The annals of Yung-ch'ang should prove of exceptional interest to the student of Chinese history, for they cannot but throw a flood of light on the relations between the various tribes and states that have striven for the mastery of western Yunnan and the great valleys of the Mekong and Salwen. Its first annexation to the Chinese empire may be assigned to the year 1277, when a great battle—vividly described by Marco Polo[356]—was fought in the Yung-ch'ang plain between the army of the Great Khan and the ambitious king of Mien, or Burma, the main strength of whose army consisted in a host of elephants. "Then might you see swashing blows dealt and taken from sword and mace; then might you see knights and horses and men-at-arms go down; then might you see arms and hands and legs and heads hewn off: and besides the dead that fell, many a wounded man, that never rose again, for the sore press there was. The din and uproar were so great from this side and from that, that God might have thundered and no man would have heard it! Great was the medley, and dire and parlous was the fight that was fought on both sides; but the Tartars had the best of it."
The population of Yung-ch'ang is still a very mixed one, but the Chinese language is spoken and understood by all classes, and the dialect differs little from that of the metropolitan province. The observant Marco Polo noticed among the people of Zardandan the prevalence of the custom of tatooing the body and legs: a custom which to this day is universal among the Shans and Burmese and allied races.
IN THE LION'S DEN
On arrival at my inn I found that all arrangements for the next stage of my journey had been duly made, and on the following morning I set out with two new riding mules—one for myself and one for my servant—and two baggage mules. The muleteers undertook to get us to T'êng-yüeh in five days, and kept their word. Our road led through the city past a temple dedicated to the God of Wealth and out of the south gate. I noticed the date "Kuang Hsü xxvi" (1900) on some of the bricks of the city wall, showing that a restoration had taken place recently. Unfortunately the authorities take no steps to prevent weeds and shrubs from growing in the interstices and on the parapet, and the roots must in course of time seriously affect the stability of the structure. Outside the gate we passed a Kuan Yin temple and went through a small suburb. The road then lay for about 4 miles southward over the plain and through the village of Wo Shih Wo (the "Sleeping Lion's Den"). The name is derived from a cave a few hundred yards above the village. The smell of the innumerable bats, not to mention the disquieting possibility of arousing the lion from his slumbers, would make the cave a disagreeable place to explore. The cave evidently penetrates some distance into the hill, though from the entrance it is difficult to say how far, as there is a turn to the left. It was very dark, and I did not venture far into the interior, as there was a steep slope made slippery by the constant dripping of water from the roof. The descent would have been easy enough—
"Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras
Hoc opus, hic labor est,"—
so I left the attempt to the next traveller.
From here the road wound steadily but not steeply up and over a range of hills, and brought us to the village of Hao Tzŭ P'u. We continued the ascent to the summit of a pass, and in the course of the corresponding descent reached the village of Lêng Shui Ching ("Cold Water Well"). Another 5 or 6 miles brought us down to a level plain and to our halting-place—the large village of P'u Piao. Here I found the accommodation bad, though it is a regular stage and there are several inns.
The next stage was a very short one, only about 7 miles, but it brought us to the edge of the "Valley of the Shadow of Death"—the chasm through which flows the Salwen—and my men would not dare to cross it unless they were quite fresh and had dosed themselves well with quinine. The road from P'u Piao offers no difficulties. The only villages we passed were several which bore the collective name of Fang Ma Ch'ang. Baber describes this place as being a ruined hamlet, but it has risen from its ashes since his day. Even as late as Baber's time this district was the scene of sanguinary strife between the imperial forces and a noted rebel chief. Baber actually saw the rebel camp on the hills opposite the road in the Fang Ma Ch'ang valley. No wonder he passed villages in ruins. Two miles further brought us to the end of our short stage—the miserable hamlet of Ta Pan Ching. A short distance behind it, on the slope of a wooded hill, is a small rock-temple. In it there are four sedent figures and two standing. A semicircular brick wall is built in front of them, so that their view, if they had eyes to see, would be distinctly circumscribed and lacking in variety. Just above the shrine, and nearly hidden by trees, is a picturesque little temple, and close by are a few graves.
"VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH"
Next morning, after dosing my men and myself with all the quinine that was likely to be good for us, I began the long winding descent into the valley of the Salwen, the Chinese name for which is the Lu Chiang or Lu Tzŭ Chiang.[357] I started on foot half an hour before my men, and did not see them until we all foregathered at the river. Soon after starting I came upon a stream of running water by the side of which was a tablet bearing a Chinese inscription to the effect that the water was dangerous to drink. Is it possible that the streams of this valley really contain some vegetable or mineral poison, and that it is from this fact that the valley derives its terrible reputation? The height of Ta Pan Ching above sea-level is 4,500 feet, while the bed of the Salwen lies at about 2,400; the actual descent was therefore 2,100 feet. It is not very steep, for the Salwen valley at this point is very much broader than that of the Mekong in the same latitude. After an easy and pleasant walk I reached the suspension bridge feeling quite as free from sickness as when I started.