12 JUL 2019

This was my third visit to Xi’an, though I hesitate to call the first two proper visits. Both times were brief, hurried stopovers. The first time, I was only 16, I only had a peek at the city wall from the old Xi'an train station. The second time was just after I graduated from university, passing through Xi'an for two days on my way to Pingyao. What brought me back this time was, oddly enough, a Terra Cotta Warrior Exhibition at Te Papa in Wellington. I had seen the Terracotta Warriors countless times in textbooks and on TV, but seeing the display of ancient ceramic soldiers for the first time was far more awe-inspiring than I had imagined. Te Papa had them encased in exquisite glass, and for the first time, I realized that the figures possessed a mesmerizing artistic quality. I wonder if the real thing could even be more wonderful. The idea of standing face to face with the originals, in the very land where they’d once been buried, felt like a journey worth making. So from the a Southern Hemisphere winter, We flew into the Northern Hemisphere summer — this time determined to see beyond the city walls of Xi'an.

Built in 1370 during the early Ming Dynasty on the foundations of the Tang Dynasty's imperial city, the Xi'an City Wall stands an impressive 12 meters high and 12 meters wide, as spacious as a modern four-lane highway. Encircled by a protective moat, it remains one of the most renowned city fortifications from the late medieval period.

Riding a bike along the ancient city wall is a unique experience. Unfortunately, there were no bicycles available for the little ones, so the poor kids had to run after us, unwilling to be left behind. I always love riding bike on a summer evening, with a gentle breeze and good view.

We started from the twilight at Anyuan Gate to the enchanting nightfall at Yongning Gate.

Traveling with or without kids, museums to me are an absolute must. Each visit offers a quiet space to pause and connect with the past. I still remember reading a book when I was little, called Treasures in the Museum — and ever since then, I’ve been fascinated by the stories behind each artifact.

The Shanxi History Museum is China’s first large-scale national museum, from the prehistoric days of Lantian Man to the rise and fall of the Zhou, Qin, Han, and Tang dynasties. The highlight of my tour this time is the Tang Dynasty Tomb Mural, a special exhibition where cameras were not allowed. Isn't it the best way to visit a museum? Wandering through the hushed, dimly lit halls, we learned about the intricate techniques used to create these murals and the strict social hierarchy of Tang dynasty tombs.

Only the most distinguished members of the nobility were honored with mural-adorned tombs, and none were more prestigious than that of Crown Prince Zhanghuai, Li Xian. He had all the makings of a Tang dynasty prodigy — brilliant, artistic, and deeply cherished by his father. Yet, his promising future unraveled when he fell out of favor with Wu Zetian, the first and only woman emperor in China’s history, who also happened to be his own mother. In a tale worthy of a tragic drama, Li Xian was stripped of his titles and exiled by his own mother. At just 29, he took his own life, and it took more than two decades before his brother, Emperor Zhongzong, restored his title and grudgingly acknowledged that perhaps they had overreacted a bit. I can’t imagine a mother would do this to her own child, the myth behind history remains unknown.

Left is the top treasure of the Museum: Gold-Inlaid Agate Cup with Beast Head from the Tang Dynasty. Right picture is Tang Sancai, or "Tang Dynasty tri-colored glazed pottery," only uses three colors—green, brown and white.

The place to see the Terracotta Warriors is called the Museum of the Terracotta Army, located about 40 kilometers (25 miles) east of Xi'an city. Discovered in 1974 by a farmer, it has since become one of the most significant archaeological finds of the 20th century.

Despite mentally preparing myself for the inevitable throngs of tourists, I couldn't help but feel my enthusiasm wane the moment I reached the entrance, overwhelmed by the scorching summer heat and the jostling crowds.

Here's a comparison: the left photo was taken at the Museum of the Terracotta Army in Xi'an, while the right photo I captured three months ago at the Te Papa Museum in New Zealand.

Pit One is the largest display of Qin’s army — an overwhelming formation of chariots and infantry, over 6,000 life-sized warriors, each one unique in stance and expression. I squeezed through the dense crowd, and when the full force of Qin’s silent army revealed itself before me, I knew: no museum, no glass case, could ever truly recreate this moment. Only here, standing at the edge of the earth that once held them, could I feel the historical weight of an ambitious empire.

What was first uncovered were only fragments — broken limbs, shattered faces, scattered pieces of a buried army. The warriors we see today have been carefully restored, piece by piece, through years of patient work.

Here are some photos taken at the exhibition in Te Papa. I was deeply impressed by the imposing presence of the Qin army and the refined details of the statue sculptures. It was this visit that inspired our trip to Xi’an.

When I was young, I somehow believed the Terracotta Warriors were made from real people — that the emperor had poured wet clay over living soldiers, sealing their bodies into statues and burying them underground forever. That childhood image lingered in my mind for years, casting the army in a shadowy, ghost-like light. I also believed, with the same kind of awe, that Qin Shi Huang was a trailblazer of history — that conquering the seven kingdoms and uniting China marked the beginning of something extraordinary.

But now, standing in the shadow of this empire, I wonder:

What would this land have become if it had never been unified?

The Spring and Autumn period was one of the most glorious and brilliant times for thought and culture — we sang, we loved, we travelled...

I know, endless war, perhaps...

But

what if there had never been the burning of books and the burying of scholars?

What if voices had been encouraged to speak, and thoughts allowed to spread, without fear?

If, for the past three thousand years, we had never lived under totalitarianism —

Who might I have become?