A Thousand Pieces of Gold Read Online Free Page A

than the emperor who punished him so severely for speaking his mind.
     
    When I first heard the story of Sima Qian from 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 I was 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 solace and consolation. Reading and writing carried me away from my real life and conveyed me to another realm. In that other kingdom, the playing field was level and I was given an even chance, just like everybody else.
    In 1991, one year after my stepmother Niang’s death, I received permission from my brother James to fly to Hong Kong and inspect her empty flat. As executor of Niang’s will, James promised me that the contents of the flat were now mine, since other members of the family had already taken what they wanted.
    At that time I was still practicing medicine full-time in California, but at the back of my mind I harbored vague thoughts of writing the book that I had always meant to write, ever since I was a child. The day after my arrival in Hong Kong, I visited a bookshop in the hope of finding some Chinese proverbs to use as possible chapter headings. I actually bought a volume but was not satisfied with its contents.
    Later that afternoon, I secured the keys from my brother and went up to the familiar building. In Niang’s empty apartment, smelling of mildew, mothballs, stale cigarette smoke, and neglect, haunted by ghosts of the past, I came across two dusty books lying in the corner of a closet amid a few discarded old photographs. The first book I picked up was in English and titled Selected Chinese Sayings by a writer named T. C. Lai. The second was a paperback copy of Shiji in Chinese.
    I flipped open the cover of Selected Chinese Sayings and, with a pang, saw my father’s familiar signature at the top of the page. On the next page was printed the author’s dedication, which read, “In memory of my Father.”
    Quickly, I perused the contents and saw that Selected Chinese Sayings consisted of a collection of the author’s favorite Chinese proverbs. I read that the book was first published in 1960 but reprinted in 1973, three years before Alzheimer’s disease took hold of my father’s mind. As I perused the proverbs, I could not help wondering whether this was a message from my father to give up medicine and begin my writing career. For once, Niang was not there to interrupt our communication.
    Next, I took Father’s copy of Shiji and randomly turned the pages. This was where I first came across the letter written by Sima Qian to his friend. In one passage, I read,
    All these ancient writers had pain in their hearts, for they were not able to achieve in life what they had set out to accomplish…. And so they felt compelled to write about their past, in order to pass on their thoughts to posterity….
    I, too, have dared to venture forth and commit myself to writing. I have collected all the ancient customs that were dispersed or discarded. I have investigated the affairs of the past and probed the reasons for their buoyancy