When I arrived, everyone was staring at the mare, admiring her and praising her beauty. No one
believed she’s mine; she isn’t, she’s my mother’s.
Speaking in a low, rough voice, a soldier looked down at his parchment and asked, “Are you Bataar
Temür?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, “Yes, I am… sir.” He grunted in acknowledgement.
Someone came and took my mother’s black mare to the stables, while I was led to get my uniform.
There were protective helmets, armor and shields. I tried some on, until I found a size that fit.
Then Chuluun -- the head of soldiers – called a meeting.
He said, “You all will be trained to be feared by all.” Then, in a harsher voice, “especially the Chinese,
and we’re going to start now.”
We were led to a lean old man, an archer. He asked us, “Do any of you know how to use a bow and
arrow?” And of course we all could. All Mongols were taught the art of archery, soldiers or not. Yet some of
us were extraordinary, and others poor. We split up in groups: I left with more experienced soldiers. We learned
our ancestors’ tactics, including the special howling arrow that causes pain and panic in battle.
Day 4706
Today we learnt about Mongol armor: hard leather and flexible steel plates of different weights which
make it easy to reach for the arrows in our quivers.
Day 4708
Today we practiced riding horses into battle. They were impressed with me, not just with my mother’s
mare.
Day 5438
Chuluun is planning an attack at The Wall. He says we’re all ready: we can all aim with brilliant
accuracy and ride our steeds with amazing speed and balance. We will attack The Wall in two days. My time
has come, to avenge my beloved parents and my wonderful stallion.
Day 5441
Armored soldiers on horseback moved silently into groups. We quietly approached the towering Wall.
We couldn’t see the Chinese guards. How would we attack without being noticed?
Ten soldiers hid in the bushes near the guards. On signal, they each targeted a guard. I soon heard the
howling of the Mongol’s special arrows flying. Then screams, wails and bodies falling.
Next, someone from the first group came back to signal to the next group to advance. Both groups then
proceeded swiftly through the wall and into the city. I could hear the footsteps on the cold, hard ground and the
soft, quick breaths of nervous soldiers.
After a while I heard screams and shouts from the Chinese. When the first signs of smoke were in the
air, the rest of us rushed forwards, not bothering to be quiet anymore. My hair blew in the wind while I flew by
at the front of the group on my mother’s and my trusty mare.
Then I entered the path to the Great Wall of China for the first time. I smelt a smell I knew very well --
rotting and decay. The feeling of coldness and dread weaved through the wall also. Death had visited the wall
many times. Then time began to slow down for me; I felt nothing; I was just racing along the wall on a horse
with the echoing of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones.
As soon as we arrived at the fight I saw blood streaked everywhere and flames devouring many houses,
children crying with mothers dragging them away as arrows flew through the air.
All the excitement, the nervousness, the hatred, the desire for revenge, the willingness for a fight were
gone.
I had a flashback of my dying horse, my friend since I was three years old. How many people have lost
their horses because of us?
My mind flickered back to the memory of losing my mother and my father’s grief. How many people
will lose their mothers and wives because of the Mongols? I remembered how devastated I was when my father
died. How many people’s fathers and husbands died because of the Mongols fighting?
I then realized that men died building the Wall because of us. They wouldn’t have built it if we didn’t
attack them. But did we really have to attack them? It was childish for them to not trade with us because they
thought we were barbarians, but we were also childish to attack them. It made them believe even more that we
are barbarians.
Hong Mei turned the last page. She looked up to find tourists taking a photo of her and then moving on
their way. Little did they know that the best tourist attraction in China was built on hatred and disrespect.
Perhaps it’s true that each brick in the wall represents a life lost.
The she heard a voice she recognized well saying, “Hong Mei!” Her cousin had found her. She started
to follow him but stopped in her tracks. If she brought the diary home her parents were bound to take it away as