Rambling around my ancestral Hainan
Copyright 2015
Qiongshan District is five kilometres south of Haikou downtown. The ancient capital of Hainan, it had its foundation as a military garrison of the Han Empire when General Lu Bode conquered the northern shore in 110 B.C. Abandoned in 46 B.C. because of the high expenses in stabilizing a hostile native environment, it was restored by Ma Yuan as Zhuya (Pearl Cliff) Commandery (珠崖郡; Wade-Giles: Chu-yai) after 25 A.D.
During the brief Sui dynasty, Ya (or Yai) Commandery was subdivided into ten districts to cope with the influx of settlers. But the new Tang emperors swiftly reorganised and renamed the prefectures, establishing four at the corners of Hainan Island: Qiongzhou (Wade-Giles: Ch’iung-chou) in the northeast, Danzhou (Dan-chou) in the northwest, Wan’anzhou (Wan-an-chou) in the southeast, and Zhenzhou (Chen-chou) in the southwest. The last was later renamed as Yazhou (Yai-chou).
By the time of the Southern Song, Qiongshan District or Qiongzhou became affectionately known as “Qiongtai” (琼台; Jade Stage, or Beautiful Stage).
Under the 1858 Treaty of Tientsin (Tianjin) with France, Haikou (“the ports of Qiongzhou”) was compelled to accept foreign traders, becoming the port of Qiongshan. Qiongshan and Haikou downtown were some of the Japanese bombing targets in 1937 and 1938. They bore the brunt when the invaders finally soiled Hainan on the tenth of February 1939. A decade later, Haikou was made capital of Hainan.
Seventy years have elapsed after the war. Nothing is left in Qiongshan to remind me of the Japanese destruction. No bomb craters; no devastated sites. The buildings I now see were built over the rubbles. They are sixty years old. Their exterior is slightly aged; the paint work is fading. Indeed, little is left of the ancient city too.
Within Qiongshan District is Hongcheng Lake. Half a kilometre south is Hainan Normal University. The lake is dark-green, the sign of thick algae in the stagnant water. Yet hardy fishes thrive, and anglers are crowded along the concrete steps partly surrounding the vast pool. The man in front of me is enjoying his lucky day; he reins in a small prey every fifteen minutes. Judging by the size of his right hand and the length of his catch as he grasps them, I assess an average of twelve centimetres for each fish.
Spectators are many. They also crowd around several fortune-tellers, eavesdropping on the fate of pessimistic clients anxious about their future and fortune, or - more precisely - the lack of it.
Crossing Hongchenghu Road, I head for Qiongtai Academy of Classical Learning or, literally, Qiongtai College (琼台书院; Qiongtai Shuyuan). Located about half a kilometre southeast of Hongcheng Lake and just a stone throw south of Tianning Temple, it was founded in 1705 by Jiao Ying Han (焦映汉), a leading scholar and administrator who was in charge of patrolling the island during the Qing dynasty. Was this college named for the endeared “Qiongtai”, or was it named in honour of the renowned Ming scholar Qiu Jun (丘浚), the person referred to on a commemorative cube in Baishamen Park? This elegant gentleman’s literary name is “Qiongshan”, taken from his birthplace Qiongshan District. But his nickname was “Mr. Qiongtai”, the information on a Hainan Provincial Museum signboard.
Born in 1420, Qiu Jun was only six when his father died. Together with his eight-year old brother, he came under the care of their grandfather, who pragmatically slotted him into the discipline of humanities while his brother into medical studies. Life for the future civil servant was not easy. Books had been pilfered from his father’s small library after the latter’s death, forcing Qiu Jun and his brother to rent from local book dealers. Despite his socio-economic disadvantage, he passed the requisite examinations and rose to be a policy adviser in the famous Hanlin Academy and then a minister in the imperial court.
Neo-Confucianist teachings and values predominated in his works. He was one of the most prolific essayists of his time. Written in one hundred and sixty scrolls (juan), his political treatise “Supplement to ‘Expositions on the Great Learning’” (大学衍义补; Daxue Yanyi Bu) focussed twelve chapters according to one edition (twenty-five, according to another) on, for instance, “Rectifying the court”, “Rectifying the state offices”, “Solidifying the fundamentals of the regions”, “Systematizing the state income”, “Being careful with punishments and laws”, “Taking seriously military preparations”, and “Accomplishing virtuous government”.
Presented to Zhu Youcheng (or “Youtang” as translated by some scholars) when he ascended the throne as the Hongzhi emperor in 1487, it was an instruction manual for administrative reforms to be undertaken by a benevolent ruler and his ministers. It earned Qiu Jun a promotion to Minister of Rites. A century later, emperor Shenzong wrote a preface, thus endorsing its official status.
Qiu Jun also wrote a twenty-act moralistic play entitled “Five Human Relationship”, which depicted the lives of two half-brothers and the rich rewards their families and friends received as a result of observing the five important relationships stressed by Confucius. Like the Confucian scholars before his time, he believed that sage-kings deserve respect from their subjects.
He defended the invention theory of money, that money was invented by the sage-kings for farmers’ use to redeem their children whom they had sold during times of unanticipated famine. According to Sima Qian’s rival theory, money was the product of merchants and market forces. Qiu Jun was altruistic. Learning during his 1469 visit to Hainan that the only library was in a county school, he donated money to build a library in the prefectural school.
One of the literary and moral giants of his time, he too was honoured, like Hai Rui, by the emperor. On the archway leading to his tomb at the corner of Qiuhai Avenue and Qiujun Road in Shuitou Village are two characters identical to the ones on the nearby Hai Rui tomb’s archway: 上曰, the abbreviation for 皇上曰 (Huangshang yue; the Emperor says). Below them are these four Chinese characters: 臣名學理 (Chen ming xueli). The imperial edict proclaimed Qiu Jun as “Great Academician” (of Neo-Confucianism). (During my fourth trip, Xue Xin drives me to Qiu Jun’s tomb. The surrounding area is undergoing extensive renovation, which will make the park as grandiose as the park enclosing Hai Rui’s tomb.)
Located within a guarded compound, Qiongtai Academy now also houses its successor: Qiongtai Teachers’ Training School. It is fitting; for Qiongtai Academy was the leading tertiary institution during the eighteenth century. As I stand on the kerb of the road and look through the arched entrance, four huge Mandarin characters - 为人师表 - in bright-red on the beige wall of a modern building glare into my face. I later learn that the slogan “Weiren shibiao” translates to “Serve as role models”.
At the entrance, a security officer points left. I turn. The thick overhanging branches and leaves, and dangling aerial roots, of banyan trees on both sides of the clean tiled walkway hide the traditional Chinese features of the building. They also provide welcomed shade for exhausted pedestrians and visitors, who occupy stone seats around some stone tables. The door to the academy within the compound is open. I pay the cheap 5 RMB “Seniors” admission fee at the box office in the two-storey building that also holds the reception room and visitors’ centre.
Black marble panels on the walls of this building depict the romantic story about the mutual love of a local governor’s maid and a Qiongtai Academy student during the Qing period. Arranged marriages being the convention, the angry leader sought to punish his servant following his discovery of the forbidden relationship. When she took refuge in the institute, the principal Xie Bao (谢宝) denied the governor permission for a search. The pair married and lived happily thereafter. Fortunately too, the student passed his imperial examinations.
Parallel to this building are two other two-storey buildings, at intervals of about thirty metres. In one are the principal’s bedroom and his study while in the other is a museum. Between these three buildings are altogether four single-storey buildings on the side. If viewed afar from the balcony of a tall skyscraper, these seven buildings form two conjoined squares. The two rows of frangipanis in the first courtyard are in bloom. Their distinctive perfume permeates through the doors of the two single-storey side buildings. Named as First and Second Calligraphy and Painting Rooms, they once functioned as classrooms to the thousands of local aspirants.
On the right and left sides of the second courtyard, the two smaller single-storey buildings are named as the East and West Galleries. In the middle of the courtyard stand the life-size statues of Xie Bao and Zhang Yue Song (张岳崧) and a large censer in front of the principal’s building. Incense sticks were once lighted and stuck into the sand-filled censer and prayers offered by the young scholars, presumably to the health of the principal and school. Dressed in a scholar gown, Xie Bao is a slender man with a beard. His left hand is holding a rolled book while his right hand is swung behind his back. Below his feet is an inscription, which tells me that this college principal (zhang jiao) was a successful candidate (进士; jinshi) in the imperial examinations.
Zhang is also a slender man. He too has a beard, although a shorter one. He is looking downwards. His left hand, holding a book, is by the side of his body while his right hand is raised to the level of his chest, as if in a praying position. According to the inscription, this principal came in third (探花; tan hua; literally, flower snatcher, someone who soars and snatches the lofty flower from a tall tree) in the palace examinations. In other words, Zhang is academically superior to Xie, the crème de la crème. Interestingly, one hundred and five Hainanese had passed the palace examinations during the one thousand and three hundred years of imperial history. This number represents 2.6 percent of the national total of jinshis, an incredible achievement because Hainanese comprised only half a percent of the general population.
Inside the hall of the principal’s house is a granite statue of Jiao Ying Han. He too was a jinshi, says the chiselled words on the base. Wearing a Manchu official gown and round hat, he looks towards his right, his right hand stroking the tip of his beard that stands in front of his neck collar while his left hand is holding an open book in front of his belly. A few cabinets and some old wooden chairs are placed by the walls. Upstairs, in the principal’s bedroom are a bed, which looks like an oversized sofa, a small wardrobe, and some stools. I suspect the furniture like the rose-wood chairs and settee in this building are antiques, some of which might even be used by the first principal. They might be very valuable.
A kilometre west of Qiongtai Academy is Hainan Normal University. I would love to walk there but I do not have a detailed map of the roads in the area. It is unfortunate because Qiu Jun’s family home is situated along Jinhua Road Lane 1, a stone-throw from the university. Also near the university is Hai Rui’s residence, at the corner of Hongchenghu Road and Zhuyun Road. (During my third trip, I visit these two places. A huge statue of Hai Rui faces Hongcheng Lake.)
For 7 RMB, a motorized trishaw takes me to the university, though small lanes and streets, some of which are impassable to cars. 海南师范大学: the characters (Hainan Shifan Daxue) in gold and cursive script on the huge concrete cross-beam of the archway facing Longkun South Road confirm that I am outside the main entrance, the West Gate. It is late afternoon. People of all ages are spilling out through the side gate, where two or three middle-aged ladies are selling freshly-sliced pineapples displayed on their small wooden boxes. They attract a few customers. Some teenage boys and girls in uniform are going home after their school session. Manning the low retractable fence across the entry road are two male guards, sitting in their chairs and looking out for entering or exiting cars.
Unlike the main campus of Hainan University, there is no pond, no quadrangle, no magnificent building, and no outstanding monument. Although many are new, the buildings look very much like ordinary office or residential blocks. In fact, the compound, which is very spacious, may be mistaken for a housing estate. The internal road is wide and lined with coconut and ornamental palms. As I look upwards, a dreadful feeling paralyses me: what if that young coconut falls on my head? I fear for the new metallic bodies of cars parked beside them.
Here too people, young and very old, are walking in all directions. A few cyclists are leisurely peddling while, occasionally, a scooterist zooms by. A tourist stumbling into the area may not know that he or she is standing in the heart of a tertiary institution. Perhaps financial constraint is the major obstacle to creating an enthralling campus environment. Or perhaps the administrators wish to maintain a plebeian atmosphere so as to preserve the traditional bond between intellectuals and commoners.
In Hainan this is the oldest public institution of higher learning. Its genesis was the National Hainan Teachers College established in 1949 on the site of Qiongtai Academy. Renamed as Hainan Normal Junior College in 1952, it offered four-year undergraduate courses in 1983 after absorbing three other institutions. In 1986, it reverted to its earlier name. 1999 saw its merger with Hainan Institute of Education to form Hainan Normal College. In 2007, it acquired its current name. With about one thousand one hundred academic staff members and more than twenty thousand students, including about two hundred foreigners, its fifteen departments also conduct graduate programs within its three thousand four hundred square-metre campus.
Ding Zhi Peng (丁志鹏) is an art student who is doing his second year. I chance upon him when I am walking along the corridor of a long single-storey building near the Dalu Street gate. I am about to leave the campus ground when a sign indicates that I am at the fine arts department. Some of the windows in that row of rooms are open, which arouses my curiosity. As I peer into an open room, I see many paintings around the room, stacked against the wall and on easels. Standing near the door as he takes a break from his assignment, Ding invites me in to see the students’ copies of their lecturer’s work. He mentions the professor’s name but it is soon forgotten because I am astounded by the quality of the paintings.
Not surprisingly, the professor’s beautiful oil painting of the bright-yellow, soft back contour of a Chinese nude model lying on her bed entices me. I ask if it is for sale. No, it is not for sale, Ding politely replies. I am tempted to make an offer but transporting it home via Singapore would be almost impossible, especially when I have large items like my heavy luggage and backpacks to carry en route. Professor What’s his name is on my mind as I thank Zhi Peng and make my exit through the eastern gate.
** INTERMEZZO **
Later in my Sydney home, I search through the University website. There I find the name of a professor specializing in oil painting. Associate Professor Liang Feng (梁峰) of the Oil Painting Department has won numerous awards for his oil paintings. Born in Wenchang in 1965, he graduated from Guangzhou Academy of Fine Art in 1998. He is a member of the Hainan Artists’ Association.
Luck smiles on those least expecting her. During my third trip, I re-visit the campus, hoping to confirm with Zhi Peng the professor’s name. The first-year art students doing their assignments in the same barrack-style building have not heard of Zhi Peng. At the department secretariat, one of the three ladies, a Hainanese, strains to understand my purpose. I try explaining as best as I can in my gibberish Hainanese and Mandarin.
“Last year, I met Ding Zhi Peng. Now, I would like to meet him again to learn the name of the professor who has done a painting of a woman lying on her side. I wish to include the professor’s name in the book I am writing.”
Finally grasping my intention, she exclaims, “You mean the professor who paints women without clothes?”
“Yes,” I softly emit, putting on a serious countenance.
“Oh. That must be Professor Liang Feng. I know him. Do you want to meet him?”
“Yes,” I say excitedly. What a lucky day for me, I whisper joyfully to myself.
I cannot believe my fortune; I ask for a name, and I get to see the person himself. She speaks to her colleagues, and we walk out of her office. Wu Ling (吴玲) is working as well as studying for a Master of Arts degree in Fine Art. This pretty Hainanese is married and has a kid. Her husband owns a computer business. She drives me to a three-storey building. We climb up the stairs to one of the rooms. Twenty-three new Fine Art students are milling around their easels in the classroom, talking while waiting for their lecturer. Wu Ling introduces me, and I quickly speak to some of them.
Zhang Jue (张珏) is twenty years of age. Brought up in the famous Huangshan (Yellow Mountain) region of Anhui Province, she began studying English when she was twelve years old. She has a twelve-year old brother. She arrived only three months ago, choosing Hainan for her tertiary education because she had a conception of it as a very beautiful island. My heart melts when she says that. It is a four-year course and she does not know what lies ahead.
Ma Dong Dong (马东东) hails from Hebei. Aged forty-eight, his parents are farmers. He has a brother, who is only slightly older. He hopes to travel to Europe to see the art world. His command of the English language is fairly fluent. This jovial young man should have no problem traipsing around the globe, painting to his soul’s delight.
Other provinces are represented in young idealistic youths like Xiong Hong Li (熊红丽) and Cheng Zi Qian (程子骞), who are not motivated by the pursuit of materialism. Some of them may diversify and work as designers or illustrators, and some may dive into sculpture. At my biding, they point out their works that are hanging on the wall. They are the emerging cultural asset of China, and they will take a little of the Hainanese soul to their future working environment. I am heartened.
Liang Feng’s office is in the two-storey building facing the low terrace where Zhi Peng and I had met a year earlier. At forty-seven, the professor looks boyish. Handsome, he is about my height: 1.66 metres. He has studied art since the age of five or six under his father, who was directing an art school. His father having passed on, his seventy-year old mother lives with him. His thirty-year old sister is a school teacher.
Liang Feng has been with this university for fifteen years after two years at Guangzhou Academy of Fine Art (广州美术学院; Guangzhou Meishu Xueyuan). We walk up to his studio, where he does his painting. It is very spacious, about four metres by five metres. Some landscape paintings are hooked on the wall. He has recently finished a large painting of two distorted rocks on a beach that is splashed with waters of the surging waves.
“Do other art teachers here also have such big studios?” I curiously enquire as my left hand sweeps across the room to augment my query.
“No. I am the only art teacher allocated a studio by this university.”
I am staggered. I expressed my admiration, saying something to the effect that it is great.
“Is this the painting that you are referring to?” He points to a painting of a nude lady on the easel at one corner.
“No. The one that I have seen has the lady’s back facing me.”
He goes into a room and brings out another painting. “Is this the one?”
“Yes. That is the one.”
It is the one that I have seen. Pointing to it, I meekly request, “Can I ask you the price of this painting?”
“Sure. 60,000 RMB.”
“That is about ten thousand dollars in Australian currency. It is a very good price for the buyer.”
On the walls of an exhibition hall in Hainan Provincial Museum hang ten pieces of Professor Liang Feng’s oil paintings. Six are large landscape paintings; three are small landscape paintings; and one is a large portrait of a girl. There is no nude. A Liang Feng oil painting of a nude lady is a rarity and will be a highly sought-after collector’s item, I suspect.
Before I leave, Liang Feng presents me a signed copy of the 64-page 2010 Number 4 issue of Collection & Investment (收藏与投资; Shoucang yu touzi). In the magazine is a collection of commentaries by several authors on various aspects of his art.
Earlier that afternoon, while waiting for Professor Liang Wei outside the prominent university library, I ran into two friendly students. Xie Xue Mei (谢雪梅) and Zhang Chun Ling (张春玲) are reading their first year in Physical Education. Xue Mei comes from Jiangxi, where her parents own an orange orchard and farm. She is the youngest of the five daughters. The navel orange from the province is so famous that Ganzhou is known as the “orange capital” of the world. Chun Ling has a brother and sister, both in their mid-twenties and staying with their parents in Jiangsu. She aspires to be a businesswoman. If these two students also remain in Hainan, they too will help change the socio-cultural outlook of the island.
Professor Liang Wei has a roomy office at the College of Life Sciences. Born in the picturesque and renowned Xijiang Miao Village of Guizhou Province, he now lives in Haikou with his wife and son, but frequently visits his seventy-year old widowed father and two younger siblings. From Beijing, his wife is a doctor in Hainan Normal University Hospital while his son is studying in a secondary school. His research into the wildlife of Hainan has seen him travelling throughout the island and distinguished him as one of the leading ornithologists in China and in the world.
A very humble man, he has unstintingly shown many foreign tourists the ecological and environmental marvels they expressly wish to see. He is very excited that the Hainan Biodiversity Museum, which he has proposed, will soon be opened in the university. Heading to a classroom to deliver his lecture, he leaves me with this sound and timely reminder, “We should always do our best to protect our nature reserves and environment.”
His advice is surprisingly identical to that once imparted by my friend Ho Hua Chew. On behalf of Nature Society (Singapore), Hua Chew has been tirelessly surveying local avian life and drafting proposals for the conservation of their natural habitats like Bukit Timah Forest, Mandai Forest, Pulau Ubin, and Sungei Buloh.
** INTERMEZZO ENDS **
Copyright 2015
Photos
Page 434 - 443, Qiu Jun,
Qiongtai Academy,
Hainan Normal University