chutzpah 天南

1. Lonely wanderer of the waterways

“That which is abundant in this world is water.”

Thus the northerner Li Daoyuan  sighed to himself one day.

In his day, the north was wetter and richer in vegetation than it is now. Yet it took another thousand years after Li’s death before humanity came to understand the immensity of the world’s water. Scientific research has shown that seventy percent of the earth’s surface is covered in water, mainly seas and oceans; this just happens to be the same proportion of the human body that is made up of water. 

Can we deduce from this that the world is itself a kind of organism? This is an interesting question, one that demands protracted investigation.

Whatever the case, as China has long been a country that turns its back to the sea and looks to the land, for someone in those days to say “that which is abundant in this world is water” would be as outlandish as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. 

Furthermore, Li Daoyuan’s “Commentary on the Classic of the Waterways” made very little reference to the sea. Almost without fail, when the subject of the oceans is mentioned the commentary comes to an abrupt halt, or else Li passes over the subject with a stroke of the brush; for example, “The Great Liao River runs into the sea at the city of An”, or “The east of Zhejiang pours into the sea”.

This was because in those days the sea was considered the edge of the world. 

The Northern and Southern Dynasties (420 - 589), when Li Daoyuan lived, were ravaged by war and fragmentation. But the water that flowed from his pen, the rivers, lakes, streams,  waterfalls, wells, and springs, surged unchecked, bursting through the borders set by fighting men.

In that war-torn landscape, Li Daoyuan used the maps and registries of the united Western Han imperial court (206 BCE - 8 CE) to paint his world of water, but not even he knew why. He was only ever dimly aware that he might be doing so as a sort of remedy, but that this remedy would perhaps, in the end, prove futile.  

Let’s say that it was futile; that he was determined to do something patently impossible. Was he not, in so doing, merely striving to play out his destiny?

And so he hoped to clarify the meaning of a man’s actions, because he was acutely aware that his obsession with water was a mystery that most men could not fathom. He knew so much of water, but what of his own soul?

Accompanying Emperor Xiaowei on his tours of inspection, when he wanted to rest he would steal off to one side, slowly smooth down his gown, and stare fixedly at the pulsing of the metalled veins on his bronzed arms; excitement would surge up inside him.

He had seen many civilians destroyed by war, he had seen the spiderweb tracery of their veins through their skin, still throbbing as they took their last breaths, the blood seething, never again to nourish their bodies. Is there really any difference between the balance of water in the world, and water in the body? Can they attain a state of perfect symbiosis? All these thoughts confused him.

But the obstinate Emperor does not see the world thus, nor do the generals preparing for war or the ministers busy with court intrigues. So Li Daoyuan became a lonely wanderer of the waterways. 

It was around this time that, one night, he dreamt of red water.  

At first he thought it was the blood that flowed everywhere in rivers - the rivers that often foiled his attempts to draw a pure and perfect map of the waterways. But he discovered that this was not so.

It was so dazzling in colour that it lost nearly all resemblance to water, and just like morning mist or lightning, it lingered only an instant before he awoke with a shout and sat up, dumbstruck.

The cold light from the stars poured like water down his broad, soft collar, and streamed down the hard line of his spine. After waking he recalled the image of the red water, the limitless expanse of deep red, creeping, decorous and silent. It was oppressive.

But was it a true memory? There was most likely no such body of water on earth, so perhaps the dream was an augury of something that Li Daoyuan had not yet encountered?

Over the following days the image reappeared several times in his dreams. The red water was expanding, until one day all the water in the world had turned red.

It was as if one type of water had come to rule over all other waters.

The water in the dream had become a sexual fantasy.

Suddenly, Li Daoyuan was gripped by the desire to see the waterfalls at Mengmen on the Yellow River; only their crashing waves and breathtaking heights could stir within him the doubts that no still heart should possess, and satisfy the excitement, the hunger, long stored inside him.

But as he made his way there, he became aware of a worry growing in his subconscious, that it was from the Mengmen falls that the red water spewed forth. But why did this worry him? Why the Mengmen falls on the Yellow River? Yellow and red were not complementary colours, after all.

Whatever the case, overflowing with love for, and fear of, this river of red, Li Daoyuan arrived at Mengmen. This was around the twenty-first year of the reign of Emperor Xiaowen (497 ACE), when Li Daoyuan was thirty-two years of age.

2. ‘Mirror Tao’

Li Daoyuan was disappointed to find that the waterfall at Mengmen was not red as he’d anticipated. But the sight of the Yellow River, a witch flying wildly with tangled hair, seemed to suggest the possibility of many different types of water, including those of which Li Daoyuan as yet knew nothing.

Li Daoyuan’s spirit was moved. He turned, and saw a verdant bamboo grove some hundred metres beyond the waterfall, an odd sight. As far as he was aware, bamboo grew only further south, so this must be an unusual species.

The delicacy of the bamboo contrasted intensely with the violence of the Yellow River. 

This swathe of emerald green was the colour of clear, fast-moving water, and provoked an intense sense of pleasure in Li Daoyuan. A path wound its way deep into the grove, around rocks of varying sizes, over ground daubed with light and shadow. After a short while he heard the gentle sound of running water; it had none of the ferocity of the Yellow River but sounded rather like a young woman singing under her breath. Li Daoyuan was even more overjoyed. 

The sound of the water rose and fell, advancing and receding, like a crystal clear stream speeding and jumping through the glossy black mountain cliffs. Li Daoyuan stilled his emotions, and began to grope his way towards the sound in a game of hide-and-seek. Left then right, forwards then backwards, his joy knew no bounds.

Suddenly the sound erupted, and it became clear he was close. He walked slowly towards it but the sound grew quieter again. Then, in an instant, it was there before him, not a galloping stream but a deep pool the size of a human face, a deep reddish brown. Long, slender bamboo encircled it on all sides, and despite the stillness of the air the surface of the pool rose and fell, as if there were fish churning the water from below.

Perplexed, he glimpsed a thatched hut through the flickering bamboo, its door, made from branches, was open. On entering he saw an old man sound asleep on a bamboo mat. At that very moment the sound of water exploded outside.

Li Daoyuan stood respectfully, with his hands by his side, waiting. Presently, the sleeping man awoke, and on seeing his guest, offered him a seat and some tea. Li Daoyuan examined the old man carefully, taking in the eyebrows that fell to his shoulders, and the arms that hung below his knees; Li Daoyuan knew that he was a hermit and he was filled with veneration.

The tea was a cool, green colour, with no trace of red in it, and therefore couldn’t have been made with the water from the pool outside. Just then, the water in the pool exploded again.

“It is my observation that there is no fresh water spring nearby, only that stagnant pool. It should be still, but why does it froth and roar so?” Li Daoyuan asked.

“There is much my guest does not understand,” the old man replied sternly. “This is no ordinary water, but a living creature.”

Li Daoyuan was astonished. The old man invited him to go down to the pool. The water was still, and only made faint mumbling sounds as if it was talking quietly with the old man. Li Daoyuan clapped his hands together and declared it a marvel.

“Creatures such as this are no different in substance to water,” the old man said. “Their shape changes according to their substance. This one’s name is ‘Mirror Tao’.”

“Why is he here?”

“Three years ago, one night at the end of the lunar cycle, a thunderstorm gathered over the Mengmen falls. Early the next morning this pool had appeared. At first it did not appear strange, it was only afterwards that I realised it was no ordinary water.”

After he finished speaking the old man called out a few times and again the water began to churn, emitting a noise like a brave lion or a strong man, before reverting to the voice of a young woman, or a cicada. Li Daoyuan tried calling out to the water but it ignored him, seeming rather displeased and embarrassed, like a young girl laying eyes on a young man for the first time.

Li Daoyuan told the old man that he had dreamt many times of this red water, and had journeyed here to investigate. The old man could not help but sigh.

Li Daoyuan reexamined the water and observed that it was clear and transparent, with no impurities, and the glossy appearance of lacquer. It was as if he was still dreaming. He reached out and brushed the surface of the water; it felt as if he had been ambushed by the warm, tender skin of a young woman. He reached further into the water, but it felt sticky, holding him. He wrenched his hand out. The water sounded as if was sneering at him, guffawing.

He returned to the hut with the old man. The old man told him that over the course of time he had learned to distinguish between the different sounds the water made, and in this way he had conversed with ‘Mirror Tao’, and had come to understand his life story.

‘Mirror Tao’ had told the old man that he had already forgotten which dynasty he came from, and did not even know if he was from the past or the future. All he remembered was that his forefathers were creatures not unlike humans, and they lived on the land. Then there had been a war, which destroyed their habitat, and they had no choice but to take refuge in the water, to which they soon adapted.

At first, they still looked much like human beings, but over the course of some ten thousand years they evolved to take on new forms, giving themselves over to a life in water - ‘I am the world, the world is me’, and that way, they could live forever. 

Then, one day, a new calamity befell them, and they had no choice but to leave the water and migrate to an unknown space.

More misfortune followed. It was not clear what exactly had gone wrong, but during the journey obstacles were hurled down in their path, and they never reached their destination.

“Where was this world in which they lived, where they formed a perfect union with the water?”

“The sea.”

“So the whole sea migrated!” Li Daoyuan looked at the tiny pool, terrified.

“Indeed, ‘Mirror Tao’ is the sea, and the sea is ‘Mirror Tao’,” the old man said sadly. “All his efforts to escape ultimately failed.”

Li Daoyuan didn’t know much about the sea, but on hearing this a tidal wave of emotion crashed over him. It was impossible for him to imagine that such a vast expanse of ocean and this meagre pool were one and the same thing. And when did the blue of the sea become red? Just as ‘Mirror Tao’ had wondered himself, did this happen in the past or in the future? He was deeply confused. The one thing he could be certain of was that the sea was, at that moment, still rising and falling, far away and indifferent to their concerns. Just as Li Daoyuan had never set foot in the south, when on earth would the ocean have come here?

“It’s such a pitiful creature. How long can he possibly survive here?”

“I fear time is running out.”

“What if we return him to running water?” As he suggested this, an image of the Yellow River at Mengmen appeared before his eyes, the waters surging with an energy he had never seen before. He thought of all his previous experiences with water, and dearly hoped that he could help save ‘Mirror Tao’. 

“If we do that, this creature will rapidly disperse and become a new ocean. It will be a way for him to be born again and grow. All the world’s water will turn red. ‘He is the one, the one is many.’” The old man frowned slightly. 

“Then...”

“Then, our world will become a world of water, and it will no longer contain the water we know.”

Li Daoyuan didn’t know how to respond.

Night had fallen, and Li Daoyuan stayed with the old man in his thatched hut. During the third night watch he awoke to the sound of whimpering from outside. It was hard to imagine that there was a life form, a world, which was formed out of water. He couldn’t help wondering whether the members of this strange species hadn’t destroyed themselves through some imprudence?

The sobbing grew louder. Was ‘Mirror Tao’ crying?

Maybe he was calling out to other creatures – all the world’s water? But Li Daoyuan already knew that those bodies of water had no souls. 

Li Daoyuan was curious about where the creature had originally planned to seek refuge. Where was it? A new place of escape beyond the sea, was, unfortunately, hard to imagine. 

The old man must have been used to it, as the sound did not wake him, and instead he snored loudly, seemingly caught up in a sweet dream. Li Daoyuan was disturbed and upset, so he threw on his clothes and went out.

The darkness was permeated with a fearful atmosphere; this was the time of night when even monsters did not dare venture abroad. It reached into even the densest corners, and up in the sky a ferocious, dark red nebula loomed above him. This mysterious wreath, far, far away, had never before hung so low. It felt as if it were about to drop onto his head. Li Daoyuan thought it looked like a bloodstain splashed on the sky. His whole body shook. After that, a thought that had never really occurred to him before appeared dimly in his mind. He had difficulty describing what exactly it was, it exceeded his powers of comprehension, nothing could induce greater despair that this.

‘Mirror Tao’s sobs became even more mournful. The surface of the water began leaping and jumping energetically, and then formed a column one metre high, as if reaching out to that other world, but the distance was still too great. Finally, the column of water gave up, and fell back, dejected, to perfect stillness. 

Li Daoyuan sensed... we might call it space, but actually it was something that exists outside of space, with a strength that exceeds all else, and the most elementary of structures; something which can neither be seen nor comprehended, but makes a prisoner of your imagination. Was it water? Or not water? It was the first time that such an awkward experience had intruded upon his otherwise perfectly planned life, introducing the possibility of change. When faced with this sort of being, one so impossible to describe in words, he thought, it didn’t matter if he were water or a person, the question remained, how could ‘Mirror Tao’ hope to rescue himself so easily?

A sourceless, lancing pain made him want to wail and cry out. At that moment, he felt that the pool of water was watching him like a surprised and timid eye. Ashamed, he controlled his feelings.

But for the ocean, what did it actually mean to transcend the ‘space’ of space? And how did ‘Mirror Tao’ discover this strange existence in the form of a water creature? If he really found his place of refuge, what form would he have to take in order to survive? One fears it would not be water.

Nothing in this world has an innate form.

At that moment, Li Daoyuan became conscious of his connection to the water, and a feeling of terror surged inside of him. He felt that his thoughts and body were about to become one with the water.

He stood, frozen to the spot, helpless, while the roseate dawn spread across the sky, and everything seemed to slip into the past like a nightmare. 

The water did not stir, but in its redness appeared a layer of ash. Flustered, he used his hand to stir the water, and could feel it beginning to coagulate, freeze, and recede.

“He’s dead.” Surprised, he turned back to look at the thatched hut only to see it too receding in a dense, grey fog.

He threw himself forward, using both hands to try to push the greyness back in through the flimsy bamboo door, but he was pushing a void. The void leapt into Li Daoyuan’s chest, causing him severe pain as if a screwdriver was boring through his heart. He looked up and saw that there was nothing before him but blue mountains and crags.

He turned to look behind him and saw a silver dot quivering in the sky, too high to reach, flickering close to the swollen, pallid sun before vanishing 

For one moment he experienced the existence of many worlds. And the one in which he lived wasn’t necessarily the most real.

After some time he left, feeling weary. Only once he saw that the Yellow River was still flowing did he let out a sigh of relief. The water resonated deeply with his soul.

3. No way to escape

On his return to Luoyang, Li Daoyuan wrote about this experience in his “Commentary on the Classic of the Waterways”. 

From then on, he worked even more dilligently at recording all the different bodies of water in the world as if afraid that they might, one day in the future, all vanish. 

Yet for a long time he refused to go to the seaside, making only the sloppiest references to the sea in a work which later scholars deemed not to be in accordance with his usually rigorous academic standards.

In the third year of the reign of Xiaochang (527 CE), after the treachery of the provincial governor of Yongzhou, Xiao Baoyin, was revealed, the court ordered Li Daoyuan to act as an ambassador beyond the Tongguan Pass, where he would negotiate with the traitor. This was, in fact, a plan to place him in danger, a plan concoted by Li Daoyuan’s political opponents, who wished to use the traitor Xiao as a means to finish Li Daoyuan off.

Li Daoyuan was, in fact, well aware of this fact, yet he went with an open heart, thinking of the pool of red water, which had witnessed the turning of time, yet had no means of escape.

A place from which even water has no escape; what manner of realm could that be?

Water, you fundamental element, you conquer all through your ability to yield, and yet  you found yourself in such a predicament. Surely, this is the deeper meaning of “that which is abundant in the world is water”. It is impossible to put into words the feelings of the geographers of that age.

In the end, Li Daoyuan met his end at the Yinpan Station (close to what is now Lintong in Shaanxi Province). His blood gushed from his body, seeped into the mud, forming myriad rivulets that eventually reached the seashore upon which he had never set foot. 

As if in some fateful response, not long afterwards the manuscript of Li Daoyuan’s “Commentary on the Classic of the Waterways” was destroyed in the flames of the war in Luoyang. Future generations never learned what Li Daoyuan had recorded in it.

Now, all we can do is piece together the surviving scraps that make up his description of the Mengmen falls, which amounts to one hundred and thirty-one characters. His landscape of surging waters and floating clouds has been considered a poetic masterpiece, inducing anguished sighs in subsequent generations of readers.

The Mengmen falls are today’s Hukou waterfalls. Research indicates that these waterfalls have moved more than five thousand metres to the north of their position when they were visited by Li Daoyuan.

In early summer, during the last year before the beginning of the third millenium of the Christian era, the muddy waters of the Hukou waterfalls suddenly turned a clear emerald colour. According to the people who have lived the best part of their lives on the banks of the Yellow River, such a thing had never happened before. What colour the river might turn in the future is anyone’s guess. Yet our most authoratative news agency has recently reported that the Hukou waterfalls will, in a hundred years’ time, disappear completely.

Translated by Anna Holmwood