By Abheek Choudhary
“An empire must fall to give its people true equality, while there is a monarch there is no equality, and when there is equality, there is no monarch.”
So thought Yan Zishan. He thought it, but he did not write it down. Why? If he wrote it down, he’d be persecuted for treason against the Emperor. The word of the emperor yet held sway amongst the residents of Zhangye. Yet a storm of discontent was brewing against the emperor, he could feel it. He was but a mere civil servant, an accountant for the Governor’s lavish and extravagant spendings, but he could feel the people’s anger bursting at the seams. The governor had bought, for his personal use, 5 cars from the Americas, top of the line, each costing about 100 times the pay for a day’s work in labour. His name, Song Liren was muttered by the residents of Zhangye as some sort of curse, almost like replacing the word “devil” in their vernacular. He spent nothing on the people when there was a drought, nor aided the poor population of the city, which grew ever increasingly thanks to the draconian laws implemented by the Qing government.
Yan Zishan did not like this. He was born and raised in a traditional family, always having respect for the most-pious Emperor and his court, for that was the way it was in China, and that was the way it had always been. The Mandate of Heaven, a torch of sovereignty passed across dynasties in China, from one emperor to the next, had existed since many a millennium and formed a nucleus around which Chinese culture coagulated. There had always been an Emperor and there had always been a court around that Emperor to manage the Middle Kingdom to their liking. The Emperor’s hand always weighed the hardest on the Chinese people, his will was divine and power was righteous.
Yan Zishan was, in his childhood years, the Emperor’s greatest supporter. He could (and would) quote half-remembered lines from Confucious about how it was just and wise to follow the Emperor’s commands for they were divine in origin and he was the Son of Heaven.
Yet as he passed through his developmental years, he found himself questioning his ideals. He was educated, the first person to be in his family, thanks to a government program awarding a free scholarship to a random member of his district of the city. He originally dreamed of being a great officer and fighting in the Qing Army, but these dreams were cut short, literally, when he did not pass the height requirements for entry into the Nanjing Military school. He was therefore, forced to go to the Cangzou school, a western-style university funded by the French Legation. Here he was taught in the western style, learning everything about the Western World that he could cram in his head. When he graduated, his diploma was that of civil service, but in reality, he had neglected all of that in exchange for learning about Western history, culture and philosophy. He suffered through Seneca, Aristotle and Aurelius all the way up to the French revolution. For this section of his education, since the funding came directly from the French Organizatione Republique, they spent a considerable amount of resources teaching it. They even showed a play, performed by Franco-Indian theatre group from Pondicherry, describing the events of the revolution. And as Yan saw the costumed executioner hold the bloodied head of Louis XVI, he felt in his heart a dangerous and dark belief rise with greater ferocity than it ever had till that point in his entire life. He had lived his whole life loving and respecting the Son of Heaven, most Righteous Emperor of the Middle Kingdom. Now he wanted nothing but his head and his power in the hands of the people.
His eyes had been opened. But the light, it was too bright for him yet. So, he forced them shut. He went back to Zhangye where he memorized the works of Laozi, thinking they would restore his faith in the monarchy. He wrote essays on the various good things different dynasties had done for China. He read all the pro-monarchy literature he could find, whether from China or from abroad. His heart and mind came to a sort of compromise thus, he was a republican by heart, but he wouldn’t accept it, nor would anyone he knew, so he used false words and hollow statements to show his allegiance to the Imperial system. This internal conflict made him depressed. He couldn’t be who he really was, nor would he accept himself if he could. This deep depression made the rest of his years a sort of blur, he somehow landed a semi-relevant job in his home province, an accountant. Not the full use of his passions, just a job to pay his bills and keep him alive. He still, to that day, cried tears of shame over this, thinking he was bringing dishonour to his ancestors and motherland. His mouth still spoke the words that he had spoken when he was a child, lips, teeth and tongue still all working to sing praise of the Emperor, but his heart went the other way. It was dismal, having to live with a heart which believed the opposite of what you wanted to believe, and yet Yan lived it.
But now, the purchase made by the governor, that was his breaking point. The fire that had raged in him all those years ago, raged again today, with greater heat than ever before. His eyes had re-opened and his heart was free once more. Instantly, 20 years of depression and self-hate crumbled in a minute by a wave of true emotion unleashed by his heart. He accepted himself for who he truly was. Now, he was free.
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