The Emperor's Tomb

“Tang is ruthless. He sent men to end the battle before it even began. What will be your response, Minister?”

The past few hours, in this no-nonsense place, had made him feel strangely vulnerable, challenging all that he thought he knew about himself. He’d never directly ordered the death of anyone—though he’d arrested many who’d eventually been executed. For the first time the enormity of what he was about to do weighed down on him. Perhaps Pau was right. Ruling China required strength. But he wondered. Could he kill with the same cool detachment Pau Wen displayed?

Probably not.

“We must go,” Pau said. “It’s only a short drive.”

He knew where.

To the Dries Van Egmond Museum.

Before it was too late.

TWENTY-FOUR

GANSU PROVINCE, CHINA

TANG OPENED THE TRAILER’S DOOR AND STEPPED OUT TO A moonless night, the stars blocked by clouds. The air here, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest city, was refreshingly clear. He flexed his legs. Old emotions boiled within him. He was close—so close—and knew it.

He thought of his father, his mother, naïve souls who knew nothing of the world beyond their simple village. They’d lived surrounded by trees and terraced vegetable plots, tucked away on the slopes of a mountain. His only brother had died in Tibet, keeping rebels at bay. No one ever explained what had happened there. His parents never would have asked, and no records existed.

But it didn’t matter.

Fight self. That’s what Mao had preached. Believe in the Party, trust the state. The individual meant nothing.

His family had worshiped Mao. Yet his father had also held a great affection for Confucius, as had his father before him.

Only after Tang had left the village, specially chosen to attend secondary and higher education, had he come to realize the dramatic contradiction. His philosophy teacher at university had opened his eyes.

“Let me tell you about a man who lived in the state of Song and dutifully tilled his field. His efforts provided ample food for his family and his village. In the middle of the field stood the stump of a tree. One day a hare, running at full speed, bumped into the stump, broke his neck, and died. This was quite fortuitous, since the meat was greatly enjoyed by all. Thereupon the man left his plow and kept watch at the stump, hoping to obtain another hare in the same manner. But he never did, and both his family and the village suffered from his neglect. That is the flaw of Confucianism. Those who try to rule the present with the conduct of the past commit the same foolishness.”

He listened to the distant rumblings of the derrick’s generators. Dawn was not far away. He thought again of that teacher at Hunan’s university, the one who asked him—

“What will you do upon graduating?”

“I intend to study in Beijing and obtain a higher degree in geology.”

“The earth interests you?”

“It always has.”

“You have spirit and promise. I’ve seen that these past three years. Would you perhaps consider something in addition to your studies, something that might answer those questions you constantly pose to me?”

In the days after, he’d listened as his teacher explained about the distant Shang dynasty, the earliest for which there was any documentary evidence, existing nearly 4,000 years ago. A highly developed state with a tax collection system, a penal code, and a standing army, it was ruled by an autocrat who styled himself I the single one man.

“That was significant,” his teacher said. “The first time we know of one man assuming total power over many.”

The Zhou dynasty succeeded the Shang and carried forward that autocratic ideal, expanding the ruler’s authority.