Guarding the Tomb – Two Thousand Years of Loyalty
St. Joseph's College, Chow, Hin Ching Justin - 15
could barely contain my nervousness- as the barely audible sound of a spade striking earth drew
closer and closer, I knew I was just seconds away from discovery.
The digging progressed with agonizing lethargy, making the pain in my chest all the more
excruciating. As I struggled to remain still, a thousand questions ran through my mind.
“Where are my limbs? Will they be found?”
“Who is behind that shovel? What will they do to me?”
After what seemed like an eternity, something metallic finally struck my head.
“Here’s another one,” someone exclaimed. They began to excavate the earth around me. There
were people in weird clothing all around me, and one of them was brushing my forehead, but I hardly
noticed. Instead, I froze, completely mesmerized by the first shaft of light I had seen in two millennia.
It all started way back in the Qin dynasty, when I was brought to life in a dusty workshop. I opened my
eyes to see an old, experienced artisan concentrating on my face. Behind him sat a seasoned Qin soldier,
who was smiling at me affectionately. I soon discovered that every terracotta warrior was modelled on a
real soldier, so naturally I pleased the soldier who shared my features. Around me, several of my brethren
were already waiting. I joined them eagerly. Life was more exciting then. New brothers were created
daily, and I got to observe the artisans at work.
Some say that terracotta warriors were the results of a factory-line production, but the opposite is
true. Every terracotta soldier is the unique work of a skilful artisan, which gives rise to an endless variety
of clothing and faces. So how were we made?
First of all, a cerematic worker would roll earth into the shape of a head, which would form the
backbone for the skull. The earth, which had been removed of impurities through screening, was mixed
with pebbles to ensure its strength.
Afterwards, a number of pre-produced body parts were attached to the head. The basic body shape was
now formed.
To continue, several layers of mud and argil were added to create different facial shapes. Through
carving, scraping and pasting, artisans painstakingly created the warrior’s faces. As the details were crafted
by hand, different styles were reflected on us. Some craftsmen preferred bright and energetic warriors,
while others made majestic ones.
The legs and torso was slightly easier, but it was no piece of cake. After the respective parts were
made in casts, the artisans had to engage in detailed repair. The leg muscles, armour and tunic all had to
be carefully built.
After all that, the warrior finally reached the last major part of production-painting. A layer of
lacquer was first applied, then one or two layers of pigment were added above the raw lacquer. I myself
was brilliantly and delicately coloured. My hair bun was reddish brown, I had a pink face, and my hands
were white. My robes were a multi-coloured affair. My black shoulder armour, decorated with light
green laces, was partially covered by the piece of frontal armour running in front. Simple yet lovely
intersecting patterns adorned my torso armour. I found this bright décor strangely comforting.
With all the details required for each of us, the workload for the artisans was enormous. To make
matters worse, the Qin soldiers who supervised the workers were harsh and cruel. They seemed to be
indifferent to the workers’ sufferings.
As a result, many of the labourers died of overwork. Doubtlessly the terracotta army was grand and
spectacular, but it was not all fun and games.
One morning, my own creator was absent. This was puzzling, as he had never arrived late before. There
were many workers in a single workshop, so it did not really matter. His numerous assistants continued
with his work. The incident was resolved during lunch, when he was dragged into the room by a pair of
guards.
“Why are you late?” they demanded.
“Please, sirs,” he begged, “I fell ill and lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
However, the guards were unconvinced. My creator was giving a beating on the spot. All of us
terracotta warriors stared at our shoes, well knowing that we were the source of his hardship. We were
I
