Ancient City Sentiments

     The three rivers of Shahe flow together, a natural fortress perched atop the water.

    Precipices and cliffs rise precariously, ruins and abandoned sites weathered by time.

    —"Ya'er City" by Chen Cheng, Ming Dynasty

    . Surrounded by steep earthen cliffs, a narrow passage leads to a rushing river below. Gazing at the ancient city of Jiaohe, and silently reciting Chen Cheng's "Ya'er City," I couldn't help but admire his apt description of the ancient city.

    Entering the city through the narrow passage, the air thick with the scent of a thousand years ago, a whiff of earth, filled with the scent of soil, assaulted my senses.

    Soil! Soil! Soil!

    Nothing but soil.

    The texture of soil. The form of soil. The posture of soil.

    This ancient city, with its unique weight and profound history, immediately captivated me.

    It was midday, scorching hot. The sun beat down on the ancient city of Jiaohe, turning it white and glaring, like a natural sauna. Waves of heat rolled across the ground; just a few steps and I was drenched in sweat. The scorching heat made everyone's visit to the ancient city feel rushed and half-hearted. They rushed in, only to find piles of barren earth – what was there to see? So, they quickly snapped a few photos, took a picture, and left.

    I chose to stay. I thought that if I left so hastily, I would definitely feel regret. What can you see and learn in half an hour in an ancient city with over two thousand years of history?

    When I admire ancient architecture, especially ruins, I feel reverence and worship. For example, the Forbidden City, the hanging coffins of Wuyi Mountain, the Terracotta Army of Xi'an, and even our local ancient residence, the Lu Family Mansion – these are the crystallization of our ancestors' wisdom and ingenuity, their most precious legacy to us. But my feelings are completely different each time I visit a historical site – there is surprise and admiration; there is also regret, heaviness, sadness, heartache, and even shame…

    So, what are my feelings standing on the ruins of Jiaohe Ancient City?

    – Desolation and vicissitudes.

    This sense of desolation and vicissitude was etched into my heart the moment I stepped into the ancient city of Jiaohe, taking deep root within me. At the entrance, two sections of earthen walls stand starkly, rough and uneven, etched with deep and shallow marks—the imprints of time, witnesses to the hardships and rise and fall of the ancient city of Jiaohe. More

    than two thousand years ago, this was the capital of the former Cheshi Kingdom, its economic, political, and cultural center, a vital hub on the Silk Road for cultural and commercial exchange between East and West. Now, its former glory has vanished like flowing water, never to return. Filtered by the passage of time, all that remains are these ruins, countless sighs, and a heavy heart.

    Walking into the ancient city, I tread on a muddy path, its surface hard and clean, without a speck of dust—for thousands of years, the wind, sometimes strong, sometimes gentle, has blown ceaselessly, through the Han and Tang dynasties, through the Ming and Qing dynasties, long since sweeping away all the dust.

    On both sides of the road, earthen walls stood silently, watching me without a word, revealing not a trace of expression. Over the years, they had witnessed too much, endured too much hardship; they had long since buried their joys and sorrows deep within their hearts, becoming indifferent, becoming sparing with words. I cast my gaze upon the indifferent earthen walls, upon the low, dilapidated mud holes—these mud holes must be the "eyes" of the earthen walls. I tried to communicate with them with my gaze, attempting to glimpse the inner world of the ancient city through these "eyes," to interpret them, to understand them. But these "eyes" were too deep, too profound, revealing no emotion, from which I could glean anything I desired.

    Helpless, I could only resort to my imagination. I let my thoughts travel through thousands of years of time, returning to the Tang and Song dynasties, back to the ancient city of Jiaohe during the Qin and Han dynasties—in my imagination, the ruins were restored to their original appearance. Jiaohe Ancient City has been recreated—here is a grand inn, housing merchants from all directions, learned scholars and poets, and exiled officials; here is a large winery, for Turpan is famous for its sweet grapes, and the wine is naturally grape wine, its rich aroma filling the entire street; a little further away is a large courtyard, like a Beijing siheyuan or a row of houses in a southern village, housing five or six, or even more than ten families, adults and children, men and women, all living together in this courtyard, eating, drinking, defecating, and dying. A bustling city naturally needs hotels, the favorite haunts of heroes, scholars, poets, and knights-errant, so let's restore that section of earthen wall in front to a tavern, with a flagpole erected in front, its "wine" flag flying high. The streets were no longer deserted; they were teeming with people—Han Chinese, foreigners, Buddhist monks in robes, some on horseback, some on donkeys. Most of them were from the former Cheshi Kingdom, with brightly dressed, alluring young women, handsome young men with high noses and thick eyebrows, and of course, soldiers wielding halberds and swords…

    I knew such associations were pale, superficial, and self-deceptive; such aimless daydreaming could never truly lead me into the depths of the ancient city.

    Suddenly, a large, intact earthen mound resembling a fortress appeared as my imagination ran wild. Compared to the ruins I had seen before, this fortress was remarkably well-preserved, with two doorways and a small observation hole. Unlike the other earthen mounds, its base was constructed of earthen bricks, resembling a modern bunker. This must have been a defensive fortification built by the people of the former Cheshi Kingdom to repel foreign invasion. Jiaohe Ancient City, a strategically vital location throughout history, is not surprising to find a "fortress" there. At that moment, I had a strong urge to approach and take a closer look, but before I could take a few steps, a stern rebuke stopped me. Looking in the direction of the voice, I saw a security guard staring at me seriously. His skin was tanned dark from years of working there under the intense sun and ultraviolet rays. I smiled apologetically at him—I understood; preventing tourists from approaching the earthen walls and protecting these historical sites was his job.

    Further on, an open space appeared, although further away were still ruins. Upon closer inspection, the open space wasn't flat ground, but an underground structure. A staircase led directly underground. It seemed to be open to tourists. I descended the steps; the intense sunlight above was unbearably hot, but once underground, a refreshing coolness enveloped me. At the end of the stairs, the ground suddenly opened up—a rectangular open space of about forty or fifty square meters appeared, its shape resembling a living room in a modern home. Walking inside, I saw two spacious chambers carved into an earthen wall. The structure and design resembled a modern one-bedroom apartment. On the wall of one of the chambers, there was a niche. What was placed in the niche? A Buddha statue, a deity, an ancestral tablet, or something else?

    I didn't think about it; I knew I wouldn't be able to figure it out anyway.

    I sat down on the steps. This was my most direct contact with the ancient city of Jiaohe. My hands could freely touch the depths of the ancient city's heart. I touched the soil; it was dry and hard. I rested my head against the rough mud wall, closed my eyes, and listened quietly. At that moment, I heard a low, mournful sound from the thick soil. The sound came from ancient times, from the deep earth, like the howling of a strong wind sweeping across the desert...

    The ancient city of Jiaohe has left us with too many unsolved mysteries—why are half of the buildings in Jiaohe Ancient City built underground? Why are there more than two hundred infant graves in the ancient city? And what about that strange "mournful" sound I just heard? Although these mysteries cannot be solved, they undoubtedly add to the mystery and endless charm of the ancient city.

    Regarding these unsolved mysteries, optimists believe that the rapid development of science and technology will inevitably unravel them sooner or later. I disagree. I firmly believe that to solve these mysteries, we must recreate that period of history. But history can only be history; it cannot be restored or reproduced. It's like time—can it ever return once it's gone? Although we are constantly broadcasting historical dramas, and historians, playwrights, directors, and actors are trying their best to recreate history—the Qin, Han, Tang, and Qing dynasties—through visuals, music, characters, and text, such restorations are futile. No matter how realistic they appear, they are still products of modern imagination, imitations, not history itself.

    Following the dirt road, I finally reached the highest point of Jiaohe Ancient City.

    The entire city of Jiaohe Ancient City was laid out before me—all around, dense ruins stood, and against the backdrop of the distant Gobi Desert and blue sky and white clouds, these vast ruins made Jiaohe Ancient City appear even more desolate and weathered.

    What caused this once-prosperous city to vanish into thin air? Who was responsible for this desolation and vicissitude?

    The answer is not difficult; history has already recorded it: man-made disaster—war.

    From its construction during the Qin and Han dynasties to its destruction by 120,000 Mongol cavalry in 1383, the ancient city of Jiaohe witnessed at least six or seven recorded wars. Standing on the high platform, I could almost clearly see the tragic scene when the Mongol cavalry breached Jiaohe...

    The fierce Mongol cavalry, on horseback, brandishing swords and knives, rampaged through the narrow streets of the ancient city. They wantonly burned, killed, and looted. Thick smoke billowed over Jiaohe, flames soared into the sky, and unarmed, defeated people fled in all directions under the pursuit of the Mongol cavalry. The screams and cries were deafening. Corpses piled up like mountains in the ancient city, and blood flowed like a river in Jiaohe...

    This is the tragedy of Jiaohe, and an indelible scar in human history. Throughout human history, Jiaohe Ancient City is far from the only city destroyed by war. Carthage, Cappadocia, Athens, Dunkirk… War is truly the nemesis of human civilization and progress.

    Natural disasters are not the most terrifying thing; what is most terrifying is often humanity itself, the most intelligent of all beings—human greed, bestiality, and the seeds of evil. Only through constant self-reflection and the suppression of evil and promotion of good can our world be filled with love, peace, and freedom.

    Looking at these ruins, I suddenly realized that the "wailing" sound I heard underground was actually the weeping of Jiaohe Ancient City. This sorrowful weeping had been buried so deep and long ago that it was difficult for people to hear, yet it persisted, continuing its lament even after thousands of years…

    Remembering this tragic history is crucial to preventing its recurrence. Learning from history—perhaps this is the greatest value of Jiaohe Ancient City.