BUDDHISM
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Is greed prompting the downfall of Buddhism? 黄金加身，是否佛心依旧？
Illustration
by
Gao Fei
I
n October, 2014, Nyima Dorjee Rinpoche, abbot of Palden Ningye Monastery, set off on a journey to what Tibetans call “Handi”, which loosely translates into “the Han ethnic land”. He was on a sacred mission to visit Mount Wutai in Shanxi Province. China has four sacred mountains in Buddhism, but Mount Wutai is the most celebrated. It was a particularly special destination for Nyima Rinpoche because it is the “Seat of Awakening” for Manjusri, a bodhisattva of wisdom, who Nyima believes was reincarnated as his mentor. For this well-traveled, 38-year-old monk, the site is one of many pilgrimages on the quest for ultimate wisdom. He felt a sense of accomplishment and exhilaration when he encountered the valley filled with monasteries. Marshalling the utmost respect, Nyima performed his sutras and carefully groomed himself before entering the mountains.
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From there, things started to go horribly wrong. In a particularly grand monastery, he saw two monks sitting with their feet resting on the chairs, “like two bosses,” he says. He asked which monastery was the most ancient; they didn’t know. He inquired about the differences between Han and Tibetan Buddhism; they didn’t know. Nyima asked if they were converted; they
“THESE TEMPLES ARE MAGNIFICENT, BUT THERE WAS NO BUDDHA, OR BUDDHA’S WAY, IN THEM. THEY ARE HOLLOW.”
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