Side Story

Supplement: Yao’s Hometown

In the late summer of 2006, just at the beginning of September, I first departed for Tianjin to attend medical university. I still recall that, though autumn had officially arrived, the sun blazed mercilessly, the air sweltering with heat, making everyone restless and irritable. By the time I reached Tianjin Medical University, hauling my assorted luggage, I was already drenched in sweat. After completing the registration procedures and inquiring about my dormitory’s location, I could think of nothing else but to hurry there as quickly as possible.

As soon as I entered the dormitory, I saw a slim, slightly tanned young man sitting on a bunk. He stood up at once, grinning widely to reveal a mouthful of dazzling white teeth, which made his bronze complexion even more striking.

While setting down my luggage, I smiled at him and said, “Tianjin’s weather is so hot! It’s almost unbearable.” He laughed, “Yeah, it’s much cooler in Shanxi than here! My name is Tian Liang. You must be the new roommate.” Wiping the sweat from my brow, I nodded. “So you’re from Shanxi? I’m from Baoding, Hebei.”

“Really? You’re from Baoding? The other two guys in our dorm are also from Baoding! That makes three of you from Baoding! What a coincidence!” Tian Liang exclaimed in surprise.

I responded with delight, “Really? Three of us?” “Yes, there are a lot of people from Hebei! Only two of us are from Shanxi, one from Zhejiang, one from Heilongjiang in the northeast, and one from Shandong!” Tian Liang replied with a laugh. Just then, a tall, lanky youth walked in from outside, at least six feet tall. He strode past, glanced at me, and grumbled, “Well, this lousy school isn’t even as good as our high school! I want to quit!”

Even though I had never heard the Shandong dialect before, anyone could tell from his accent that he was from Shandong. I thought to myself, “This must be the Shandong guy. The stories about the tall men from Shandong are true! And this dorm is just as shabby as they say—eight people to a room, just like in high school! I never heard of such a thing. There are only a few broken basketball hoops on the field, and the academic buildings look decades old!” I, too, was full of complaints.

Later, I learned that the dilapidated buildings on campus were actually the site of a former American military camp. General Marshall had once been stationed there, and it was now a key historic site protected by the city of Tianjin. In the early nineteenth century, Tianjin was full of foreign concessions, and this area had belonged to the British, with small Western-style buildings everywhere. In fact, these houses were older than my grandfather.

I didn’t know what to say in response, and after a while, the Shandong guy just sat on his bed in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

I hurried to unpack, make my bed, and put away my things. We were all still a bit stiff and awkward, each busy with our own affairs. Before long, a few more people arrived. Tian Liang pointed at two of them and said, “These two are also from Baoding! You’re all from the same hometown!” I turned to look. One was short and a bit chubby, with a prosperous-looking face, while the other was tall and thin, with fair skin and slightly curly hair.

I quickly asked, “Which part of Baoding are you from?” “I’m from Baigou.” “I’m from Xushui. Are you from Baoding too?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” I nodded with a smile, “from the area around Wangdu and Tang County.” Before I’d finished speaking, another fair-skinned young man came in behind them, his ears sticking out a bit, and he was laughing with a bespectacled youth, “Zhejiang is great! Heaven above, Suzhou and Hangzhou below... Is it this hot in summer too?”

Before the bespectacled guy could reply, another cool-looking youth with light blond hair appeared and joked, “Where I’m from is much more refreshing! The south is humid and hot! Hey, now our dorm is all here!” The blond youth glanced around the room with satisfaction.

I studied the blond youth carefully and thought, “So strikingly handsome! With a high nose and deep-set eyes, he looks almost Russian.” Later, I learned he was from the Tahe Forest District of Qiqihar, Heilongjiang, on China’s northernmost border with Russia in the Daxinganling region, famous for its timber and trade with Russian ports.

Now the dorm of eight was complete. It was the first time we had all met, and though we were strangers at first, it took only a short while before we grew more familiar. After all, we were young and enthusiastic, with emotions worn on our sleeves.

At first, we chatted about the college entrance exams, comparing scores and experiences from province to province. As evening fell, the conversation turned to local customs and cultures. Our dorm had someone from the west (Shanxi), the east (Shandong), the south (Zhejiang), and the north (Heilongjiang). While we studied in Tianjin, not one of us was a local.

I talked about my home in Wangdu and Tang County so much that people often asked, “Are you from Wangdu or Tang County?” I’d laugh, “My home is at the intersection of Wangdu, Tang County, and Shunping County. The village to the east is in Shunping, the one to the west is in Tang County, so we’re in a no-man’s land!” Speaking of which, Tang County is famous as the place where Norman Bethune sacrificed his life, and there is a memorial to him there. Wangdu was once one of the three major chili capitals in China, though its fame has faded, and Shunping is famous for the Five Heroes of Langya Mountain. Within a few dozen miles are the ancient tunnels of Ranzhuang, but I’ve never visited them, despite the proximity.

When I finished, Tian Liang continued, “My home is in Xiangfen County, Linfen City. You’ve all heard of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, right? Emperor Yao was from our region! Our place is Yao’s hometown!”

For some reason, I was startled to hear this, “If you go five or six miles west from my home, you reach the Taihang Mountains, where there’s a mountain called Heilongtou. There, a statue of Emperor Yao has been erected. Wangdu got its name because Yao's mother climbed the mountain to look for her son. There’s also a nearby village called Yao City, and further on, Yao Mountain. This can’t be a coincidence.” I said to Tian Liang, “Yao’s hometown should be in our region! How can it be yours?”

He was not convinced, “The Yao Temple in Linfen is famous throughout the land; how could it be false?” I was amazed but had no evidence to refute him, so I let it go, though the question lingered in my mind. Our conversation soon turned to other topics, but I could not stop pondering this mystery.

Several months later, on a whim, I came across a book about Chinese regional customs in the university library. Since I was studying in Tianjin, I naturally wanted to understand the city’s history and culture. I came across a saying: “Beijing slickers, Tianjin sharp-tongues, Baoding lackeys!” I felt a bit offended. The meaning of the first two is clear—Beijing for its smooth talkers, Tianjin for its sharp-tongued locals, famous for crosstalk and street quarrels. But “lackeys”? Did that mean Baoding people run errands for others?

Baoding is known as the cradle of martial arts—Southern Fist, Northern Leg, with the Northern Leg style rooted in Baoding, home to both the Northern and Southern Shaolin traditions. Does this mean Baoding is famous for its martial arts? It didn’t seem so. Anyway, the book mentioned that the neighboring counties of Tang, Shunping, and Wangdu are one of the three major claimants to Yao’s hometown in China. Linfen in Shanxi is another. The third is said to be in the south of the Three Ah region, with the most important claims from Shunping and Linfen. Unexpectedly, both Tian Liang and I represented these two claims! The Yao Mausoleum in Linfen is thirty kilometers northeast of the city in Guo Village. I was shocked—my own village is also called Guo Village, though it is more than ten kilometers west of Shunping!

Fifteen kilometers south of my home is Qingdu City; two kilometers to the west is Yao City, the imperial capital; three kilometers south is Baiyao; seven or eight kilometers northwest is Gucheng, known as the First Capital of Tang Yao; and seven or eight kilometers northeast is Yiqi Mountain, named after Yao’s maternal family. One kilometer due west is Gudushan, said in ancient records to be the residence of Yao’s mother, Qingdu. Unfortunately, this mountain, once several hundred meters high, was later leveled by quarrying. Back home, I’d heard stories of people finding numerous porcelain and jade artifacts on Gudushan. I couldn’t help but wonder about the coincidence of these two Guo Villages!

Though puzzled, I could find no answer and resolved to investigate further another day. In the blink of an eye, a year or two passed. By chance, I traveled to Zhangjiakou and then to Bashang, winding along the mountain highway. Gazing at the desolate outer landscape, I felt a sense of wonder. I had never seen such vast, sparsely populated land before—low hills covered in yellow grass, under a deep blue sky. It was my first visit, and curiosity compelled me to take in every sight.

Passing through Zhangjiakou, in the middle of Bashang, the highway crossed a bridge inscribed in brilliant red with the words “Wild Fox Ridge.” On the cliffs beside the road, countless scenes of Mongol or Xiongnu herders driving cattle and sheep were carved. These rock murals, drawn with simple lines and vivid forms, seemed almost to come alive. In my ears, I could almost hear the thunder of galloping horses, the cries of herders. For reasons unknown, I shivered—this landscape was strangely familiar, as if seen in a dream, yet also eerie and unsettling.

Later, I learned online that Wild Fox Ridge was famous as a strategic pass and ancient battlefield, the site of countless bloody clashes. The most famous battle was when Genghis Khan defeated Wanyan Chengyu of the Jin Dynasty here, a pivotal victory that paved the way for his conquest of the empire. His most esteemed Chinese scholar was Hao Jing, known as the “Su Wu of the South,” who served as Imperial Reader, Grand Academic of the Zhaoxin Hall, and was ennobled as Duke of Ji, posthumously titled Wen Zhong. The legendary “Imprisonment of Hao Jing in the South” refers to him.

Why do I mention this? Because it’s said that during the Yuan Dynasty, a Han Dynasty stele was unearthed in Yaodu, Yao City, Shunping County, Baoding, the inscription partially illegible. It came into the hands of Duke Hao Jing, who, while investigating the area, found many ancient sites related to Yao, including the legendary Cave of Yao’s Mother. Hao Jing thus concluded that Yao’s mother gave birth to him in Tang County. From the Yuan Dynasty onward, the dispute over Yao’s hometown began in earnest.

Riding the coach up the winding mountain highway, the terrain gradually leveled out after the twisting hills. Not long after, the vista opened up into a vast, boundless plain. The phrase “the sky is vast, the steppe boundless” may be clichéd, but nothing could be more fitting—this was the Bashang Grassland. It was early spring, so there was no hint of green; instead, the remnants of winter snow had not yet melted, and in places the fields were white, some areas coated with alkali deposits. It was hard to tell the difference. After another hour or so, we reached our destination: Huapiling.

At that time, the film “Painted Skin” had just been released, and when I first heard the name “Huapiling,” I was puzzled, unsure which characters made up the name. In my mind, I kept thinking of “Painted Skin Ridge,” which gave me an involuntary chill whenever I thought of it. Even after I’d been corrected, the association was hard to shake. But what happened next was an even stranger coincidence: both Huapiling and Painted Skin Ridge shared the same protagonist—a red-furred fox, or perhaps a fox spirit.

The story of this red-furred fox was told to me by my university girlfriend, whose hometown was on the Bashang Grassland. There, everyone knew the strange tales about the red fox. My trip was, in fact, specifically to seek it out.

I stayed with an old herdsman’s family. The customs here were entirely different from back home—though still in Hebei, this was essentially a Mongolian region. The old herdsman was over sixty, his face weathered and dark from years on the plateau, the wrinkles on his face as deep and rugged as the gullies of the Loess Plateau. I sat on the heated brick bed while he brought me a bowl of boiled raw milk, thick with a layer of cream on top. But I could not stomach the strong, raw flavor. I tried several times to drink it, but each time I brought the bowl to my lips, I set it down again.

The old man was unfazed and smiled, “You young ones can’t handle raw milk!” He then downed half the bowl in a few gulps. Embarrassed, I apologized, “I’m sorry, sir, I…” He waved his hand, signaling that it was nothing, and sat cross-legged on the kang. “I heard from the girl you’re here for the red fox!” The “girl” he referred to was my girlfriend, his grandniece. By rights, I should have called him Third Uncle. I perked up, nodding eagerly, “Yes! The red fox…”

He chuckled, took out a tobacco pouch, slowly rolled a cigarette, and began to smoke. As the smoke curled, his gaze grew distant. I dared not interrupt, so I quietly turned on my phone’s recorder and waited. But after a long while, he remained silent. Eventually, I noticed his face twitching, his eyes narrowing, and a flicker of fear passed over his features. Suddenly he coughed violently, clutching his chest. I did not know whether it was the smoke or some memory that had startled him.

I hurried to support him, and after a long bout, he recovered. “I’m getting old, probably not many years left for me!” he said. I tried to comfort him, “Sir, you’re so strong, you’ll live to a hundred!” He laughed, “A hundred? That would be the fox immortal’s age!” Then, after a pause, he continued, “The fox immortal is that red fox. Locals call it the fire fox, or the old bearded fox. The fire fox… my father told me that even when he was a child, the fire fox was already here. I grew up watching it, and back then, it was already this big—” He gestured with his hands, indicating a length of over a meter. I couldn’t help but exclaim, “That big?!”

He nodded. “Yes, as big as the big yellow dog in the yard!” I still found it hard to believe. I’d always thought foxes were the size of rabbits, or at most ducks or geese. But this fire fox was as large as the huge dog in the yard, more than half a meter high and a meter and a half long. If true, it was astonishing.

He continued, “In recent years, it’s grown even bigger. When I used to herd sheep on the hill, the fire fox would sit far off, watching me. It never moved. We never dared provoke it—just kept our distance. It’s as clever as a person!” I nodded, “Foxes are famous for cunning, and this one must be the king of foxes!” I asked if I could accompany him the next day to see if we might encounter the legendary fire fox. He smiled, “I haven’t seen it for two or three years now. People say the old bearded fox has become immortal and left. But they say Old Man Bate in the next village saw it once last winter behind the mountain. After that, no one’s seen it. You can come with me tomorrow, but I doubt it will be worth your while.”

I murmured an acknowledgment. I had come all this way for the fire fox, and if I returned empty-handed, I’d feel my journey was in vain. Though I knew it was unlikely, I still held out a sliver of hope—what if, just what if...

The next day dawned bright and clear. I followed the old man, herding fifty or sixty sheep to the slope behind the village. The place was called Huapiling for a reason—the hills were lined with rows of birch trees stretching into the distance. The old man explained, “These birches weren’t here before—they were planted later as part of the Three-North Shelterbelt Program. Look how well they’ve grown!”

I nodded, but my eyes scanned the landscape. The old man, seeing this, chuckled, cracked his whip, and drove the sheep forward. I followed, not knowing how far we’d walked. At dusk, he turned the sheep back. As we returned, I realized my last hope was gone. By the time we got home, night had fallen. Seeing me so downcast, the old man laughed, “Boy, the old bearded fox has captured your soul!”

The next day, I took my leave. On the bus, watching the endless birch forest recede into the distance, I seemed to see an old herdsman on the slope, with a fiery red fox crouched nearby, gazing into the distance.

There is a famous ancient myth about Yao marrying the maiden of Gudushan, recorded in Volume Six of Zhao Ye’s “Annals of Wu and Chu” from the Eastern Han. In the myth, Yao visits Gudushan, sees a nine-tailed white fox, and hears a song about the nine-tailed fox sung by the locals. Sensing that his marriage should take place there, he marries the maiden of Gudushan, who is, in fact, the spirit of the nine-tailed fox—the mountain’s guardian spirit. To marry her was to ensure prosperity and happiness. Thus, when Yao met the mountain fox, he was meeting the maiden of Gudushan, and so chose her as his bride.

Appended Poem:

“Wild Fox Ridge”
By Zhou Boqi, Yuan Dynasty

High ridges reach above the clouds,
Daylight brings an empty, chilling cold.
Frost and ice grip all four seasons,
The stars, close enough to grasp.
Its northern slopes control the borderlands,
Its southern face meets the Yan frontier.
Ravines deep, impossible to fathom,
Paths wind in endless coils.
The grass waves and bends in the hollows,
The stony track, rough and steep.
Wheels and hooves crowd and clatter,
Yet my horse moves with calm and ease.
It’s as if I’ve ascended to the heavens,
Looking down on the world below.
The hills close in, forming a narrow pass,
Encircling like ancient city walls.
I pause my whip on flat ground,
Turn to gaze at the commanding heights.
Shedding my cloak as warmth returns,
Sweat soaks my saddle on the long road.
Willows shade the ancient highway,
Orchards ripen for the imperial feast.
Though north of Juyong,
The sights are finer than Youji.
Only now do I realize—
A single ridge divides climates, cold from warm.
A small town called Xuanping,
Just two stops away.
Cattle and sheep thrive in the fields,
Rich earth yields abundant crops.
The country folk honor their superiors,
Their gates seldom opened for guests.
They cherish peaceful times,
Their achievements surpass those of ancient Yu.
Han and Tang once held sway here,
Now it’s all part of the Central Plains.
How great the map of our land,
How arduous its making!
Let the six armies be ever vigilant,
Our golden walls secured forever.