One

Outside the gate of Mogao Grottoes, there is a river, there is a vacant land across the river, and several monks are built high and low. The tower is round, close to the gourd, and the outside is white. Judging from several collapsed, a wooden stake is erected in the center of the tower, and the surrounding is made of yellow clay, and the base is made of blue bricks. Historically, the monks of the Mogao Grottoes were not wealthy, and proof can be found here. As the sun sets, the wind is cold, and this dilapidated tower group looks even more sad.

There is a tower, which is relatively well preserved due to its relatively recent construction. There is an inscription on the body of the tower, move to read it, and suddenly be surprised, its owner is actually that Wang Yuanqi!

History has recorded that he was a sinner in the Dunhuang Grottoes.

I've seen pictures of him, dressed in homespun cotton clothes, with glazed eyes and cowering, a Chinese commoner that could be met everywhere in that era. He was originally a farmer in Macheng, Hubei, and fled to Gansu to become a Taoist priest. After several twists and turns, he unfortunately became the home of the Mogao Grottoes, controlling the most splendid culture in ancient China. He received very little money from foreign adventurers and asked them to transport away countless boxes of Dunhuang cultural relics. Today, the experts of the Dunhuang Academy have to buy microfilm of Dunhuang documents from foreign museums again and again in humiliation, sigh, and walk to the magnifying machine.

It is possible to pour out the flood of anger on him. However, he was too humble, too small, too ignorant, and the biggest outpouring was only to play the piano to the cow in exchange for an indifferent expression. Let his ignorant body completely shoulder this cultural debt, and even we will find it boring.

This is a great national tragedy. Wang Daoshi is just a clown who stepped forward in this tragedy. A young poet wrote that that evening, as Stein, an adventurer, was about to set off with a cart full of ox carts, he glanced back at the bleak sunset in the western sky. There, the wounds of an ancient people were dripping blood.

Two

I really don't know how a dignified Buddhist holy place can be guarded by a Taoist priest. Where have all the civil servants in China gone, and why have they never mentioned the cause of Dunhuang in their gushing songs?

It was the beginning of the 20th century, and artists in Europe and the United States were brewing a breakthrough in the new century. Rodin was sculpting in his studio, Renoir, Degas, and Cézanne were in the late stages of creation, and Manet had already exhibited his Lunch on the Grass. Some of them have cast envious eyes on Oriental art, and Dunhuang art is in the hands of Wang Daoshi.

Daoist Wang wakes up early every day and likes to go around the cave, like an old farmer, to see his house. He was a little dissatisfied with the murals in the cave, secret, and a little dazzled to watch. Liangtang is a little better, he found two helpers and brought a bucket of lime. Fill the straw brush with a long handful, dip it in the lime bucket, and start his painting. The first time the lime was brushed too thinly, and the colors were faintly visible, the farmer was serious about doing things, and he brushed it carefully for the second time. The air here is dry, and the lime is already dry in a while. There is nothing left, the smile of the Tang Dynasty, the clothes of the Song Dynasty, and the cave has become a pure white. The Taoist priest wiped his sweat and smiled innocently, and inquired about the market price of lime by the way. He calculated and felt that there was no need to whiten more caves for the time being, so just brush these few, and he put down the brush handle considerably.

When several cave walls are painted white, the plastic carving of the middle seat is too eye-catching. In a clean farmhouse, their graceful posture is too ostentatious, and their soft smile is a little embarrassing. The Taoist priest remembered his identity, a Taoist priest, why not engage a few heavenly masters and spiritual officials here? He instructed the helper to borrow a few hammers and make the original sculptures bend. Things were done well, and after only a few strokes, the graceful posture turned into fragments, and the soft smile turned into mud. I heard that there were a few masons from the neighboring village, so I invited them, mixed some mud, and began to pile up his heavenly master and spirit officer. The mason said that he had never done this kind of work, and the Taoist priest comforted him, "You might as well do it if you have that meaning." So, like a naughty boy building a snowman, here is the nose, here are the hands and feet, and finally you can sit firmly. Okay, take the lime again and paint them white. Draw a pair of eyes, and a beard, like a decent look. The Taoist priest let out a sigh of relief, thanked a few masons, and then made the next step.

Today, when I walked into these caves, I was faced with the miserable white walls and the miserable white statues, and my mind was also miserable. I could barely speak, and the brushes and hammers were shaking in front of me. "Stop!" I cried out in pain in the bottom of my heart, only to see Daoist Wang turn his face, his eyes full of confusion. Yes, he is tidying up his house, why should the idlers make a noise? I even wanted to kneel down to him and whisper to him: "Please wait, wait...... but wait for what? My mind was still white.

Three

In the early morning of May 26, 1900, Daoist Wang still got up early and worked hard to remove the sand from a cave. Unexpectedly, the wall shook and cracked, and there seemed to be a hidden cave inside. Daoist Wang was a little strange, and hurriedly opened the cave, ho, full of antiquities!

Daoist Wang couldn't understand at all that this morning, he had opened a portal that had caused a sensation in the world. A permanent science will be built on this cave. Countless talented scholars will spend their lives on this cave. China's glory and shame will be swallowed up by this cave.

Now, he is holding a dry tobacco pipe, picking it up in the cave. Of course, he couldn't understand these things, he just felt that things were a little strange. Why did the wall crack when I was here? Maybe it's God's reward for me. The next time I went to the county seat, I picked up a few scriptures and showed them to the county magistrate, and by the way, I would talk about this strange incident.

The county magistrate is a civil official, and he weighs out the weight of the matter a little. Soon Ye Chichang, a scholar in Gansu, also knew, he was a goldsmith and understood the value of caves, and suggested that Fantai transport these cultural relics to the provincial capital for safekeeping. But there are a lot of things, the freight is not low, and the bureaucrats hesitate again. Only Wang Daoist took out a little bit of cultural relics again and again and sent them back and forth in the officialdom.

China is poor. But one has to look at the extravagance of these bureaucratic lavish lifestyles to know that you will never be so poor that you can't afford to pay for this freight. Chinese officials were not uneducated, and they had also turned through unearthed scriptures in their study rooms with bright windows, speculating that they had written dynasties. But they don't have that red intestine, and they are determined to protect the heritage of the motherland. They touched their beards elegantly and instructed their subordinates: "When, ask that Taoist priest to send a few more!" "The few pieces that have been obtained, wrapped up, can be regarded as a birthday gift for a Beijing official.

At this time, European and American scholars, sinologists, archaeologists, and adventurers rushed to Dunhuang from thousands of miles away, sleeping in the open air. They are willing to sell all their possessions to pay for the smuggling of one or two artifacts back. They were willing to endure hardships, they were willing to risk being buried in the desert, and they were even prepared to be beaten and killed, and rushed towards the cave that had just been opened. They lit puffs of smoke in the desert, and tea was fragrant in the living rooms of Chinese officials.

There were no checkpoints, no formalities, and the foreigners walked directly to the cave. The cave was bricked and locked, and the key hung from the waistband of the king's trousers. Foreigners can't help but feel a little sorry that at the last stop of their sprint, they didn't encounter the strict cultural relics protection residence, the indifferent museum director, or even the guards and doormen. They had to shrug their shoulders humorously.

After a few words, you will know the taste of the Taoist priest. The plans originally conceived were purely superfluous, and the Taoist priest only wanted the easiest small deal. It's like exchanging two needles for a chicken, and a button for a basket of greens. To recount this exchange in detail, perhaps my pen will not be very calm, but I can only say briefly: in October 1905 the Russian Booluchev exchanged a small amount of Russian goods with him for a large number of papers and scrolls; In May 1907, Stein, a Hungarian, exchanged a stack of silver dollars for twenty-four large boxes of scriptures, five boxes of woven silk, and paintings; In July 1908, the Frenchman Birch-Hop exchanged a small amount of silver dollars for ten carts and more than 6,000 manuscripts and picture scrolls; In October 1911, the Japanese Koichiro Yoshikawa and Ruichao Tachibana exchanged more than 300 volumes of manuscripts and two Tang sculptures at unimaginably low prices; In 1914, Stein came back for the second time, still exchanging a small silver dollar for five large boxes and more than 600 scrolls; ……

The Taoist priest also hesitated, fearing that he would offend God. It was very simple to relieve this hesitation, and Stein coaxed him to say that he admired Tang Seng very much, and this time he was tracing Tang Seng's footprints backwards and learning scriptures from India to China. Okay, since it is a foreign Tang monk, let's take it away, Daoist Wang opened the door happily. There is no need for any diplomatic rhetoric here, just a few ready-made fairy tales.

One box, another box. A big car, another big car. Everything was loaded, tied tightly, and the convoy set off ——,.

Didn't go to the provincial capital, because the lord had already said that there was no freight. Well, then to London, to Paris, to Petersburg, to Tokyo.

Daoist Wang nodded frequently, bowed deeply, and gave a ride. He respectfully refers to Stan as "Lord Si Dai No" and Bo Xihe as "Lord Pei Xi He". He had some heavy silver dollars in his pocket, which was hard to come by in ordinary times. He said goodbye and thanked Master Si and Master Pei for their "generosity". The convoy was already far away, and he was still standing at the intersection. On the desert, two deep ruts.

Stein and the others returned home and received a warm welcome. Their academic reports and expedition reports aroused thunderous applause from time to time. They often refer to the eccentric Taoist priest in their narratives, making foreign listeners feel how important it is to salvage this inheritance from such a fool. They keep suggesting that it was their long journey that brought the Dunhuang literature from darkness to light.

They are all practical scholars, and academically, I can admire them. However, some of the most basic premises are forgotten in their discourse. It was too late to argue, and all that came to my mind was a few lines of poetry from a contemporary Chinese youth, who wrote to Lord Ergin, who burned down the Old Summer Palace:

I hate it

Hate that I wasn't born a century early

that I may stand star-to-face with you

Eerie and gloomy castle

A wilderness in the morning light

Either I'll pick up the white gloves you threw down

Either you catch the sword I threw over

Either you and I each ride a war horse

Far away from the handsome banner that covers the sky

Leave the battle formation

Decide the loss under the city

For this group of scholars, these verses may be too hard. But I did want to use this method to stop their convoy. Looking at each other, standing in the desert. They will say, you can't afford to study; So good, find a place first, sit down, and compare the level of learning. Anything can be done, but we can't so quietly transport away the bequest that our ancestors gave us.

I couldn't help but sigh again, what if the convoy was really stopped by me? I had to send it to the capital at that time, and the freight was not counted. But at that time, wasn't it true that a batch of cave documents were also sent to Beijing? The scene was that there was no wooden box, only mats were used to bundle them indiscriminately, and the officials along the way reached in and took a handful, and they had to leave a few bundles where to rest, and as a result, when they arrived in the capital, they were scattered and did not look good.

In the huge China, there are not even a few volumes of scriptures! Compared to the scene of being abused by officials, I sometimes even say cruelly: I would rather store it in the London Museum! After all, this sentence is not very comfortable. Where should the convoy that I stopped go? It's hard here, it's hard there, I just let it stop in the desert and cry.

I hate it!

Four

It's not just me who hates. The experts of the Dunhuang Academy hate them even more than I do. They were reluctant to express their feelings, so they just kept an iron face and studied Dunhuang documents for decades. The film of the literature could be bought from abroad, and the more humiliating it was, the more intensive it was to study.

When I arrived, an international symposium on Dunhuang Studies was being held in the Mogao Grottoes. A few days later, a Japanese scholar made a note in a heavy tone: "I would like to correct a statement from the past. The results of the past few years have shown that Dunhuang is in China, and Dunhuang studies are also in China! ”

The Chinese experts were not too excited, and they silently left the venue and walked past the pagoda of Taoist Wang.