New Tales of the Great Wall
Kwan Siu Kan Gabriel, Group 4: Fiction, St. Paul's College
t always made him queasy, standing on the Great Wall. Something about it made it feel so unreal, so
impossible that it felt like he was standing upon empty air.
He looked around, taking in the immaculate brickwork that came to the top of his head, walling him
off from the green, sloping hills on either side. He cast his gaze ahead, following the snaking path the
artificial construction carved into the Chinese countryside. This was the Great Wall of China, all right.
Despite sections of the Wall being torn down or falling into disrepair over the centuries, he always managed to
situate himself in the picture-perfect part of its 6,000-kilometre length.
The wall of million leagues, indeed.
He started forward, finding no one else on the Wall save for him. The brick beneath his feet still took
some getting used to, but he was fine with adapting to it on his own. After all, he didn't come here to chat. The
air was crisp with birdsong, the skies were clear, and he could see the meandering hills for miles around.
Perhaps he came here for the weather. God knows they didn't get such good weather these days.
Soon, he found himself passing through one of the garrisons dotting the Wall every few kilometres. A
lone torch illuminated the interior of the brick construct, and he wondered at its necessity. What use could there
be for lighting in the middle of the day? Would a window not have sufficed? He did not let the question slow
him down, however, and instead continued out the other side.
Something whizzed past the back of his head, and his breath hitched at its proximity as he whirled round,
realising that the darkness in the garrison station had followed him out, painting the night ink-black.
Ink-black, that is, save for the dots of firelight twinkling between cracks in the Wall, winking at him from
far away. As he tried to discern their nature, one of them leapt from its place and flew straight at him, swelling
as if in elation.
It fell short by a few metres, slamming into the Wall beneath his feet with a thunderous blow that
shattered his footing, stumbling him. It saved him, though, from another red dot soaring through the night,
whistling through the air where his head had been.
Arrows. He thought. Arrows and trebuchets.
Then he saw the men on the Wall, armored in scraps of metal and hammered steel, shooting back at those
who would bring it down. More arrows flew by, but they always seemed to miss him by mere inches.
He laughed in the midst of the chaos, just as one of the defenders fell, his helm catching fire from the
arrow now stuck fast in it. He'd always had an overactive imagination, and this was a byproduct.
As the Chinese people come to their most perilous moment.
We're long since past that.
He blinked, and the daylight was on him once more, with no arrows or blocks of flaming stone soaring
overhead, and no staunch soldiers standing guard at the arrow slits. He shook his head. He preferred the peace
and quiet more, he mused, as he continued his long, slow walk.
And then he came upon the crack in the Wall, and he stopped himself just before he dropped off. He
looked down, seeing the missing bricks and tattered mortar at the tip of his dress shoes. He had no idea why he
wore those to such a casual stroll; He had to fix that next time. Anyhow, he had come to the end. That meant his
journey was coming to an end as well.
A chime sounded somewhere next to his head. Right on cue.
He squinted as the sphere lifted from around his head, letting natural light hit his face for the first time
since the ride. He sat up and cast his eyes round, finding no one else in the compartment other than him. It's only
fair; It was his compartment after all. He heard a rhythmic droning fill his ears, decaying in its tempo as he felt
the train slow down for its arrival. The intercom buzzed to life overhead, and he stretched himself in the plush
leather seat.
"
Arriving at City Central," a lady said, voice velvety and soft and distinctly Chinese. Some who gave
advice on the train's construction had proposed the intercom to be entirely in Mandarin, but he thought better of
it. The foreigners had to know where they were headed, of course. Wouldn't want them wandering off into the
desert regions otherwise.
The droning subsided to a dull hum, and he felt the magnetic locks beneath the train click into place. He
rose from his seat, gathering his briefcase and draping his jacket over one arm. The doors slid open soundlessly.
He walked through them, and found himself immersed in the hustle and bustle of morning commute. He had
come from the executive car, so the men and women in business suits knew to give him a wide berth as he
I