Rambling around my ancestral Hainan

Copyright 2015

Third trip: discovering my genealogy

 

Endowed with leisure to make a third trip a year later, I am rewarded beyond my expectation.  Cai Hong has located a Feng association at Meide Village (美德村; Virtuous Village).  On his day off, maternal nephew Fa Geng and his friend drive me to the ancestral village of Feng Ping (冯平; 1899-1928) at the northern edge of Donglu Reservoir.  Open only on appointment, the young revolutionary’s home has to be given a miss.

Near its entrance, a sandy path, shaded under the tall canopies of coconut palms and local trees, leads to a partly-walled compound that encloses a small temple building and a hall just a stone-throw away.

On the temple altar are three porcelain statues, each about half a metre high.  The two red curtains veiling them have been drawn apart.  Slightly taller, the figure in the centre is a man, flanked on each side by a lady.  Seated, they face the supplicants.  Except the collars, their gowns are identical in pattern and colours.  And, except the colours, the decorative headdresses of the two ladies are identical.  Glued to the white wall behind them is a rectangular panel made up of forty tiles, depicting a mythical qilin, an animal with green-scale body and legs, reddish-brown dragon’s head and back, black hoofs, and two white deer horns.  Near its mouth is the red sun.  Or is it a red ball?  

A gentleman is lingering at the temple.  Pointing to the icon in the centre, I ask, “Who is he?” 

“….Gong,” he mumbles, inaudibly stating a name that sounds unfamiliar.

“Who are the ladies?”  I optimistically continue.

He does not know.  At our request, he willingly leads us to the houses nearby.  In one is a gentleman who is also a Feng.  Together, we return to the temple.  The central figure, Feng Yu Yang (冯玉养) explains, is “Bao Gong” (“Grandfather” Bao).  Feng Bao!  I blink.  I cannot believe my luck.  Here is a temple in which the central personage is the person I have come during this trip to investigate, the person who could possibly be my ancestor.

“He is Bao Gong?” I repeat, seeking reassurance my ears are not playing tricks on me.

“Yes.”

“So one of the ladies must be Xian Furen (Lady Xian)?”

“Yes”

“Who is the other?” 

“The other is one of his able assistants.”

“Who are the two persons in the portrait over there?”  I point to the direction of the hall, moving towards it as I speak.  

“They are Bao Gong and Xian Furen.”

Shaped like a traditional Chinese house, the open hall has only two walls on both ends, and no front or back wall.  Except for a small table, it is empty.  On one wall is the black-and-white drawing of the couple who do not resemble the couple depicted by the statues.

Directly below it is a bright-red cloth banner about five-metre long and one-metre high that spans across the wall, and is printed with copious information in Chinese.  It is demarcated into four sections, the short section on my extreme left being an introduction while the other three sections are of almost equal length.  I look closely at the two middle sections that have also the yellow outlines of Feng Bao’s and Lady Xian’s face. 

Yes, I recognise their names, and the confirming numeral dates of their life spans.  I swiftly scan the text.  I find: 高祖冯弘 (Gaozu Feng Hong; paternal great-great-grandfather).  These terse four characters assert: Feng Bao’s ancestor is Feng Hong.    

Standing in front of the extreme right section of the banner, relative Feng explains, “These ten names are names of Bao Gong’s descendants who moved to Hainan during the different periods of history.  They also represent the lines from some of Feng Ang’s brother and sons.  All the Fengs of Hainan trace their genealogy to one of these ten ancestors.  The descendants of Ang Gong’s (Feng Ang’s) other sons are mainly in Guangdong.”

He points to the third name, saying that his ancestor (Feng Ang’s younger brother) accompanied the Tang general during his tour of Hainan.  (Besides his two well-known brothers, Feng Ang has some younger brothers, whose names were not recorded in historical chronicles.)  Yu Yang’s ancestor remained in Hainan.  Below each of the ten names is a short generational list of the person’s descendants.

We walk back to his house, where he kindly shows me his set of genealogy that traces his descent from that pioneering ancestor.  I produce a photocopied illustration of one of my ancestors.  He knows my story.  My ancestor Feng Cong Mei (冯从美) was descended from one of Feng Ang’s sons who remained in Guangdong.

Subsequent movements brought Cong Mei’s ancestors to also Fujian and then Hainan.  (Interestingly, Fujian is the ancestral home of Ms Pang Cheng Lian 冯清莲, a former Non-resident Ambassador in Singapore’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs.)  

Yu Yang directs our car to the home of another Feng near Changmei Village (昌美村), a kilometre south of Donglu Reservoir.  The latter brings out his twelve-volume set of genealogy.  In one is his name and mine.  We are descended from a son of Feng Ang.  To say that I am very happy is an understatement.  I am ecstatic beyond words.  I have found my roots at last.  Grand-uncle Feng Zhen Hua (冯振骅) offers his set for photocopying.  But it is too bulky.  I politely decline his offer.  It is enough to know that Feng Bao and Lady Xian are my ancestors. 

Back in Qionghai, Fa Geng consults his friend, who is a Feng.  The latter makes some enquiries.  No more sets are available for sale, he later reports.  I reluctantly submit to the photocopying proposal.  Visiting his friend’s relative in Houli Village (厚里村), which lies five kilometres north of Tanmen Port, my nephew borrows the family’s complete set.  

Meanwhile, my younger brother has flown into Haikou from Singapore.  After visiting our Wenchang relatives, we catch the train to Sanya.  On our return journey to Haikou, we alight at Qionghai to collect the photocopies, which weigh at least two kilograms.  Back in the Haikou hotel, I excitedly flip the pages, my eyes widening at the names of Feng Ba, Feng Hong, Feng Bao, and Lady Xian.  They are my ancestors.  Du Rui Dao, the Xinpo Xian Furen Memorial Temple secretary, is intuitively right.  

 

Fourth trip: my ancestor’s tomb at Feng Clan Bay (Fengjiawan)

 

At home, I slowly peruse the pages, trying to make sense of the Mandarin characters.  Volume One traces the origin of the Feng to ancestor Bi Wan (毕万), a minister of the Jin state during the Spring & Autumn Period (771-476 B.C.), some two and a half millennia ago; it ends with Feng Cong Mei, the son of Feng Ting Ran (冯廷冉).  

Cong Mei is the twenty-eighth generation descendant of Feng Bao and Lady Xian.  He lived during the Southern Song era (1127-1279) in “冯家村”. 

Feng Clan Village: that is the village at Feng Clan Bay (Hainanese: Pang Kia Wan).  Does his house still exist?  Is there any monument, any physical remnant, marking his presence in the area?  That is a persistent question piquing me.

Optimistically, I decide on a fourth trip to investigate.  This time, I am determined to seek out the Fengs in that village.  

The Wenchang-Qionghai bus deposits me at the junction of 201 Provincial Road and the unpaved nameless street leading to Fengjia Village, which is located on the extreme right of Fengjia Bay.  Twenty metres from the junction and gaudy ancient money statue is the house of the gentleman whom I have met the previous year.

Pan Xiao Shuai (潘孝帅) invites me to wait in his house-cum-shop while he brings his young son to the nearby school.  I promise, however, to see him later. 

Continuing my walk along the country lane, I pass the residence and breeding pools of a shrimp aquaculturist on my left.  The compound gate is open; I glance in.  A lady is performing some chores.  Hearing the scraping sound of my shoes, she looks up in my direction.  I instantly smile and greet her with a simple “Ni hao” (“How are you?”).  She reciprocates, an indication of her friendliness.

Emboldened, I ask, “Do you know of any Feng family that lives around here?” 

“Yes, a Feng family lives in Dayou Village (大有村).” 

“Where is that?  Is it far away?”

“Oh, very near, about three hundred metres behind me.  You can go by the alley that rounds the side of my residence.”  She points to the direction of her compound wall as she responds.  I thank her.  Luck smiles on those who smile, on those who are friendly.  

Fortunately, Feng Qi Liang’s (冯启良) wife is in.  She phones her husband, who returns on his motorcycle within minutes.  We engage in some small talk.  Taking out his twelve-volume set of genealogy, Qi Liang searches through the pages of one volume.  I point out my name; he points to his.  We belong to the same generation; so he is my older distant cousin.  He has three sons and a daughter.

Feng Cong Mei was a hereditary official, a marquis with a fief of a thousand households (官世袭千户侯; Guan shixi qian hu hou) in the coastal land surrounding Fengjia Bay centuries earlier, he explains.  Thus, non-Feng fishermen who trawled in the waters of Fengjia Bay contributed ten percent of their haul to him, Qi Liang reveals.  It is an engaging story.

In my excitement, I forget to ascertain whether any Feng family still owns the historical fishing right.  (When I later return to Singapore, I repeat that story to Mum.  She confirms its truth.  The tradition continued until the Second World War, she affirms.  After the war, those non-Fengs who knew the tradition offered a nominal contribution during Chengming to spruce up Feng Cong Mei’s graveyard.)

“Do you know the location of Ting Rang Gong’s and Cong Mei Gong’s graves?”

“Yes, I know the location,” Qi Liang replies.  

“Where is it?”  I pop the million-dollar question.

“It is nearby,” he adds.

“How far?”  My body tenses.

“Not far.”

“Can you take me there?”  I anxiously ask.

“Sure.”   

I wave goodbye to his wife and obedient grandson, and hop onto his motorcycle.  As we slowly roll along 201 Provincial Road, I mentally enquire, “This is the road to Fengjia Bay; where can it be?”

Shortly, Qi Liang slows down and parks his bike in front of a distinctive red house on our right.  We get down.  He points to a short granite stele that lies inconspicuously near some papaya trees.  I recognise the top four traditional characters: 馮氏始祖 (Feng shi shizu; Feng clan ancestor). 

We enter the narrow public path beside the house.  At the back is a small fenced cemetery, wherein lies the tombs of not two but nine of my ancient ancestors, one of whom is Cong Mei.  Facing some shrimp ponds, they are across the road from Liang Shao Mei’s village.  To discover the location of Cong Mei’s remains, especially at a place that I have passed through on my way to his bay, astounds me.  

Qi Liang transports me to Xiao Shuai’s house, where Xiao Shuai recognises him as his former Yang Guang Primary School (阳光小学; Yangguang Xiao Xue) teacher whose son was his classmate. 

We warmly greet Pan’s mother as she returns from an errand.  When I mention the name of my ancestral village, she asks if I know a Pang Hee Jong.  Yes.  I enumerate some facts, which only relatives or friends would know, thus confirming the veracity of my claim.  It transpires that she is related to his wife.  What a small world: Qi Liang, Pan, and I are interrelated through kinship, directly or indirectly.  

In Qionghai, Fa Geng and I meet up with Feng Qi Yun (冯启运) and Feng Qi An (冯启安) at a small town near their village.  I show them the photograph on my digital-camera screen of Cong Mei’s tomb, which they confirm. 

Fa Geng later relays the information from his friend about a new temple that is dedicated to Feng Bao and Lady Xian.  It is located in Feng Village (冯村) at “San Gongli” (“Three-Kilometre”).

 

 

Copyright 2015

Photos

 

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Third & Fourth Trip