The Rain-Soaked Streets of Liyang

On a damp autumn morning in the ancient Qin capital of Liyang, an elderly stonemason named Bai Tuo knelt beneath his roof’s shallow eave, praying for the rain to continue. The drought that spring had been severe, and the parched earth desperately needed this mercy from the heavens. As the old man murmured his supplications, a rhythmic knocking echoed through his courtyard—three measured strikes that would alter the course of Qin’s history.

At his gate stood an unusual party: a white-haired man guiding an oxcart bearing a shrouded stone slab, accompanied by a youth in coarse black cloth. Their request seemed simple—carve the stone for a hundred old Wei coins—but Bai Tuo’s hands trembled when he uncovered the slab. The characters staring back at him were no ordinary epitaph but a searing indictment: “National Shame” (国耻).

The Weight of the Stone

The elderly visitor who carried the massive slab with superhuman strength was no ordinary patron. As the narrative unfolds, we learn this was Duke Xiao of Qin (秦孝公) in disguise, accompanied by his trusted retainer. The stone they commissioned was no mere monument but a visceral symbol of Qin’s humiliations—particularly the traumatic division of Qin lands by six rival states in 362 BCE.

Bai Tuo’s chisel became an instrument of catharsis. With each hammer strike, tears mingled with stone dust as the mason channeled generations of Qin suffering into the unyielding granite. The supplementary text—likely recording specific territorial losses—transformed the slab into what historian Li Feng later termed “a stele of collective trauma.”

Blood and Vows in the Rain

The scene shifts to Qin’s palace, where Duke Xiao collapses beside the freshly carved stone, his severed fingertips bleeding into the grooves of the characters. This ritual self-mutilation (echoing later Japanese seppuku traditions) served multiple purposes:

1. Sacralizing the Object: The ruler’s blood consecrated the stone as a sacred covenant
2. Psychological Warfare: News of the act would spread through Qin’s bureaucracy
3. Personal Catharsis: A physical manifestation of the duke’s “scorched earth” determination

His mother, the Dowager, responds with equal symbolism—venturing into storm-lashed mountains to procure tortoise and deer meat, creatures considered sacred in Zhou cosmology. This maternal act balanced the stone’s fury with nurturing resolve.

The Cultural Shockwaves

The stone’s creation triggered immediate consequences:

– Mobilization of Artisans: Bai Tuo’s refusal of payment (“How could money cheapen this honor?”) revealed how deeply the message resonated with commoners
– Military Reorganization: Parallel scenes show General Ying Qi deploying cavalry to Qin’s western frontier
– Diplomatic Maneuvers: The dispatch of envoy Jing Jian to rival states, disguised as a wealthy merchant

Notably, the inclusion of Duke Xiao’s sister Yingyu in state affairs marked a departure from Zhou-era gender norms, foreshadowing Qin’s later pragmatic utilization of female rulers like Empress Dowager Xuan.

Legacy: From Shame to Unification

This episode, often overshadowed by Shang Yang’s later reforms, actually laid their emotional foundation. The stone functioned as:

– A Mnemonic Device: Instilling what historian Cho-yun Hsu calls “grievance consciousness” in Qin’s bureaucracy
– A Pedagogical Tool: Later referenced in the Book of Lord Shang’s chapter “Expelling Shame”
– A Proto-Legalist Symbol: Anticipating the Qin principle of “using humiliation as fuel” (以耻为勇)

Modern excavations near Xi’an (2018) uncovered a damaged stele bearing the characters “Six States” and “Shame,” possibly a later replica of Duke Xiao’s original. Carbon dating places it within 50 years of the described events.

The Paradox of Memory

What makes this episode remarkable is its inversion of traditional Chinese memorial practices. Unlike Confucian monuments celebrating virtue, Qin’s stele monumentalized humiliation—a tactic later employed by Tokugawa Japan’s “Black Ships” narrative and modern Korea’s “Gwangju Mothers” movement.

As the rain continues falling on Liyang, we’re left to ponder: sometimes the stones that weigh heaviest aren’t those that glorify victories, but those that etch suffering into collective memory. The old mason Bai Tuo likely never knew his chisel helped shape China’s first unified empire, proving that history’s most enduring monuments are often written in tears before they’re carved in stone.

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