The Assassin (Film)

The Assassin by Taiwanese director Hou Hsiao-Hsien [Hóu Xiàoxián 侯孝賢] is a wǔxiá film starring Taiwanese heartthrobs Shū Qí [舒淇] and Chang Chen [Zhāng Zhèn 張震]. The film won the award for Best Director at the 2015 Cannes Film Festival.

The screenplay is based on Niè Yǐnniáng [聶隱娘], a wǔxiá short story by Péi Xíng [裴铏]. The story is set under the Táng against a semi-historical background, and is one of the very first nǚxiá (female knight-errant) tales, if not the first one. I haven't seen the film yet (it is released on 9 March here in Paris), but my understanding is that it departs from the short story.

Anyway, here is a translation of the short story that I found on-line:

Niè Yǐnniáng was the daughter of Niè Fēng, the General of Wèibó (an area in modern day Héběi Province) during the Zhēngyuán Period of Emperor Dézōng’s reign in the Táng Dynasty. She was only 10 when a Buddhist nun came to beg for alms. Fond of Yǐnniáng, the nun asked the general: “Will you give me your daughter and allow me to educate her?”

General Fēng was angered by this, rejecting and reprimanding her.

The nun, however, remained stalwart, threatening the mighty general: “Even if you put her in an iron locker, I will still take her away.” The little girl disappeared that very night.

Astounded and dismayed, the general ordered a search of the area for his missing daughter, but to no avail. Thoughts of their missing daughter haunted the general and his wife for years to come.

Five years later, the nun returned with Yǐnniáng. “Her training is finished, and it’s time for her to return home,” the nun explained. As the girls’ parents celebrated the return of their daughter, the nun vanished in an instant. The family wept with joy.

When asked about her years of training, Yǐnniáng simply replied: “It was just reciting scripture at first, nothing else.” With disbelief, her father asked again, Yǐnniáng replied: “I don’t know what to do. You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you honestly.” General Fēng reassured her, encouraged her to speak.

Yǐnniáng began her tale: “When I was first taken, in the dark, I had no idea how far I had travelled with the nun. At dawn, I found myself in a large cave. There were no people outside, only a thick forest that housed many apes and monkeys. There were already two girls in the cave, both 10 years old as well. They were beautiful and smart, but I never saw them eat. They bounced around the steep mountain cliffs like apes in the trees and never fell. The nun then made me swallow a mysterious pill and handed me a two-foot long sword. It was so sharp that you could cut a hair in half by blowing it toward the blade. I learned mountain climbing with the two girls. Gradually, my body became lighter and lighter. After a year of sword practice, I was able to hunt apes. Later, I switched my target to beasts such as tigers and leopards. Every time I tried, I cut their heads off with ease. Three years later, I could stab eagles in the sky. By this time, my blade had worn down to only six inches, but I could still attack birds easily.

“In the fourth year, the two girls stayed back to guard the cave while I was taken to the city. I had no idea where I was, but the nun pointed to a man in the crowd, explaining his sins and crimes in great detail, then she said: ‘Cut his head off for me when his guard is down. He will be as easy a target as a bird.’ She then passed me a three-inch dagger. In broad daylight, on a bustling street, I decapitated him without raising any attention. I stuck his head into a bag and brought it back to the cave. Later, the nun used potions to turn the head into water.

“In the fifth year, the nun assigned me another assassination. She said: ‘That official is sinful. Many innocent people have died at his hands. Go to his room in the night and cut his head off.’ So, I went with my dagger and snuck into the house through an unclosed door. I hid on a beam as the official played with his child, and I didn’t do the deed until daybreak, bringing his head back to the nun. The nun was in a thundering range and asked why I was so late. I told her: ‘I saw the official playing with his child. It was so lovely that I couldn’t bring myself to kill him.’ But the nun snapped at me: ‘The next time that happens, you kill the child first. Kill his loved ones before you end his life.’ At that lesson, I could only bow.

“Then, one day, the nun said, ‘You can hide a dagger in the back of your head, let me show you. It won’t hurt. And, now you can draw it out whenever you need it.’ Amazing as it seems, the nun did as she said, continuing: ‘Your training is coming to an end. You can go back home.’ When we were parting, she also told me that she would see me again in 20 years.”

Yǐnniáng’s strange tale struck fear deep into her father’s heart.

Later, Yǐnniáng was discovered to be disappearing into the night, only to reappear in the morning. General Fēng was too scared to enquire as to her whereabouts. But with this fear, his love for her began to diminish.

One day, a mirror polisher was passing by Yǐnniáng, and she told her father: “That young man can be my husband.” Fēng didn’t dare to refuse and married Yǐnniáng to the young man. Yǐnniáng’s husband had only one skill—polishing mirrors, nothing else. So General Fēng provided generously for the couple but kept both of them at a distance.

Years later, Fēng passed away. By then, the Commander of Wèi had heard of Yǐnniáng’s skills, hiring her and her husband as his close officers. This went on until the Yuánhé Period (806-820) under Emperor Xiànzōng. One day, the commander found himself an enemy—the Governor of Chénxǔ, Liú Chāngyì.

The commander sent the couple to collect Liú’s head. This time, things did not go so smoothly. As they set out, Liú foresaw their coming, and gathered his officers: “Wait at the north of the city tomorrow morning; you will see a man and a woman riding a white donkey and a black donkey respectively. The man will try to shoot a magpie with a slingshot and miss. The woman will grab the slingshot and hit the magpie with a single shot. Bow and inform them that I sent you there to greet them.”

Everything went exactly as Liú said. The surprised couple said: “Governor Liú is an amazing prophet. How else would he know we were coming? We wish to meet him.” When Liú arrived, the couple bowed and apologised: “We deserve the punishment of death for such malicious intent!”

Liú replied: “No, you were only carrying out orders. I wish to hire you. Please stay here and trust in me.” Yǐnniáng realised that her old master could not compare to Liú and agreed: “My governor, we are convinced by your talents and are happy to serve you.” When Liú asked about compensation, the couple said, “Two hundred bronze coins per day will be more than sufficient.” Their demands were met. Later on, Liú found out that the couple’s donkeys were missing. He ordered a search, eventually finding a pair of paper donkeys in a bag, one white, the other black, causing the great governor to infer that—as well as having considerable martial powers—Yǐnniáng and her husband possessed powerful magic.

A month passed and Yǐnniáng told Liú: “Our former commander does not know we now serve you. He will send others. Cut some of your hair and wrap it in red silk. I will put it on his pillow to let him know our loyalties have changed.” Liú did as she said, returning early the next morning, saying: “The message is sent. The commander will order an assassin named Jīngjīnger to kill me and collect your head in the early hours of the morning, but don’t worry, I will find a way to defeat him.” Liú was relieved and showed no signs of fear, but he did light candles during the night and remained alert. At midnight, a red flag and a white flag magically appeared, floating and seemingly fighting with each other around his bed. Suddenly, a head and a body fell from thin air. Yǐnniáng appeared, triumphant: “Jīngjīnger is dead.” She dragged the corpse outside and turned it into water with the potion the old nun used, consuming even the corpses’ hair.

Yǐnniáng later issued Liú a warning: “There will be another assassin named Kōngkònger early tomorrow morning. His skills are mysterious and magical. No human has ever lived to speak of his power, even ghosts can’t track him down. He will sneak in without so much as a shadow. I am no match for him. This time, you will have to depend on luck. Please wear Yúnnán jade around your neck and cover yourself with blankets. I will turn into a small insect and hide in your intestines—the only place I won’t be discovered.” During the night, Liú did what Yǐnniáng suggested. With eyes closed, he lay on his bed. Suddenly, a loud noise rang from his neck. Yǐnniáng jumped from Liú’s mouth to congratulate him: “You are safe! Like an eagle, the assassin only strikes once and flees. He is deeply ashamed by the failure and will be hundreds of miles away in a few hours.” Later, Liú checked the jade and found a deep dagger mark. In gratitude and amazement, he awarded Yǐnniáng and her husband with handsome gifts.

In the eighth year of the Yuánhé Period (813), Liú was transferred from Chénxǔ to the capital. Yǐnniáng did not wish to go with him. She said: “I will travel to various mountains and lakes to visit the saints. All I ask is that you give my husband a small position.” Liú agreed and gradually lost contact with her.

When Liú passed away, Yǐnniáng arrived at the capital on her white donkey and grieved at her former master’s memorial.

During the Kāichéng Period (836-840) under Emperor Wénzōng, Liú’s son, Liú Zòng, was on his way to report for duty as the Governor of Língzhōu. On an old plank road in Sìchuān, he ran into Yǐnniáng, whose appearance hadn’t changed a bit; she still rode upon a white donkey. At the reunion, Yǐnniáng gravely told Zòng: “I see a great disaster in your future, you should not be here.” She gave him a pill and asked him to swallow it. “Quit your position next year and go back to your hometown of Luòyáng. It’s the only way to avoid this disaster. My pill will only keep you safe for one year,” she said. Though Zòng had his doubts, he thanked her and offered colourful silk as a gift. Yǐnniáng refused and disappeared. Sadly, Liú’s son did not heed her words, and—after one year—Zòng kept his position. He died mysteriously in Língzhōu. That was the last time anyone ever saw Yǐnniáng, the great female assassin.

[Judge Dee] Map of Pénglái

Pénglái (蓬萊) is the city where Judge Dee starts his mandarinal career. Contrary to the districts in the later novels, many of which are fictional, Pénglái is a real port city on the Bóhǎi Sea, on the north-eastern coast of Shāndōng Province.

Close to the wilderness, to the sea, and to the frontier provinces of north-eastern China, Pénglái is an excellent starting point for a role-playing campaign set in Imperial China.

The map below is from Robert van Gulik's novel The Chinese Gold Murders.

Key
1. Tribunal
2. Temple of Confucius
3. Temple of War God
4. Temple of City God
5. Drum Tower
6. Nine Flowers Orchard
7. Hostel
8. Crab Restaurant
9. Wharf
10. River
11. Korean Quarter
12. Creek
13. Rainbow Bridge
14. White Cloud Temple
15. Flower Boats
16. Watergate
17. Town House Dr. Tsao
18. Yee's house
19. Koo's house
20. Restaurant

The Role of the Chinese Magistrate

I am re-reading The Chinese Gold Murders detective novel by Robert van Gulik. The postscript by the author gives insight as to the exact role of the magistrate in Imperial Chinese society. I believe it can be of great use to whomever wants to play a magistrate in a role-playing game set in Imperial China:

A feature all old Chinese detective stories had in common was that the role of detective was always played by the magistrate of the district where the crime occurred.

This official was in charge of the entire administration of the district under his jurisdiction, usually comprising one walled city and the countryside around it for fifty miles or so. The magistrate's duties were manifold. He was fully responsible for the collection of taxes, the registration of births, deaths and marriages, keeping up to date the land registration, the maintenance of the peace, etc., while as presiding judge of the local tribunal he was charged with the apprehension and punishing of criminals and the hearing of all civil and criminal cases. Since the magistrate thus supervised practically every phase of the daily life of the people, he is commonly referred to as the "father-and-mother official".

The magistrate was a permanently overworked official. He lived with his family in separate quarters right inside the compound of the tribunal, and as a rule spent his every waking hour upon his official duties.

The district magistrate was at the bottom of the colossal pyramidal structure of ancient Chinese government organisation. He had to report to the prefect, who supervised twenty or more districts. The prefect reported to the provincial governor, who was responsible for a dozen or so prefectures. The governor in his turn reported to the central authorities in the capital, with the emperor at the top.

Every citizen in the empire, whether rich or poor and regardless of his social background, could enter official life and become a district magistrate by passing the literary examinations. In this respect the Chinese system was already a rather democratic one at a time when Europe was still under feudal rule.

A magistrate's term of office was usually three years. Thereafter he was transferred to another district, to be in due time promoted to prefect. Promotion was selective, being based solely on actual performance; less gifted men often spent the greater part of their lives as district magistrates.

In exercising his general duties the magistrate was assisted by the permanent personnel of the tribunal, such as the constables, the scribes, the warden of the jail, the coroner, the guards and the runners. Those, however, only performed their routine duties. They were not concerned with the detection of crimes.

This task was performed by the magistrate himself, assisted by three or four trusted helpers; these he selected at the beginning of his career and they accompanied him to whatever post he went. These assistants were placed over the other personnel of the tribunal. They had no local connections and were therefore less liable to let themselves be influenced in their work by personal considerations. For the same reason it was a fixed rule that no official should ever be appointed magistrate in his own native district.

The present novel gives a general idea of ancient Chinese court procedure. When the court was in session, the judge sat behind the bench, with his assistants and the scribes standing by his side. The bench was a high table covered with a piece of red cloth that hung down in front to the floor of the raised dais.

The constables stood facing each other in front of the dais, in two rows on left and right. Both plaintiff and accused had to kneel between these two rows on the bare flagstones and remain so during the entire session. They had no lawyers to assist them, they might call no witnesses and their position was generally not an enviable one. The entire court procedure was in fact intended to act as a deterrent, impressing the people with the awful consequences of getting involved with the law. As a rule there were every day three sessions of the tribunal, in the morning, at noon and in the afternoon.

It was a fundamental principle of Chinese law that no criminal could be pronounced guilty unless he confessed to his crime. To prevent hardened criminals from escaping punishment by refusing to confess even when confronted with irrefutable evidence, the law allowed the application of legal severities, such as beating with whip and bamboo, and placing hands and ankles in screws. Next to these authorised means of torture magistrates often applied more severe kinds. If, however, an accused received permanent bodily harm or died under such severe torture, the magistrate and the entire personnel of his tribunal were punished, often with the extreme penalty. Most judges, therefore, depended more upon their shrewd psychological insight and their knowledge of their fellow men than on the application of severe torture.

All in all, the ancient Chinese system worked reasonably well. Sharp control by the higher authorities prevented excesses, and public opinion acted as another curb on wicked or irresponsible magistrates. Capital sentences had to be ratified by the throne and every accused could appeal to the higher judicial instances, going up as far as the emperor himself. Moreover, the magistrate was not allowed to interrogate the accused in private. All his hearings of a case, including the preliminary examination, had to be conducted in the public sessions of the tribunal. A careful record was kept of all proceedings and these reports had to be forwarded to the higher authorities for their inspection.

"Judge Dee" is one of the great ancient Chinese detectives. He was a historical person, one of the well-known statesmen of the Táng dynasty. His full name was Dí Rénjié, and he lived from A.D. 630 till 700. In his younger years, while serving as magistrate in the provinces, he acquired fame because of the many difficult criminal cases which he solved. It is chiefly because of his reputation as a detector of crimes that later Chinese fiction has made him the hero of a number of crime stories which have only very slight foundation in historical fact, if any.

Later he became a minister of the Imperial Court and through his wise counsels exercised a beneficial influence on affairs of state; it was because of his energetic protests that the Empress Wǔ, who was then in power, abandoned her plans to appoint to the throne a favourite instead of the rightful heir apparent.

In most Chinese detective novels the magistrate is at the same time engaged in the solving of three or more totally different cases. This interesting feature I have retained in the present novel, writing up the three plots so as to form one continuous story. In my opinion, Chinese crime novels in this respect are more realistic than ours. A district had quite a numerous population; it is only logical that often several criminal cases had to be dealt with at the same time.

I have adopted the custom of Chinese Míng writers to describe in their novels men and life as during the sixteenth century, although the scene of their stories is often laid several centuries earlier. The same applies to the illustrations, which reproduce customs and costumes of the Míng period rather than those of the Táng dynasty. Note that at that time the Chinese did not smoke, neither tobacco nor opium, and did not wear the pigtail– which was imposed on them only after A.D. 1644 by the Manchu conquerors. The men wore their hair long and done up in a topknot. Both outdoors and inside the house they wore caps.

天哪!

Scarlet Heroes

Scarlet Heroes, by Kevin Crawford, is a little gem of an old school FRP that I have already very briefly mentioned here at the time of its crowdfunding campaign via a Kickstarter.

The coolest thing with Scarlet Heroes is that it is really three products in one, and three that could have very well been sold separately.

The first 'product' is the setting itself: the Sunset Isles, a slightly Kara-Tur-like vanilla Oriental setting with a few original twists, like:

1- The Red Tide, a mysterious wall of demon-haunted mists that is slowly infecting the Sunset Isles.
2- The Shou, the savage aborigines that are being displaced by the more civilised races.
3- Non-'Asian' exiles that have fled their lands and invaded the Sunset Isles: the European-like Eirengarders and the Persian-like Eshkanti.
4- Spells that are different from the usual Old School D&D-ish spells.

The setting also has a slightly more south-east Asian feeling to it than your vanilla Oriental setting. Because of all the previously-discussed aspects, I think the Sunset Isles would actually work great in conjunction with Kenneth Hite's Qelong setting: I am pretty sure Aakom could be linked to the Red Tide, and the Varangians are an obvious match to the Eirengarders.

The second 'product' is a game system centred on one-to-one play, that is a referee with a single player. As a result, the single PC is a larger-than-life hero that can easily fell several opponents in a single round via the fray die mechanism.

The third 'product' is a very Old School (i.e., lots of tables!) system that enables you to play in solo mode. But this is no pre-written Tunnels & Trolls solo scenario or Choose Your Own Adventure book: this is a set of gaming aids that allow you to improvise as you go. Basically a solo narrative game but with Old School mechanics. Quite impressive.