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most cowardly would choose to live with such shame.

      Unable to come up with the money to redeem himself, Sima Qian chose castration over death in order to complete the writing of his book, Shiji. Afterwards he became tormented by guilt for having chosen this ‘lowest of all punishment’. Not wishing to appear spineless and unmanly, he wrote to his friend Ren An to justify himself and to explain the rationale behind his decision.

      Ren An was the governor of Yizhou, now called Sichuan province. In Sima Qian’s famous letter, which may never have been sent to its intended recipient, the historian mentions that Governor Ren himself had recently fallen out of favour with the Emperor and was being accused of major crimes. The entire letter is composed of 2401 Chinese characters and was probably written in 93 BC. Below are three segments that I have selected and translated.

      If I were to die now as befits my punishment, my death would be as insignificant as jiu niu yi mao (the loss of one hair from nine oxen). How would it differ from the demise of a cricket or an ant?

      Besides, posterity will never consider such a death to be comparable to that of someone who perishes out of a sense of honour. They would say that it came about only because I had exhausted all other avenues of expiating my crime, yet found it impossible to forgive myself.

      So, why should I confirm their condemnation by carrying out this deed?

      A person dies but once. That death may be as monolithic as the Tai mountain or as trivial as a goose feather. It all depends on him…

      Having chosen castration, Sima Qian was well aware of the humiliation and suffering awaiting him for the rest of his life. He continued:

      I have incurred upon myself the derision and ridicule even of men from my own village. I have dishonoured my family name. I can never stand proudly again before the tomb of my parents. Even after the passing of a hundred generations, the memory of my disgrace will still linger on. This is what grips my mind and twists my guts nine times a day. Resting at home, I am in a daze, as if I have lost my way. I venture out, and know not what I should do or where I should go. Every time I remember my disfigurement, the sweat pours out and seeps through my robe. I have become no more than a slave in a harem. How can I disappear and hide myself somewhere in a remote mountain cave? Hence I go along with the common crowd, drifting aimlessly, gliding up and down with the tide, sharing their illusions and madness.

      Towards the end of the letter, he concluded:

      I encountered this monumental catastrophe before completing my manuscript. Because my work is not yet finished, I had no choice but to submit meekly to this most severe of punishments [castration]. When my book is finally written, I shall place it in the famous mountain archives for posterity. And should my words one day penetrate the minds of men who will value them, allowing my thoughts to burrow into the counties as well as great bustling cities, then even if I should suffer ten thousand deaths by mutilation, I would have no regrets…

      Instead of suicide, Sima Qian channelled his energy into writing his groundbreaking book Shiji (Historical Record). Totalling just over half a million words, it chronicles events from the time of the Yellow Emperor (a legendary and largely mythical ruler and sage who supposedly invented boats, oars, the compass and the fire drill, and lived in 2400 BC but the date is uncertain) to the reign of the emperor who condemned the historian — a period of over two thousand years. His book records the ancient history of China, a country about half the size of present-day China with its population clustered around the Yangtze and the Yellow River. From it we learn that the Shang dynasty lasted from 1765–1122 BC, and was followed by the Zhou dynasty. A succession of Zhou kings ruled China for about three hundred years through feudal vassals appointed by the king. China was vast even then and these feudal lords were given free rein to govern their territories as they saw fit. As time went on, the descendants of the local rulers became increasingly rebellious and independent. The stronger ones developed their own armies and defied the king.

      From 770 until 476 BC, China was only nominally governed by the House of Zhou. This was known as the Spring and Autumn period during which China was initially divided into as many as 170 different semi-independent states. Each was ruled by its own feudal lord (some called themselves kings), its own hereditary ruling caste, and had its own court and bureaucracy. The feudal lords fought against each other, with the stronger states annexing the weaker ones.

      By the beginning of the Warring States period (475–221 BC) this process of annexation had accelerated to such an extent that by 403 BC, only seven states remained. They were Qin, Zhao, Yan, Qi, Haan, Chu and Wei. Each state was headed by its own king, and the seven continued to wage war against one another. Gradually, it began to emerge that the state of Qin in north-west China was becoming the richest, strongest, largest and most efficient. Qin began systematically conquering and annexing the other states until King Zheng (259–210 BC) subdued them all and unified China in 221 BC. He called himself the First Emperor of the Qin dynasty (Qin Shi Huangdi) and planned for his dynasty to last for ten thousand generations.

      The chronicle of this long period of civil war is vividly narrated by Sima Qian in his book Shiji. He brings history alive by including biographies of notable individuals — not only the emperors who reigned and the ministers who governed, but also the warlords who lost as well as the words and deeds of the philosophers, writers, merchants, landlords, thieves, paid assassins, comedians and teachers who lived and died during the reign of each ruler.

      Released from prison after three years at the age of fifty, Sima regained Emperor Wu’s favour and was appointed ‘Palace Secretary’. Despite his disgrace, he was able to arrange an advantageous marriage for his only daughter. His son-in-law, Yang Shang, was a rising young star who eventually rose to become prime minister. Sima soon had a precocious grandson, Yang Yun, who was composing poetry at a very young age.

      In Sima’s spare time, he continued to write, and completed his manuscript just one year before his death in 90 BC, but he never dared reveal his work during his lifetime for fear of offending the Emperor further. He buried one copy in the cave of a ‘famous mountain’. The other copy he left to his only daughter and talented grandson, Yang Yun.

      Yang Yun became a marquis under Emperor Xuan (92–49 BC) and for a time enjoyed great favour at court. Yang judged it prudent to release Shiji some time between 73 and 54 BC and promoted it assiduously. Shiji was immediately popular and turned into a classic on which all later official Chinese histories would be modelled. It also became the first in a series of government-sponsored histories commissioned and compiled by the emperors of successive dynasties. The history of each dynasty was systematically recorded by court-appointed historians and illustrated with biographies of notable men (and an occasional woman) of that era. At present, there are more than 3600 volumes of official Chinese history, totalling over 45 million words, and describing events from the time of the Yellow Emperor to the present day.

      By focusing his energy into creativity rather than despair, Sima Qian became the most famous Chinese historian who ever lived. Nowadays he is certainly better known than the emperor who punished him so severely for speaking his mind.

      When I first heard the story of Sima Qian from my Ye Ye, I was only eight years old. Even at that early age, I remember being deeply moved by the Grand Historian’s plight. In those days, I was living in my father’s big house in Shanghai. My childhood was filled with fear and self-loathing. Although I never admitted it even to myself, I knew deep down that my stepmother despised me and wished to be rid of me. Perhaps because of this, I identified strongly and instantly with Sima Qian’s depression following his mutilation, although I didn’t fully understand what the term ‘castration’ implied. I only knew that it was something very bad and that he did not deserve the punishment.

      I understood Sima Qian because I too felt that I had no one to turn to for justice. Life was unfair and I had to fend for myself. After being bullied or beaten, my only refuge was to bury myself in books or write short stories to assuage the rankling within my heart. In time, the characters in my make-believe world became more real to me than my tormentors at home. Unlike my family members, these imaginary figures provided constant comfort and consolation. Reading and writing carried me away from my real life and conveyed me to another realm. In that

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