On the 29th I left Yung P'ing by a new road, only recently opened to traffic, passed the villages of Hsiao T'ien Pa situated amid rice-fields, Hsiao Hua Ch'iao ("Little Flower Bridge"), and Ta Hua Ch'iao ("Big Flower Bridge"). Above the last-named village and overlooking it is a temple (the San Shêng Kung), in which I lunched. In the afternoon we climbed a steep pass from which an equally steep descent led to the village of Sha Yang, where we halted. Immediately on leaving this village next day we ascended and crossed a low ridge, and descended into a small valley cultivated with rice. We crossed a stream by a three-arched bridge built in 1888, called the "Stone Bridge of the Cry of the Phœnix" (Fêng Ming Shih Ch'iao). Beyond this is a row of stone tablets, some commemorating the virtues of incorruptible officials, and others recording the names of those who had subscribed funds for building the bridge.

CROSSING THE MEKONG VALLEY

At the top of the next steep pass, which overlooks the deep trough through which flows the Mekong river (called by the Chinese the Lan Ts'ang Chiang[351]), there is a rather large temple much patronised and enriched by successful traders. The descent to the river's edge is very steep. "A series of short and dangerous zigzags," says Baber, "leads down to a bold suspension bridge of 60 yards span, striding the river at its issue from the darkest of gorges. The perpendicular walls are not 100 yards apart; from our confined position we did not venture to estimate their height."[352] Only the day before my arrival a man had been killed by a boulder which fell on his head as he was wending his way down to the river. One of my escort casually mentioned this to me just after we had passed the fatal spot. The man had been buried that morning close to the place where he was killed. The boulder was supposed to have been dislodged by a deer or a goat. On the east bank of the river, close to the bridge, is a stone tablet or shrine dedicated to the Spirit of the Mountain, and an inscription in which the bridge is described as the T'ai P'ing Ch'iao ("Great Peace Bridge"). The bridge is covered by a wooden arcade, from the roof of which are suspended several pien or boards bearing appropriate inscriptions in huge gilt letters. One of them has the four words, Shan Kao Shui Ch'ang ("The mountain is lofty and the river is long")—which remark if wanting in imaginative insight at least expresses an obvious truth concisely and to the point. The cliffs on the west side of the river are likewise covered with short inscriptions, carved deeply into the rock. One of the largest of all consists of the four words, Jên Li So T'ung[353] ("Made a thoroughfare by the labour of man"). The construction of this great bridge is indeed an engineering feat of which any people might well be proud.

On leaving the river we had a stiff climb over a fairly well paved road to P'ing P'o, the inhabitants of which ought to be excellent mountaineers. They cannot go out of doors in any direction without having to ascend or descend a steep mountain-side. A further climb of nearly 3 miles, partly beside the bed of a stream which in the rainy season is said to be a foaming torrent but in dry weather is absolutely non-existent, brought us to our destination for the night in the village of Shui Chai. In the neighbourhood of this village I found some tombstones of a kind I had not hitherto seen, though I met with many similar ones thereafter. They are like stone drums or cylinders stuck end-wise into the ground, but slightly convex on the top. On some of the grave-tablets are inscribed the words, Chia Ch'êng ("The City Beautiful").

ARRIVAL AT YUNG-CH'ANG

So far throughout my journey I had been remarkably fortunate as regards weather. The rainy season in western Yunnan usually begins early in May, yet, except for some snow-storms, one day's rain at Li-chiang, and two or three heavy showers after leaving Tali-fu, I had met with nothing but the most brilliant sunshine. I knew, however, that once the rains began in earnest they would continue incessantly for many weeks to come, and for this reason I was anxious to reach Bhamo as quickly as possible. What became of the weather after I had reached the Irrawaddy valley was a matter of indifference: après moi le déluge! The next stage after Shui Chai was the city of Yung-ch'ang, and as I had to pay off my Tali muleteers there, and engage others to take me on to T'êng-yüeh, I sent on my servant post-haste to Yung-ch'ang to make the necessary arrangements in advance in order that I might not have to waste a day. Following him more leisurely, I left Shui Chai and rode along a winding road for about 6 miles to the summit of a pass from which we had a good view of a portion of the Yung-ch'ang plain. This range of hills separates the watershed of the Mekong from that of the much-dreaded Salwen. Soon after crossing the pass our road led us down the left side of a small mountain stream, and it was interesting to reflect that its waters were destined, like myself, for British territory. The first village on the west side of the pass was Niu Chio Kuan. It consisted of two huts in Baber's time, and though it has since then quintupled in size it is by no means an imposing centre of population. A mile further down the slope we reached Kuan P'o, a larger village, whence we descended to the edge of the Yung-ch'ang plain, and passed by the side of the village of Shih K'o Ts'un, which possesses a rather handsome and imposing temple, the Kuang Tsun Ssŭ.[354] I may note here that as one enters western Yunnan a tendency to over-decoration and ornateness in the architecture of temples is observable, but on the whole the effect is generally rather pleasing than otherwise, as carved and decorated doorways and fantastic gables often relieve the sordid meanness of the village dwelling-houses. No doubt the influence of non-Chinese races, akin to the Burmese or Shans, has been at work here.

The next village was Pan Ch'iao, a prosperous-looking place with a street of shops and many new buildings and ferocious dogs. One of the dogs, however, came to sorry grief in a conflict with my own bull-terrier, which—I will say it to his credit—seldom took the trouble to fight unless his antagonists were at least two in number. On leaving this village we were in full view of Yung-ch'ang city, with its curious pyramidal hill in the background. We entered by the north gate early in the afternoon. Within the city it almost seemed as though we were still traversing country roads, for we passed many wide open spaces, cultivated plots and a few isolated cottages, and the prickly pear was flourishing where one might have expected to find shops and paved streets. However, the whole city did not present this forlorn appearance, for a turning to the right brought us to a busy and populous quarter, and a further turn to the left led us into a lane in which inns abounded, showing that the city fostered a certain amount of trade.

I expected to find a fair assortment of foreign articles for sale here, but there were few. Tinned pineapples from a Chinese firm in Singapore, bearing a distinguished-looking label with the Royal Arms and the British lion, were to be bought for the equivalent of ninepence a tin; and "Finest Mineral Wax Candles, specially made for India," and sold by a well-known Rangoon firm, were also to be had for about one shilling per packet of five.

COUVADE

We have seen that the district of which Tali-fu is the centre, is the Carajan of Marco Polo. Its western limit appears to have been the Mekong river, and west of that was the old kingdom or state which Marco calls the Province of Zardandan. To its capital he gives the name of Vochan, and this city has been identified with Yung-ch'ang. This is the "Golden-Teeth" country, so named because the inhabitants were said to cover their teeth with thin movable plates of gold. Of this custom no vestige remains, and it is uncertain whether the people are represented by Shans or by some race connected with the Kachins. The inhabitants of the district were evidently regarded by the Chinese till quite modern times as an inferior race, for there is in the Chinese Penal Code a law to the effect that immigrant Chinese, visiting Yung-ch'ang for purposes of trade, must not ally themselves by marriage with the "outer barbarians" of that neighbourhood. The extraordinary practice known to us by the name (popularised by Tylor) of Couvade apparently existed in Yung-ch'ang in Marco Polo's time; and as he was doubtless unaware of its prevalence in many other parts of the world his testimony on the subject may be regarded as trustworthy. "And when one of their wives," says Marco, "has been delivered of a child, the infant is washed and swathed, and then the woman gets up and goes about her household affairs, whilst the husband takes to bed with the child by his side, and so keeps his bed for forty days; and all the kith and kin come to visit him, and keep up a great festivity. They do this because, say they, the woman has had a hard bout of it, and 'tis but fair the man should have his share of suffering."[355] Whether this explanation of the custom is the true one is perhaps open to doubt. It is hardly flattering to the kith and kin, who presumably did their best to relieve the man's monotony, and make matters as pleasant as the somewhat singular circumstances permitted.