The Ghost of the Great Wall
Venice Ma, Group 4: Fiction, Maryknoll Convent School Secondary Section
he summer breeze caresses my lips. It is warm, but moist. I tiptoe along the narrow edge of the wall,
listening to the silent music of my world. The sky develops into a pretty crimson mess, merging with
the silhouette of a lean figure. Vaguely, it approaches.
I see him clearly now. The tall boy, whose soft features render himself not older than fifteen of
age, has curious eyes that sparkle as he studies me in interest. Occasionally, he futilely attempts to push
back his bushy black hair from his forehead. I greet him with a courteous smile. He seemed slightly startled at
my amiability, and words jam out of his mouth,
“
Tell me about you.”
I slip out a delighted laugh. I tell him.
“
I enjoy the sun these days. It is light and brilliant on my weak falling façade. I get tired easily these days,
given the amount of people who rush by the area relentlessly. There are just too many voices, too many
footsteps… You know you’re one of the rare chaps, coming by at this odd hour, and staying for the
entertainment of my delicate tongue.
My tale is a long-living proof of life, a yin and yang to the swift passing moons that tangles with the story
of a nation of hardworking people.
I was one of the callous hands which laid the first bricks upon the northern borders. My family lived
through the history of the rising and falling of a tyrant, Qin Shi Huang. In the rule of Qin, I, being the only
young healthy person in my family, or perhaps the neighborhood, was ‘honourably chosen’ to take part in the
construction-- what was deemed in my times impossible-- of the Great Wall. Rumours ran wild, speaking of the
deathly cliffs and heavy stones.
I told myself, devotion is a merit, something to be proud of, not afraid of. Nevertheless, I panicked. I cried
through the night. My father had a long-suffering case of an overly sensitive nose, prone to vigorous coughing
and sneezing to the tiniest peck of sand. I was worried, so worried about his living if I left this miserable old
man.
Turns out, fate’s reckless jokes could turn your worst nightmare into something even worse. My worries
dissipated the next morn, leaving behind despair and agony scarred across my heart. The old man, who couldn’t
even stand the scent of graceful buds, brought himself among the bare rocks and dust of the northern border. I
was hence allowed to stay.
I survived, as a result of a loss.”
The boy, looking indifferent, feels the jagged gaps between the bricks with the back of his fingers. He
stares down into the depths of the surrounding precipice, then shifting away uncomfortably as if he too, knows
how treacherous this wall could be.
“
After four moons or so, the emperor recognized the sluggish progress. He sought the very last pairs of
able hands to build. I was being chosen to join the suffering labour, which however no longer include my father.
He, with his flesh and bones had adhered the first stones of the Great Wall. His soul, along with countless others,
now became the soul of the Great Wall.
Still, I cried, for fear I will lose myself the way my old man did. And who would sweep my mother’s
grave in autumn? I knew all too well— No one would.
I joined the labour camps within the week. During those painstaking nights, I questioned the value of my
father’s actions. His fruitless sacrifice proved no match to fate. Yet, I consoled my teary mind immediately,
making myself believe that he had salved his low spirits, by doing what he could do for me.
Inevitably, the thoughts alternately dominated my life at the Great Wall. I managed to live until witnessing
the fall of Qin Shi Huang. The state was in chaos when his son took the throne upon his death. The construction
was aborted. People, being set free suddenly, were confused and lost. They were so used to dedicating their lives
to constructing, and that doing what they could was the only meaning of their lives. People had nowhere to go,
nothing to do, no one to reunite with. A lot of them died that very day, out of sheer blankness of life.”
My listener seems absorbed in his faraway thoughts, pacing to and fro. The next moment, he spots a dark
stain of red on the side of the steps, and he glances up to me, confusingly.
“
Why then? Why stay here? What happened?”
My eyes dim briefly, as I reach for the cries of the sorrowful population to continue my tale.
“
I went back to my empty home, cleaned up my mother’s grave, and lived a tranquil quiet life. I was never
able to adapt back to the life I had had before though.
T