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Prelusion (Preface) of Bellatrix, sequel to Unconquered

4/6/2026

This book is dedicated to
the memory of
two special friends
who made
this book and trilogy possible

Michael K.S. Pang
and
Yang Qianli

Prelusion
One might think writing a book, even a trilogy, would be easier than building and running a television station with no money, a feat I was foolish enough to attempt in my youth. This assumption is categorically and indubitably erroneous. Writing is harder by multiple degrees of magnitude. I’m not suggesting authors should put down their pens and start building TV stations, which requires certain deranged bravado and recklessness, as well as a total disregard for the real world's economic consequences. Make no mistake, many people helped me with my TV endeavour, and I would like to thank them all, but it’s a story for another time.

When it comes to creative writing, combining imagination with substance, such as the chapters in Unconquered recounting the life and death of the Shang Dynasty warrior queen, Fu Hao, I couldn’t have done it without help either. And help came my way over the years, often without my realizing it.

In 1980, when I was producing a weekly one-hour Chinese-language program on Toronto’s multilingual television station CFMT-TV, now Rogers OMNI-TV, I included a cultural segment on the etymology of Chinese characters. Initially, I drew all my material from Shuowen Jiezi (說文解字), the first Chinese dictionary authored by Xu Shen (許慎) around 100 CE during the Eastern Han Dynasty. However, I found some of the book’s definitions to be unsatisfactory. As I was not a Chinese scholar, I needed help, for which I approached Professor James Hsu (RIP), who was teaching East Asian Studies at the University of Toronto. By a stroke of luck, the professor was an expert on ancient China. At the time, he was working on a project categorizing a large cache of oracle bones for the Royal Ontario Museum. He introduced me to his seminal work, Ancient Chinese Society, one of my go-to references for writing the story of the Shang. Professor Hsu is mentioned in Unconquered as David Huang’s mentor, whereas his academic achievements are fictionalized as his protégé’s attributes in the story, a commixture of fact and fiction.

In 1989, I was introduced to Michael Pang in Toronto, who was presented as a mogul in the broadcast and television technologies industry. He was a Chinese Canadian from Hong Kong, similar to my status, and his Hong Kong-based company was a major player in mainland China, Taiwan and Hong Kong. During the 1990s, his company further developed a dominant position in the professional and broadcast audio sector, implementing numerous high-profile projects in China.

In early 1991, I accepted the court appointment to serve as the receiver-manager of the television station I helped establish. After resuscitating the service and pulling the company back from the brink of total collapse, I realized I needed to build a new production facility to replace the old one, which was falling apart. It would also improve the company’s asset value, hopefully commanding a higher price in the eventual asset sale to repay all creditors. Michael helped by introducing me to the latest cutting-edge technologies at the time. He also intervened to settle a dispute between a mutual friend and the TV station, to which I was bound by fiduciary duty, resolving a problem inherited from before the receivership to everyone’s satisfaction. Afterwards, Michael returned to Hong Kong to focus on developing his company’s business in the vibrant Chinese market.

Following the successful auction sale of the television station and the termination of the receivership, I visited Hong Kong in 1997 to witness the handover ceremony of the city’s return to China. I dropped in on Michael. One thing led to another, and I stayed to set up a company in Guangzhou with Michael’s support. I ended up living and working in China for twenty years. It is safe to say, without his help, I would not have had enough knowledge about China to author any of the books of this trilogy.

Over the years, I became much better acquainted with Michael. He introduced me to everyone in his family, including his four brothers. His younger brother, Francis, a pioneer in education, founded the Beijing Concord College of Sino-Canada. The high school is the first in China to issue dual Chinese and Canadian diplomas to its graduates, allowing them to enter Canadian universities directly. Michael was also involved in the project and helped develop an extensive network of educational establishments across China, including the Canadian International School of Beijing, which received a two-decade commemoration plaque from Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney during his first state visit to Beijing. Two characters in the trilogy, Charlie and Viola, attend the schools. For his contributions to education and in strengthening Canada-China relations, Francis received the Order of Canada. (The schools are now operated by Charles, Francis' son, who received the commemoration plaque from Prime Minister Carney.)

Life is a box of chocolates, but now and then, one encounters a bitter variety. Michael’s family suffered the scourge of cancer, and he was a victim of it. Nevertheless, all the good deeds he had done in life would not be in vain. This trilogy could not have existed without Michael. This book is, therefore, dedicated to his memory.

Michael’s China story started with a young, wide-eyed broadcast engineer who went to China in 1972 to support the satellite newscast of Nixon’s historic visit. He would stay to significantly impact the development of China’s television, radio and audio industries. It is a fascinating story for another time.

In 2005, while working on network coding technologies in China, I became acquainted with an elderly Chinese gentleman, whose name, when mentioned by people who recognized it, seemed to cast a spell of awe over them. Mr. Yang Qianli, the founder and chairman of the annual China Satellite Application Conference, was also a member of the Technology Committee of the Chang’e Moon-landing Project and a senior professor on the dissertation panels of China’s top universities in science and technology. At the same time, he was a three-star general and the Deputy Director of the Communications Department of the General Staff of the PLA, who had led the technology and engineering team in launching China’s first geosynchronous communications satellite. Despite his reputation for being strict and uncompromising in his demand for perfection, Director Yang only showed me his kindness and easy-going nature, and we hit it off immediately. He also introduced me to Sidney Rittenberg, an American who had lived an extraordinary life in China.

When Director Yang learned of my interest in oracle bones, he organized a visit to Anyang, where the site of Yinxu, the ruins of the last capital of the Shang Dynasty, was located. Upon our arrival, the head of the military establishment in the area, Commander Xu, who was a close friend of Director Yang and fictionalized as Uncle Xu in Unconquered, rolled out the red carpet to welcome us. Thus, the story of Fu Hao and the discovery of her undisturbed tomb began to germinate in my mind. Though past retirement age, Director Yang worked tirelessly, contributing to China's rejuvenation. He passed away in 2020 after combating cancer for years. I visited him after he was committed to the hospital, and he was holding endless meetings in his room. This trilogy, especially this book, is also dedicated to his memory.

Readers who have enjoyed Unconquered will find the sequel, Bellatrix, equally stimulating and captivating. In addition to new, surprising theories about Shang’s origin, its migration route, and the identity of Xia, Shang’s preceding dynasty, the book will reveal heretofore unexplained mysteries in the Chinese classic Dream of the Red Chamber. Readers will discover the true backgrounds of the author, his wife and two survivors of the twelve leading ladies featured in the story. A big surprise lurks within the last pages of Bellatrix, but peeking is strictly prohibited. Carpe Liber—seize the book!

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Obituary for my mother Chan Hong Lan (d. 05/21/2026 age 99)

23/5/2026

Everyone knows my mother as Chan Hong Lan (陳香蘭) or, in the English manner, Hong-Lan Chan. Hong Lan (香蘭) means "fragrant orchid." Here is the first surprise; it is not her given name at birth. She took up the moniker when she left her family in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam, to go to school in China. It was a popular name in the Mainland. A famous singer-actress at the time was Li Hsiang-lan (李香蘭), also "fragrant orchid." But the Chinese celebrity would turn out to be a Japanese named Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子). Her amazing story would later be told in a television docudrama (Episode 1 and Episode 2), accompanied by a beautiful title song (Ikanaide, or Don't go) composed and sung by Kōji Tamaki (玉置浩二), later made popular in Hong Kong by Cantopop star Jacky Cheung (張學友) as Lei Heong Laan (李香蘭). My mother's real name is Chan Oi Sun or Chen Aixin (陳愛新). She was named Aixin, meaning "love new," based on a family naming manual. Ai, "love," indicates the female offspring's generation. For example, Mom had a younger sister named Ai'e (愛娥), "love maiden"; and a first cousin named Aiqin (愛琴), "love piano." I'll try to tell my mother's life story to the best of my knowledge.

My mother was born in 1926, the Year of the Tiger. In those days, no one issued birth certificates. But we know her zodiac sign was the tiger, and her date of birth, based on the Chinese calendar, lands on August 30th of the Western calendar. As the oldest child of her family, my mother drew her first breath in a small village named Shuitie (水鐵), meaning "water iron," in Wenchang County (now City) of Hainan Island (now a province). The village is located next to the eponymously named Shuitie Reservoir (水鐵水庫). Wenchang (文昌), meaning "culture flourish," is famous for several products, not least the Wenchang chicken and the Hainanese chicken rice. More importantly, the ancestral home of the Song sisters, three of the most prominent and influential women of China during the twentieth century, is in Wenchang, about five kilometres, as the crow flies, south of Shuitie. They were practically neighbours.

Shuitie is merely one of numerous small, insignificant and forgettable villages in China. No one would have heard of it or remembered it unless one came from the place. From what I know, two families, the Chan (陳) and the Fu (符), probably linked by marriage between their ancestors, settled at the location and shared the land. It was not ideal, as the village was inland and did not enjoy the bounties of the South China Sea, except when fishing boats loaded with fresh fish docked, and some of the fish were transported to the inland villages, arriving around midnight. My mother remembered being roused from sleep to consume the freshly prepared seafood dishes. The Chan family name has a significant presence in Hainan. According to my mother, who heard the tales from her father, their branch had migrated over centuries from Fujian on the east coast of China. The Fujian Chan clan is also significant and well known.

My mother's father, my grandfather, known to everyone as Chan Kei Man or Chen Qiwen (陳企文), was said to be well educated. He had left the village to do business in Saigon, now Ho Chi Minh City, operating two restaurants in partnership with his best friend from school. Qiwen means "established literature/culture/words." However, it is not his given name at birth. He was named Youmou (有謀), meaning "have plans," based on a family naming manual.

In those days, when the men went abroad to make a living, the women would visit once every other year, staying for a year each time. When the wife was not in town, the man would take a mistress, usually a Vietnamese. When the husband, such as my grandfather, managed the situation well, the family would not be affected. Others would mess up, and families would be broken up. If the wife got pregnant, she would have to travel home to give birth, ensuring the offspring would be unequivocally Chinese. Hence, my mother was born in Shuitie but grew up in Saigon.

When my mother was born, her mother, my grandmother, named Ying Mui (邢妹), or "little sister Ying," was already thirty-one. In those days of high infant mortality, my mom's older siblings did not survive. Seven years later, the family would welcome another girl, Chen Ai'e (陳愛娥), my aunt, and three years after her, a son, Tran Van Giam (陳文鑫), or in Chinese pinyin, Chen Wenxin, my uncle. One need not be overly bothered by Chan, Chen or Tran; they are simply different ways to spell the same name. Chan is Hong Kong English, Tran is Vietnamese French, and Chen is Chinese pinyin (phonetics). My grandmother was said to have come from a line of strong-willed, long-lived women. She lived to a hundred, and her mother lived to ninety-nine. My mother, passing only a few months from reaching a hundred, certainly continued the tradition.

My grandfather, being a learned man, read the newspapers every day. My mother adopted the habit and did not stop until Sing Tao Daily ceased printing in Toronto and Ming Pao Daily terminated its North American operations. For her, during those salad days in Saigon, old newspapers were material for self-learning and a ready supply of paper for practising calligraphy. My mother's handwriting is flamboyantly expressive, suggestive of coming from an ambitious man's hand. However, growing up in the patriarchal society of her day, my mother was not expected to receive an education beyond primary schooling, if at all. Indeed, female illiteracy was considered a virtue in some quarters. Therefore, after graduating from primary school, she was told to stay home and help look after her younger sister and baby brother.

At the time, my grandfather was operating a French or Western-style restaurant by a dock in Cholon, a district known to the large Chinese population in the area as Di'an (堤岸), meaning "embankment," on a strip my mother remembered as Sailor Street (水手街), catering mostly to foreigners and sailors. It may be similar to Wan Chai during British colonial rule in Hong Kong. His partner and best friend from school operated a local-style restaurant, but lost the business after becoming addicted to opium. When the Japanese occupied Saigon, they confiscated my grandfather's restaurant, and the Chan family's fortunes went into decline.

Given the circumstances, my mother did not receive any support from her father when she expressed her desire to receive further education. Fortunately, her strong-willed mother sold her jewellery and sent my mother, at the age of fourteen, on a one-way trip to Guilin, where she attended the prestigious National Hanmin Middle School. The "Middle School" here actually refers to Secondary School and includes high school, probably leading to further studies. I have told the story in an earlier post. I will not repeat it here.

In 1948, the school permitted expatriate students, who had been separated from their families for ages, to return home for one year. My mother was on her way back to the school in 1949 when the government of the Republic of China under Chiang Kai-shek collapsed, and she was stranded in Hong Kong.

I believe my mother always wanted to pursue a career in education because she had only sought employment in teaching jobs. One of her first posts was the home teacher to the kids of a newspaper editor. The newspaper was Hong Kong's New Evening Post (新晚報). She met my father at the editor's home. At the time, my father was a dashing and talented young man, a promising contract actor at the Great Wall Movie Enterprises studio, later moving to Shaw Brothers, and a budding writer, all ingredients to capture a young girl's heart. Be that as it may, my mother's path to marriage was supposed to be exclusively paved by her parents. Being independent and headstrong, my mother eventually did it her way. The times, they were a-changing.

By 1953, when my elder sister Selina was born, life was a box of chocolates for my mother. But by the end of 1954, when I was born, circumstances had taken a precipitous dive. My father's contract with the movie studio was discontinued. His acting career never blossomed, and he would only act in bit parts or commercials, which did not generate a steady income. My mother, in charge of two babies with no resources or backup, could only earn pennies from taking on handicraft work at home and barely had enough food for herself. She considered the survival of her babies a miracle from heaven. My father was a Bohemian artist with a free spirit who refused to be tied down by a desk job and showed up when he showed up. My mother was basically left to her own devices, keeping her babies alive by receiving milk powder and noodles from the Catholic Church.

For a while, father would take the babies to the studios to act in small roles for milk money. Selina was cast in a major film Madam Butterfly (蝴蝶夫人)* starring Li Lihua (李麗華), a superstar in Hong Kong moviedom in those days. I remember taking a bit part as a boy in a fake bus interacting with Ko Lan (葛蘭). However, the movie studio was no place for babies. People working on a skimpy budget and tight schedule under the thumb of unforgiving investors, while having to cater to the whims of the movie stars, had no sympathy for hungry babies needing sleep. My mother hated those people and swore she would rather die starving than let her children work in the movie business. When I got into television in Hong Kong and Canada, I did so, at first, without her approval, though she would, over time, grudgingly assent to my career choice.

* Click the YouTube link and check out Selina's scene at 1 hour 9 minutes.

My mother had a problem finding work as a teacher. Her educational credentials were in China and inaccessible, even if they were not lost or destroyed. Her other problem was having to take care of two young babies. So, what was one to do?

At the time, the Hong Kong government began moving mainland migrants from temporary settlements to government housing projects known as Resettlement Estates (徙置區). Moving into her first apartment in Hong Kong at the Jordan Valley Estate*, which was a simple room with no kitchen, toilet or shower, my mother no longer had to worry about having a roof over the family's collective heads.

*Clicking the YouTube video, at 59 seconds, the basketball court can be seen diagonally from our fourth-floor apartment across a wide water channel. I used to practise shooting hoops at the court until I realized I was too short to play basketball. At 1:43, this water channel used to carry excess water from the hilltop reservoir to the sea, occasionally along with unfortunate kids adventuring in the mountains. I was one of the more fortunate ones. Our apartment looked right over the channel.

As luck would have it, the large number of migrant children in the estates did not have regular schools to attend, and some make-shift rooftop schools sprang up, solving an urgent problem. Teachers were in short supply, forget about certified ones. Hence, my mother, without being asked for credentials, taught at one of those schools for both the morning and afternoon classes, which was the same as taking two jobs. The teachers, many of whom had young children, set up an ad hoc daycare at the school and took turns babysitting each other's babies during their breaks. Problem solved! And my mother took home HKD 160 a month for working two shifts, paying HKD 40 in rent, leaving barely enough to buy food and pay off debt. Getting sick or having an accident was not an option. To supplement her income, she would take a third job in the evening, crocheting knitwear fabric at home for a garment factory, sometimes earning more income than from her teacher's job.

Things were slowly improving. During the early sixties, probably when I was about eight or nine, my mother's mother, our grandmother, came to live with us. She had been widowed since the fifties, when Grandfather died from a heart attack. Grandmother would prepare food for the kids and do housework, allowing Mom to pursue her teaching career with more vigour. My mother's younger sister, Chen Ai'e (陳愛娥), our aunt, came to Hong Kong earlier and married our uncle, Kwong Gwong (鄺光), the second son of a movie studio's owner. The studio was known as the National Studio or Kwokar Film Studio (國家片場) and produced many Cantonese movies during its heyday. Meanwhile, my mother's younger brother, Tran Van Giam (陳文鑫), having reached military age in Saigon, dodged the draft and absconded to Vientiane, Laos, where he got married. When the Pathet Lao approached the capital, my uncle skedaddled with his wife and kids, transited through Hong Kong, leaving his family there for a while, scouted Paris as a future home for the family, survived an existential year-long adventure at sea outside the waters of Singapore, and eventually reunited and settled with his family in Houston, Texas. Grandfather's younger brother had a son, Chen Wenrang (陳文讓), known to me as Ah Young, who ended up in Hong Kong, while a younger daughter, Chen Aiqin (陳愛琴), known to me as Ah Kum, settled in Edmonton, Alberta, with her family.

I know of two other families from Shuitie. One is also a Chan family, headed by Ge Biao (according to Mom, Ge Biao means Brother Biao). Another is the Fu (符) family, headed by Ge Gai. Both families, working in South Vietnam in the food business, became wealthy during the Vietnam War, taking advantage of the unlimited war budgets of America. Ge Gai owned the well-known Marseille Restaurant (馬賽餐廳) near Hanoi Road in Hong Kong's Tsim Sha Tsui district, which was usurped by the manager whom he had trusted as a son. His own son, Ge Gam, would open up the New Marseille. After the fall of Saigon, both families settled in Los Angeles.

Getting back to how my mother progressed in her teaching career, she realized the rooftop schools were a stopgap and would eventually go by the wayside. She needed to find a more long-term employment. She started trying her luck applying for jobs at legitimate private schools, which would require credentials. At one of these job interviews, the principal appeared interested in her story and kept asking questions about Hanmin, the school she attended. It turned out the principal's son was a Hanmin alumnus, and his letters describing the school matched what my mom said. She was hired on the spot. Later, the principal would sponsor her (without any credentials, she needed a licensed educator to vouch for her) to take the Teacher's Certificate exam, and she passed on the first try. The principal's wife took the exam ten times in ten years, finally passing it on the last try.

With the Teacher's Certificate, my mother became a government employee and taught the primary classes at St. John Bosco School (聖鮑思高天主教學校) in Tsz Wan Shan. She was able to maintain close relationships with many students through the years, some lasting over half a century. Though she was supposed to retire when she reached the age of sixty-five, another school hired her because she held a Physical Education licence, which had become mandatory, and few teachers in Hong Kong at the time had such a licence. Thus, my mother worked until she was seventy-five, when she finally retired. As we know by now, her actual retirement age was closer to seventy-eight.

During her earlier struggles, burdened with two babies, and later adding a girl, Pauline, my mother, despite our less-than-desirable social and economic condition, aspired to put her kids through prestigious schools. It was rather preposterous, to say the least, and, for all practical purposes, seemed an impossible dream. However, Selina would enter St. Paul's Secondary School, and later St. Paul's Convent for Form 6 and 7, matriculating with three distinctions. She was an exceptional student and helped our younger sister, Pauline, attend St. Paul's (Lam Tin) as well.

When I was ready to attend primary school, my mother had saved up barely enough money to submit one application, and she chose La Salle Primary School. She placed the wild bet with her last dollar and hoped for the best. It was a million-to-one shot, and she had no Plan B. I remember having to complete a jigsaw puzzle for the entrance exam. I almost finished it, leaving three pieces at a corner, while most kids did not know where to begin. By mysterious and miraculous providence, I was accepted. And I spent a total of thirteen years at the school, six years under Brother Henry at La Salle Primary School and seven years at La Salle College across La Salle Road, under Brother Casimir and Brother Raphael, guided by Brother Thomas and Brother Michael, among many others, graduating from Form 7 in 1973 to further my studies at McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. I am probably one of the small percentage of students who have studied at La Salle from Primary 1 to Form 7. Selina would attend York University and later Princeton, and is married to a prominent Princeton professor, my brother-in-law Peter Ramadge from Newcastle, Australia. What a far cry from our humble beginnings of penury and want! We do have our mother to thank for her tenacious drive to improve our lives.

Shortly after receiving her Teacher's Certificate, which made the future much more promising, my mother was advised our family had won a government lottery to be relocated to a larger apartment in a better-developed estate, Choi Hung Estate. The rent would be tripled, however, and she would not have been able to afford it if not for the prospect of teaching at government-funded schools. Our new home was much roomier with our own kitchen, bathroom and balcony. It was simply amazing! Good fortunes seemed to follow us. My mother was brave, and fortune favours the brave.

After the kids had flown the coop, my mother would spend most of her summer holidays travelling the world. During the early 1980s, when she was visiting her younger brother's family in Houston, a car accident almost took her life. On a trip through Galveston, the car flipped on the highway, throwing my mother onto the road. By the time Selina and I arrived from Toronto in the evening, we found her in a coma in the ICU, suffering from multiple fractures and internal bleeding. Our uncle's wife, our aunt from Vientiane, who was thrown onto the lawns at the roadside, suffered broken legs but no life-threatening injuries. Unfortunately, she contracted a superbug and passed away within a couple of weeks. My mother, on the other hand, woke up shortly after Selina and I arrived and slowly recovered to live another forty-odd years, reaching almost a hundred years of age, during which she enjoyed a never-ending adventure of travelling to the four corners of the world on her own, as well as cruising across the seven seas.

It would be impossible to recollect all her travel stories. She went to so many places her memory of them became mixed up. But she loved to recount the time she visited the small towns and cities all over America on a two-month Greyhound pass. She practically hopped on a bus and went to the next town without planning or knowing where she would end up. The year she visited Jerusalem, it snowed. She also went to Tehran, despite dire travel warnings about dangerous social upheaval, only to return home convinced she had been lied to by the Western media. She found Tehran as peaceful as a sleeping babe, and she concluded Iranians were the nicest people in the world. She crossed from the Atlantic to the Pacific around the southern tip of South America, timed by the cruise to occur exactly upon the countdown to a new year on New Year's Eve, and she had the certificate to prove it. She visited Antarctica and the Arctic, sporting with penguins and seals. Once, she got bored in Hong Kong and, without notice or advising anyone, not even booking a hotel room, took an impromptu flight to Paris and spent a month living in the centre of the City of Light.

In her eighties, she joined a Green Tortoise bus camping trip around America. People at Green Tortoise were mortified and begged us every day to convince Mom not to go. No such luck. She enjoyed the trip tremendously, bussing around America with a busload of young adventurers, sleeping on hammocks or in tents, frolicking in streams and lakes, while never entering the cities. She boarded the bus in San Francisco, arriving at New York a month later in one piece and none the worse for wear.

As my mother reached her late eighties, it became apparent her faculties were declining and her independent adventuring days were coming to a close. I marked the end of an era by taking her on a mother-and-son trip across Europe, during which I bumped into a friend and his wife at Frankfurt am Main (they were on a stopover; what are the chances?), took a detour to Tübingen on the invitation of a Mercedes Benz VP (who said everyone hated Stuttgart and wouldn't be found dead in the city), introduced Mom to Wiener schnitzel and apple strudel in Munich (her first experience of Austrian cuisine), landed in Brussels on the day King Philippe was crowned (another coincidence), stayed at a friend's vineyard in southern France, and lost our phones on the same day in Paris, mine in the metro and hers in the Musée Rodin. These are but a snippet of Mom's adventures.

While my mother could no longer wander around the world on her own, she went on many cruises, mostly accompanied by Selina, and once by her eldest grandson, Darcy. Even last year, she went on two cruises with Selina, one from Vancouver to Alaska and the other from New York to the Caribbean. My mother lived on her own in an apartment in Toronto's Chinatown near College and Spadina, right across the driveway from a large Chinese supermarket and steps away from her favourite Burger King, where everyone called her Mama. As her faculties continued to decline, my strong-willed and independent mother finally accepted help from Personal Support Workers, attended a seniors' activities centre, which she had refused to join, relenting after many gentle persuasions, and eventually loving it (when the staff, Chelsea and Wendy, came to visit Mom on the day before she passed away, they brought a smile to her face when they promised to save a big piece of her favourite pork for her when she could return to the centre), and having me push her around town in a wheelchair. However, whenever I suggested the inevitability of her moving out of her beloved apartment to live under long-term care, she swore it would never happen as long as she was alive.

My mother had a morbid fear of long-term care or a senior's nursing home. She acquired the phobia by witnessing her childhood friend shrivel and waste away in such an establishment while still young and healthy in her sixties. This friend, whom we called Aunt Tao Xiuzhen (陶秀珍), according to Mom, came from the wealthiest Hainanese family in Vietnam. Her father used to own so much land birds couldn't cross it without resting. The family also owned half the commercial properties in the centre of Cholon, cornered the gold and jewellery markets, and operated a lucrative bottling business known as Fangquan (芳泉), "fragrant spring," producing popular carbonated drinks. Since I cannot verify any of these, I can only report what I heard. However, I do remember Aunt Xiuzhen's family in Hong Kong as incredibly wealthy while we were scraping by in Jordan Valley. Her husband, Mr. Yip, would pick us up in their black luxury sedan, a privilege the kids in our neighbourhood could only dream of. Aunt Xiuzhen also owned and operated a private school in Causeway Bay, occupying an entire flat in Hong Kong's prime commercial district.

Mom said she had been friends with Xiuzhen since they were kids in Vietnam. In fact, they had taken the trip to Guilin to attend Hanmin together. But Xiuzhen, growing up a princess in a wealthy family, could not withstand the rigours and strict discipline at the school and dropped out within a week. While the two were separated for many years, both ended up in Hong Kong under different circumstances. When Aunt Xiuzhen heard my mother was in town, she searched high and low and finally found us scarcely surviving in a migrants' estate. After the withdrawal of America from the Vietnam War, Aunt Xiuzhen returned to Saigon to get involved in the distribution of her family's considerable assets, which her father's younger brother was managing, as her father had died suddenly during the Second Sino-Japanese War. However, it was all for naught, as the North Vietnamese tanks rolled through the city gates in 1975. When Aunt Xiuzhen returned to Hong Kong, she discovered her bank accounts had been emptied, and her husband was nowhere in sight. It turned out Mr. Yip had lost all their savings to gold speculation and had gone into hiding from loan sharks.

Fortunately for Aunt Xiuzhen, both her children were high achievers. Her son became a successful doctor in America. Her daughter, who married an American and moved to New York, is a respected member of the Buddhist faith, an accomplished Guqin musician and an author. Aunt Xiuzhen, however, could not adapt to American life and soon found herself living in a Buddhist senior's home in Hong Kong that served only vegetarian food. My mother said whenever she visited Aunt Xiuzhen, she would smuggle Hainanese chicken into her room, prepared by my grandmother in the traditional manner. As she enjoyed her hometown food, Aunt Xiuzhen would shed a few tears, bemoaning the vicissitude of human fortunes. Mom said it did not take long to notice the decline of Aunt Xiuzhen's memories. Following another one of her adventures, travelling to some far corner of the world, my mother returned to Hong Kong and went to the nursing home, only to discover Aunt Xiuzhen had sadly passed away. While for some, a long-term care establishment could be a godsend, for my Mom, it was something she would try to avoid at all costs, and I have helped her postpone the inevitable as much as possible.

On Friday, May 1, I arrived at Mom's apartment to take her out for another wheelchair adventure. Mom did not have an appetite and wanted to stay in bed. I went and bought her favourite pork, but she kept saying she was full. That night, I monitored her and saw her getting out of bed to use the washroom. However, the next day, May 2, the PSW called me and said Mom refused to get out of bed or eat. I immediately got over to her apartment and called an ambulance. At the hospital, the nurses quickly discovered she had accumulated a litre of urine in her bladder. They inserted a catheter to bring her relief. At first, the doctors guessed it was an infection. But after drawing a lot of blood for testing, they concluded it was not. By Tuesday, May 5, Mom appeared to be recovering from the trauma of the past few days. However, she did not eat much, and she slept through most of the day.

During the following days, the doctors gave Mom a CT and an MRI scan. The diagnosis was a shock. It appeared Mom had developed terminal cancer, which had already metastasized to other parts. They suspected it had originated from her thyroid, but it was not for sure unless one conducted a biopsy. The prognosis was Mom had a few months at best. Given Mom's age and the late stage of the cancer, it was agreed to let Mom live as comfortably as possible. Before releasing Mom, the doctors suggested, and I agreed, to let her have a dose of radiation, which might reduce the size of the tumour and provide some physical relief. The day after the radiation, May 9, I was surprised to see Mom alert and complaining about the hospital food. However, I was told if the radiation had any effect, it would take at least two weeks to take hold. On May 10, Mother's Day, Mom was still alert and woke up when I arrived at her bedside. I brought lovely orchids from Selina and Peter Ramadge. I brought her favourite Ferrero Rocher chocolate, but she could hardly eat anything. In the following days, Mom returned to her lethargic state.

I decided it was best for Mom to leave the hospital, as she was not getting any comfort at all with the constant removal and reinsertion of the catheter. At first, the hospital suggested Mom could go directly to hospice. As I had promised to keep Mom in her apartment for as long as possible, I decided to take her home to receive palliative care in an environment she would feel most comfortable. In fact, after returning home on Thursday, the 14th, Mom got out of bed and even walked a few steps. Afterwards, she finished a bit of porridge with shredded pork I had prepared for her. I kept telling her if she would eat and get stronger, I would take her out in the wheelchair and mosey around town. Unfortunately, she became more lethargic as the days passed. By Monday, the 18th, Victoria's Day, Mom was hardly drinking and didn't open her eyes even though she was responding to questions. Although she did not complain of pain, she was obviously uncomfortable, and I started administering small doses of Hydromorphone, a potent analgesic, to let her rest better. The doctor came in the morning of the 19th and immediately suggested hospice. I called up Kensington Hospice, which was a stone's throw away on the other side of College Street. Things seemed to be coming to a head.

I sent out a message to Selina, who had recently returned from a cruise celebrating Peter Ramadge's retirement, to get over posthaste. Darcy, Mom's eldest grandson, got the message and flew over from Portland. Bliss, my elder daughter, also dropped by. Pauline, our younger sister, was absent because she had passed away in 2022 from pancreatic cancer. We never told Mom. She might have suspected it, but we never discussed it.

On Wednesday the 20th, the hospice said a room would be available the next day, and I should book a private ambulance to transfer Mom before 1 p.m. Given such short notice, I was able to find one for 12:30 p.m. On Thursday the 21st, Darcy and I were in Mom's apartment. Selina got stuck in Newark in another historic air travel disruption. By 12:30 p.m., moments before the ambulance arrived, I told Mom we were taking her to a beautiful hotel. She opened her eyes, the first time in days her eyes were opened. I asked her if she recognized Darcy. She nodded, and shortly after, she fell asleep again, this time for good. She said she would not leave her apartment as long as she was alive, and she made good her promise. She had to do it her way.

My mother, who wanted to be remembered as Chan Hong Lan, came from Shuitie, water and iron. Water means adaptability, and iron denotes strength. Both are essential for success in life. Water, though soft, can turn an iron rod into a needle if one persists, so says an ancient Chinese proverb. Though my mother was no saint, neither are any of us, and, in the course of her long life, she made her share of mistakes, and we would all do the same. Let us remember her tenacity, the sacrifices she made for her family, her adventurous spirit, her world travels, and the character of water and iron coursing through the veins of all of us who have learned something from her life story.

Selina is the custodian of the ashes of our mother, our father, and our sister Pauline. We will plan a trip to sprinkle their earthly remains all over Hong Kong, where they left their marks.

Attached is a photo of Chan Hong Lan's immediate family members who had gathered to celebrate her long and storied life.

From the left, my son-in-law, Adam Dunn, my elder daughter, Bliss, and their son Charlie; my younger daughter, Victoria Solana (YouTube @Victoriaman77), whose name I borrowed for the protagonist of the trilogy; yours truly; my brother-in-law, Princeton professor, Peter Ramadge; my elder sister, Selina; their elder son, Darcy; and Sage with his three children Yossi, Noa and Micah.

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The Big Country: How my idea of honour comes from a Hollywood cowboy movie

14/4/2026

Posted on China Writers Blog (April 14, 2026)

When I was young, I loved Hollywood movies. I got into Ingmar Bergman, Lina Wertmüller, Fellini, Vittorio De Sica, Jean Cocteau, Luis Buñuel and Akira Kurosawa much later. Growing up in Hong Kong, I did not have people in my life to teach me the proper worldview. Hollywood movies were where I searched for answers. In those days, we didn't have money for milk, which contributed to my stunted stature, so Hollywood movies would be out of reach. Luckily, we could watch reruns at awkward time slots, such as 5:30 p.m. on weekdays, which were known as "Spare Time Shows" (公餘場), paying a fraction of the regular admission.

One of my top favourite cowboy movies is The Big Country. It's a mythical story, of course, and one does not get confused by the dishonourable way Americans (European immigrants) acted toward the natives. I learned about it years later, watching Little Big Man. As a music lover, I have to share the theme music of The Big Country, which is simply stunning and left a strong impression on a young, impressionable mind.

Why do I want to tell the story of The Big Country? First, I haven't contributed an article for a long time because I have been busy with other things. Second, I'm tired of hearing Americans talking about the US's sneak attack on Iran and the assassination of Iran's leaders without a hint of shame. Let me remind them what America was supposed to be, even in a mythical story.

To make a long story short, Gregory Peck is a well-dressed and well-educated gentleman going to the wild West to marry his fiancée (Carol Baker), who is the daughter of a wealthy rancher (Charles Bickford). After being picked up by Baker, Peck is harassed by drunk cowboys (in particular, Chuck Connors) from a neighbouring ranch. Connors is the son of the rancher (Burl Ives). Bickford and Ives have always fought over the use of a river between the two ranches. The land through which the river runs is, however, owned by Jean Simmons, who has no interest in ranching. Thus, bad blood flows between Bickford and Ives, and Simmons holds the key.

Peck does not want to make a big deal over the harassment, but Baker is angry at being dishonoured. Thereupon, Bickford leads twenty men to beat up Connors, ostensibly to defend Peck's honour. Wanting to defuse the situation, Peck secretly visits Simmons and buys her land, promising both ranches will be allowed to use the river.

When Peck returns, he is challenged by Charleton Heston, the top cowboy at the ranch, who is in love with Baker, to a fight. Despite being called a liar to his face and with Baker wishing he would stand up for himself, Peck refuses to be goaded into a fight to prove he can fight. Baker is disappointed and wants to reconsider the marriage. After everyone has gone to bed, Peck seeks out Heston to conduct their fisticuffs without an audience. This is a classic fight scene later emulated by Tampopo.

Peck amply demonstrates his fighting prowess and, at the same time, does so with honour, gaining Heston's respect and friendship. Wanting to take revenge on Bickford, Ives kidnaps Simmons, luring Bickford and his men into an ambush. Peck heads out to Ives' ranch by himself and unarmed to rescue Simmons and forestall the bloodshed. Connors considers Peck the reason for his beating by Bickford's men and wants revenge. Peck suggests a duel to settle the score, accepted by Ives and Connors, thinking Peck wouldn't know how to handle a pistol. The duel is by a single-shot pistol, each walking ten steps in the opposite direction, turning around and firing upon command of the referee, Ives. Connors, however, fires before the order and must stand to receive Peck's shot. Ives demands it for honour's sake. Connors cowardly scurries behind a wagon wheel. Ives spits on Connors while Peck fires his pistol at the ground. As Peck gets Simmons and prepares to leave, Connors wrestles a pistol from a cowboy nearby to shoot Peck unawares. Ives shoots and kills his son on the spot.

Americans don't remember The Big Country nor understand honour anymore. Shooting someone in the back is now normal, if not glorious. Trump was so clueless, talking about Pearl Harbour to Takaichi, when his cowardly assassination of Iranian leaders was not only a war crime, but a dishonour deserving the Connors treatment. February 28, 2026, is to be remembered as a day of infamy. May FDR rise from his grave, mount the pale horse and dispatch without mercy those scoundrels who dare to call themselves Americans and besmirch the name and whatever is left of its honour.

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Sharing my comments on YouTube posts

7/5/2025

Posted on China Writers Forum (posted 3:17 a.m. April 28)

Sharing my comments on some YouTube posts (pay attention to my Canada Federal elections predictions):

NBC Nightly News April 9 (on Trump's promised trade deals)

PM: How do you make a deal with someone who lies every time he opens his mouth, changes his mind every two seconds and never adheres to any agreement? Every country in the world understands this except those morons thinking there is a deal in the future.

Lancecahill5486: He doesn’t lie. He’s doing exactly what he said he’s going to do. You just need to pay attention to what he says.

PM: My mistake, Trump doesn't lie. Can't argue with that. My father also taught me never to argue with a moron.

Richard Wolff: The Country that Replaced America (Useful Idiots April 17)

PM: China will not negotiate with America because you cannot make an agreement with someone who lies every time he opens his mouth, changes his mind every two seconds and never adheres to any agreement. If you want to do business with such a person, I would like to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime to acquire a bridge at a huge discount.

PM: No, no. Not what happens after the next ninety days. The question is what happens in the next ninety seconds, depending on what Trump fancies. Trump is as predictable as gravity. He is predictable in his unpredictability. Therefore, if you want to plan for the future, forget about doing anything with America and Trump. Decouple now.

MSNBC (China sitting back and letting markets push White House around) April 23

PM: All rubbish. Ask yourself. Would you make a deal with Trump?

NBC Nightly News April 25

PM: Holt is a news announcer. He reads the mainstream baldfaced lies from the prompter. He is an employee and can't afford the truth. "It's difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it." quoth Upton Sinclair.

Keonessilva3646: MAGA?

PM: MAGA people don't read, so they don't know who Upton Sinclair was, and if they do know, will never quote him. They probably don't understand what Sinclair was talking about anyways. Do you know who Upton Sinclair was and what he was talking about? If you do, you won't be asking the meaningless question.

CBS News: Canada sees record-high early voting with liberals ahead in polls as Election Day nears (April 26)

PM: Easy choice between a Harvard PhD and a Canadian Trump. Carney will win handily.

Carsenarsen8634: Polievre is not a Canadian trump. Why is the media working so so hard to smear him? Makes no sense. Sucks. Totally sucks. I have lost confidence in the intelligence of liberal voters. Overwhelmingly stupid... to vote for carney.

PM: I'm not liberal. I vilify JT everyday for breakfast. But I want a smart person to run the country. I guess you would vote for a moronic, nothing-burger conservative. "It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt." - Mark Twain. Carney will win handily.

Benking7922: If Carney wins Canada is Finished.

PM: In that case, bring out the hankies because Carney will win handily. There are more Canadians well-educated enough to want the country to be run by a smart person, not a brainless blatherskite.

MSNBC: Strategists react as Trump's approvals rating tanks ahead of 100-day mark (April 27)

PM: The Democratic Party handed Trump the mandate when they cynically appointed Kamala Harris to be the presidential candidate. Thanks a lot.

Lidopina4334: Rubbish.

PM: Yes, Trump is a liar, and the only thing worse than a liar is a liar who is also a hypocrite. Nothing will change until the Democrats learn this about themselves.

BONUS

NBC Nightly News May 6
When Carney told Trump that Canada, same as the White House, will never be for sale, Trump said, "Never say never."

PM: Never say never. So when will the White House be put on sale?

dougfitch3649: It's already been sold.

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Did Deng Xiaoping nurse a grudge against Chairman Mao?

7/5/2025

Posted on my China Writers Forum

Recently, a discussion arose in the China Writers Forum regarding whether Deng Xiaoping nursed a grudge against Chairman Mao. I have no personal information about this subject, but I have done some historical research. The following is my contribution to the discussion.

I have mentioned in earlier posts my interest in reading Party-sanctioned history books on the CPC in 2011, on the ninetieth anniversary of the Communist Party of China. At the time, I was a frequent flyer in China and rummaged through every airport bookstore but couldn't find a single offering. After persistent efforts, I became the proud owner of three books from three eras, all written, published and sanctioned by the CPC. The most current issue, published in 2010, was titled "The History of the Chinese Communist Party" (中国共产党历史). Its contents include much of what happened after the end of the Cultural Revolution and the beginning of the reforms under Deng's leadership.

To make a long story short, at the conclusion of the Third Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee held in December of 1978, Deng made a seminal speech to unify the CPC, which was in danger of fracturing from within because of Mao's perceived role in attacking first-generation revolutionaries and high-level party officials during the Cultural Revolution. The title of the speech is "Liberate thought; seek truth from facts; unify the Party and look forward into the future." To summarize:

1. Liberate thought: Keep an open mind and discover the truth of what happened (during the Cultural Revolution) objectively (to learn the lesson). We must solve this political problem and find a new direction for the CPC. We must be concerned about the collective future of the CPC, the nation and its people (not about how we were victims; Deng and his family suffered much). If we continue to argue about the past, we will not progress and will cause the demise of the CPC and the nation (亡党亡国).

2. The Party must go on: One of the conditions for thought liberation is democratization. We have talked too much about it but done little. We must courageously pass power down to the people to improve their livelihood. And we must strengthen the laws and democratic system so they will remain even after leadership changes.

3. Dealing with history as the first step to look forward: We must distinguish right from wrong and overturn wrongful convictions. It is the prerequisite condition for the CPC to stay united. Indeed, Mao approved some of the cases, and he was wrong. However, we criticize Mao's judgment so we can look forward, not completely overturn Mao's contributions and all his ideas (he was, after all, human). We must lead and scientifically educate all our Party members and the people on the objective history of Mao's achievements.

4. Economic development: We must learn about the new conditions of the world and quickly come up with solutions to solve the problems. We must stop blowing political hot air on everything, instead reform to improve production, allowing people the freedom to innovate. Let people everywhere who lead and succeed gain wealth, creating positive demonstration and influence for their neighbours and elevating economic conditions for entire regions.

The Third Plenary was a watershed for the CPC. It overturned Hua Guofeng's "Two Whatevers," which basically said Mao did not err and was irreproachable. It set up the stage for Hua to cede power and retreat into the background. Deng's argument was Mao's own favourite motto, "Seek truth From Facts." The Plenary firmly established Mao's contribution to the Chinese Revolution (that is why Mao's face graces the Forbidden City and the hundred yuan bill) and criticized his errors in his old age, reminding everyone Marxism did not expect a revolutionary leader to be unerring and blameless. When some members wanted to heap all the blame on Mao and condemn him to the dustbin of history, Deng reminded them that, at the time, many people in power did not oppose Mao, including Deng himself. The Party was not a one-member club, and top officials should shoulder some blame.

The book further describes the actions taken in the following years to overturn millions of wrongful convictions and the discriminatory treatment suffered by tens of millions affected by those cases. Regarding Mao's place in history, in particular, CPC history, the Sixth Plenary held in June of 1981, after wide-ranging consultation with high officials and non-Party democratic representatives, came up with a historical document titled, "The resolution regarding certain historical questions since the establishment of the Party," in short, "The Resolution." It outlines in detail the contributions and errors of Mao, reiterating the Party must keep flying the flag of Mao Thought and learn from Mao's mistakes. I'll stop here. This essay is a snippet of history from the horse's mouth. I do my best to share it without prejudice.

Peter Man

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April 2 Liberation Day! Unconquered unleashed!

30/3/2025

Also posted on China Writers Blog

Anyone who reads my posts would know my opinion about Trump. While it's only my opinion, it is a judgment based on Trump's words, actions and known facts about him. I haven't commented on him too much because nothing shows me he has learned anything or will make any changes. Another thing I like to do is to make predictions based on common sense. For example, shortly after Trump launched the first trade war against China in 2018, I wrote a piece on Quora predicting the outcome of it. I recently re-read it and found no cause to change a word in the article. I often joke about Trump being as predictable as gravity. I must thank him for following my script so faithfully.

Some members among our writers' group have been concerned about CK Hutchison's sale of its ports to Blackrock. Frankly, I never even paid any attention to the news. I have no insider information, but common sense tells me it would not happen. I finally posted my two-cents worth, "If China didn't get bullied by America in the Korean and Vietnam Wars, why would they accept the bullying today?" It's common sense the sale won't go through. Sure enough, a day later, Reuters reported the sale would not happen on schedule, meaning the closing is postponed sine die (without a date). Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

I have also predicted Trump would wreak havoc in America if elected (please check out my blogs at https://chinawritersfaculty.boards.net/board/5/peter-man). Hopefully, he will do everything he promises come April 2, Liberation Day, starting a global trade war against everyone. He may get everything he wishes for, except it will be Liberation Day for the rest of the world. I once posted this truism, "An empire falls when everyone rebels." Verily, Trump is accelerating the inevitable.

The problem with Trump and his toadies is that they know nothing about their main perceived antagonist; otherwise, they would not have tried to attack a nation with an unconquered civilization of so many thousands of years. Without a shadow of a doubt, they have not read Unconquered, which recounts the entire history of China, including many untold secrets, and which I dedicate to the mixed-race members of my family, grandson Charlie Man Dunn, nephews Darcy and Sage Ramadge, and Sage's children Noa, Yossi and Micah, in case they may one day want to learn the meaning of being Chinese.

Unconquered (Sci-fi) paperback is available at your neighbourhood bookstore or library in most English-speaking countries through IngramSpark distribution. If they have no stock, you may ask them to order on your behalf from IngramSpark, quoting the title (Unconquered), author (Peter Man) and ISBN: 978-1-9994019-7-9. North American readers may directly order online from Amazon, Barnes and Noble or Bookshop.org.

It will also be available on Amazon and Kindle later. Stay tuned.

Anyone interested in reading and critiquing the book may send me a message at: [email protected]

Jeff and Godfree (of China Writers Group) have reviewed an early version, the ugly pupa of the final metamorphosized creature. You may read their and others' reviews at my book site: https://www.petermanauthor.com/

To give an idea of what one may find in the book, I share below a chapter titled "Girl Power," in which the protagonists, small-town girl Victoria and Toronto art dealer David, enter the metaverse to experience the early Tang Dynasty inside its capital city, Chang'an, "long peace," during the lifetime of Empress Wu Zetian, the only female emperor of China. Prepared to be gobsmacked.

Chapter 39

Girl Power

DAVID snapped his fingers, and the two VR gamers found themselves in the middle of a monumental square within the forbidding walls of a grand palace. Several royal handmaids and eunuchs were ushering a dozen young girls to their living quarters. Victoria took on the role of a handmaid, whereas David passed off as a eunuch. Most of the girls were downcast and appeared to have been crying. While everyone shuffled along with their heads down and eyes to the ground, one girl stuck her head up and studied her surroundings. She seemed to be the only one curious enough to check out the prison where she would languish for the remainder of her often short, miserable life.

“Where are we?” Victoria whispered.

“We’re inside the imperial palace in Chang’an, Tang’s first capital,” David the Eunuch replied. “These girls are recently selected concubines of Emperor Tang Taizong, the second and greatest of Tang’s emperors. Most of these young concubines will count themselves lucky to meet their husband, who has more wives and concubines than he can shake a stick at. Well known to be a workaholic, Taizong is forty-one years old; these girls are but twelve to fourteen. Most of them will receive a life sentence of abject loneliness, deprived of a man’s love.”

“It must be terrifying. No wonder the girls have been crying.”

“Actually, in the seventh century, most girls were married off by fourteen. Don’t forget Juliet was not yet fourteen when she decided to elope with Romeo. These precocious girls might have shed a few tears when they bid farewell to their parents. But their only job from now on is to attract Taizong’s attention and hope to carry his child. Did you notice the girl who was poking her nose around? She is the concubine who would be king.”

“It sounds awesome, but doesn’t seem remotely possible.”

“Except you’re witnessing history. As the wind blows, twelve years flew by in the blink of an eye. Emperor Taizong died, leaving the concubine childless. It was bad news for the young woman, as she would have to spend the rest of her uneventful, meaningless life in the royal convent as a nun. If it had been so, no one would have heard of her. Instead, Taizong’s successor, Emperor Gaozong, espied his enchanting stepmother at the Buddhist temple. Before one had time to say ‘Queen Gertrude,’ the mourning widow became Gaozong’s favourite concubine.”

“This is so inappropriate,” Victoria said with a raised eyebrow.

“To the Confucian Chinese, perhaps, but perfectly apropos to the nomadic Xianbei. Indeed, most people in the concubine’s situation would’ve given up. Instead, she turned a funeral into a wedding and bagged herself a younger husband mesmerized by her charms. Eventually, despite universal objections, Gaozong sent his wife away and made his stepmother-concubine the official queen consort. After Gaozong’s death, the queen established a new dynasty, which she named Zhou, known in history as Second Zhou, and reigned as the Empire’s supreme ruler. We know her as Empress Wu Zetian, the only female emperor in Chinese history.”

How extraordinary was Empress Wu? While other women in China had wielded supreme power, she achieved the unthinkable by establishing her own dynasty. She proved unequivocally a girl can accomplish anything if she sets her mind to it. Her improbable rise was no accident. She established Zhou (690−705 CE), named after the ancient Zhou Dynasty. Her titular name had the word Tian, or “heaven,” Zhou’s supreme god. Zhou Ping Wang, the king who moved the Zhou capital east to Luoyang in Henan Province, sired a son with palm lines forming the word Wu, which means “martial,” hence naming him Wu. Empress Wu descended from this prince. She certainly knew about Zhou’s matriarchal ancestry. The name of the royal house, Ji (姬), displayed a female radical.

After migrating to Henan, where no land was available for development, the royal Wu clan of Zhou lost its mojo. To survive, they mingled with the Shang clans and learned to trade, making strategic matrimonial alliances. Empress Wu’s father was a Shang merchant whose family had relocated to the Tang area, or Shanxi Province, where the Shang clans thrived and later formed the powerful Shanxi Merchants Cartel. Centuries later, a prominent descendant of Confucius, Kung Hsiang-hsi, better known as H. H. Kung, would emerge from Shanxi. He married Soong Ai-ling, the eldest of the three Soong sisters, the most influential women in China during the twentieth century. A Shang descendant of Confucius was, therefore, the brother-in-law of Dr. Sun Yat-sen and Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek. The Soong family and H. H. Kung later built the financial power of the Shang clans in America. But that, my friend, is another story.

Empress Wu’s extraordinary life journey began when Gaozu, her first husband’s father and founder of the Tang Dynasty, sojourned at her home before starting the rebellion. Her father gave Gaozu a secret book of power. It was a story seldom told.

“Let’s check out the streets of Empress Wu’s capital,” David said. “Prepare to feast your eyes on the greatest city in the world and the gateway to the Silk Road.” And he snapped his fingers.

Victoria was gobsmacked by what struck her eyes in seventh-century Chang’an, a planned city shaped in a square with all streets running north-south and east-west, accommodating about one million residents, seven times the size of Constantinople, the centre of Western civilization. A scaled-down version of Chang’an survives in modern-day Kyoto, Japan. Horses, carriages and pedestrians thronged the fifteen-metre-wide boulevards lined with trees on both sides. Platoons of soldiers patrolled the intersections to maintain order and prevent crime. Some officers on horseback had exotic facial features. According to David, Turkic people lived under the rule of the Empire, and many joined the Tang army. During the chaotic period after the fall of Tang, military men of Turkic origin established three short-lived dynasties. Turkic people were Chinese emperors long before they were Ottoman sultans. During Gaozong’s reign, Narsieh, the commander of the Imperial Guards, was an exiled prince of the Persian Sasanian Dynasty.

During Tang, colourful clothing was the norm. Women slipped into revealing dresses with a deep vee in front, showing off their chemise and décolletage. A few arrayed themselves in male attire and rode astride on horses. Young women roamed the streets without chaperones. Matriarchs strolled in the parks attended by their servants. Most adult women wore fancy hairdos and had a red floral design painted on their foreheads as a part of their makeup.

The Tang capital teemed with people of different nationalities and religions, from Persian traders with their purebred horses entering from the West Gate to Bactrian camel caravans lugging gold, frankincense and myrrh to the bazaar, and multi-ethnic polo teams riding to a match. A Buddhist monk with three disciples arrived at the capital. They resembled the group trekking to India in search of Buddhist scriptures in the classic Journey to the West. The monk Xuanzang in the story is historical, whereas some say the Monkey King Wukong could be the Hindu monkey god Hanuman with Chinese characteristics. Scholars from Japan and Korea came in droves, many becoming officials of the Tang court.

Inside a park, players demonstrated fancy footwork with a cuju, the original soccer ball, while rambunctious kids raced across the playground with handheld windmills known as whirligigs. Teenage boys flew fancy kites while girls chased butterflies with silk nets. Kibitzers surrounded Backgammon, Go and Chess games; others gathered around cricket fights. Nearby, a handful of ne’er-do-wells gambled with tiles and dice. Next to them, a drunkard slept with his finch canary in a cage hanging from a branch above him.

As David and Victoria entered the bazaar in the western quarters, the cacophony of sights and sounds overwhelmed their senses. Booths and stalls lined the streets, hawking everything from handcrafted candy to exotic spices. An old lady peddled perfume pouches, baby shoes and handkerchiefs on the sidewalk. An artist sold paper fans with calligraphy. A puppeteer trod a fine line performing a silhouette show which parodied a corrupt official. A blind street musician played the two-string fiddle erhu while a young girl strummed the Asian lute pipa with her flying fingers in a playful duel. Street food stalls sold lamb kebabs and naan bread, infusing the air with the aromas of cumin and hot peppers. Other vendors offered noodles, snacks and tea while wandering sages dispensed medical and fortune-telling services. A row of inns doubling as pubs hugged the brothels frequented by fancy-dressed foreigners seeking comfort from exotic foreign dancers. Victoria found herself awed and speechless inside a kaleidoscope in motion.

“This is pretty amazing, eh!” David remarked. “While Western Europe groped for direction in the Dark Ages, China’s Age of Enlightenment is in full bloom during the seventh century. Under the rule of Empress Wu, Chinese women enjoyed unprecedented status. Foot binding went out of style. Girls received an education and contributed to law and literature. Women controlled household finances and wielded real power.”

David showed Victoria the incredible history of girl power in China to deliver a message—despite her small-town upbringing, Victoria had the potential to be a world conqueror. As exhibit number one, Tang girls led armies into battle. At age seventeen, Princess Pingyang, Gaozu’s daughter, independently raised and led an army of seventy thousand, helping her father conquer all of China. As exhibit number two, Tang girls served as court officials. Shangguan Wan’er, Empress Wu’s famous female chief minister, rose from being a child slave to becoming the highest official at Empress Wu’s court and later a favourite wife of the next emperor. She also won wide acclaim as a celebrated poet. Her life story is an epic second only to that of Empress Wu.

Contrary to the conservative social norms in later centuries, China’s liberal environment for women during the Tang era defied belief. For example, no taboo prevented intelligent and well-educated Tang women from working as professional courtesans, entertaining cultured guests and aristocrats by their grace and wit, besides the usual shenanigans. They made a ton of money, owned property and were independently wealthy. Society did not shame girls for having premarital relationships. Women divorced and remarried without stigma. In her old age, Empress Wu openly kept a stable of young studs for pleasure. No one batted so much as an eyelid. The early Tang and Second Zhou were the best times in the history of China for women.

Empress Wu was not merely a pretty face. She single-handedly shattered the glass ceiling. While she was a brilliant ruler, people close to the Empress, including her dearest kin, constantly challenged her authority. On the other hand, most of her capable ministers and officials served her loyally. Under Empress Wu, the Empire was, by and large, peaceful and prosperous. She died of old age at eighty-two as one of the longest-lived emperors of China. Abiding by her wishes, her tombstone was left blank with no pompous elegiac inscriptions, allowing future generations to make their own judgments. Empress Wu’s son succeeded her on the throne and promptly reverted the dynastic name to Tang.

Comments:

Amarynth (Administrator of China Writers Blog and Global South Website):

Hi Peter and thanks!

I developed a working slogan for this time:

"The strategy of empire going forward will be one of denial of world development through chaos creation. While the approach has shifted, imperialist aspirations endure. The fragile veil of a pretense of peace lies irrevocably torn asunder, its remnants eclipsed by the unrelenting tide of violence that now reigns. The strategy is beginning to unravel both internally in the US and in international affairs, as the world is saying a resounding NO".

I would have loved to read your book Peter, but my time is so very limited and I'm such a bore as I only get to read serious stuff. I know your book is serious but I will not do it justice now.

Response:

Hi Amarynth,

Feel free to read the book any time. The story is more about the long-lived and unconquered Chinese civilization than the ever-changing noise coming out of America. It can be enjoyed years from today, albeit only by the few who have the time and are willing to invest what little they have to read books about strange and esoteric ideas never previously explored.

As only one example amongst many, the first archaeologically established dynasty of China is Shang, and its culture exists today in the unbroken and unconquered legacy of the Chinese written language. But what happened to the descendants of Shang? Where are they, and why is their written language referred to as Han characters? For some reason, no one has ever asked these questions. Astonishingly, my research shows the Shang have always lived among us in plain sight, though we do not know it. As one famous example among numerous instances, Confucius is a descendant of the royal house of Shang. History has a clear record of it, though everyone ignores it. While the connection has become tenuous over millennia, for fun's sake, the book reveals Huawei's secret background at the end.

Another mystery is the unicorn known as Qilin in Chinese myth. My research indicates it is the evolutionary product of a mythical creature of Shang called Zhi (廌), which is present in the Shang word for "law" or "method" (法), originally (灋). Even the Shang word for dragon (龙) shows a creature with one horn. While most of us are familiar with the Lion Dance, few realize the lion has a single horn and should be more accurately called a unicorn. Huawei's chipset is named Kirin, the anglicized Japanese form of Qilin. All are Shang cultural influences in plain sight, though we would not know about it. Needless to say, I had an in-depth discussion with DeepSeek, forcing it to admit my theory is not frivolous.

The last chapter, composed during Trump's first reign, predicted a dystopian future empire ruled by Trump, renamed Trombone. The name Trump comes from trumpet, and Trombone is a big trumpet. Unfortunately, this prediction has come true. On the other hand, Trombone is the world's first certified Paradoxymoron, the combination of paradox and oxymoron. He will inadvertently break the power of the Polygon and bring peace to the world. Let's hope so.

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DeepSeek This!

13/2/2025

"I don't fear Artificial Intelligence; I fear human stupidity." -- quoth me.

Check out my other blog.

DeepSeek is now a favourite topic of discussion among our writers' group. While taking a short break, I decided to check it out and see what it's good at.

I asked a simple question with lots of well-known and proven material on the internet and elsewhere: Can you name a general or a leader of armies in history who has never lost a battle?

DeepSeek-v3 lists Alexander the Great, Hannibal Barca, Khalid ibn al-Walid, Subutai and Scipio Africanus. I have no problem accepting Alexander, although one may argue his Indian campaign was a failure. It is well known Hannibal lost the Battle of Zama to Africanus. In fact, DeepSeek mentions it while describing Africanus. It is self-contradictory in the same answer. The military exploits of Khalid ibn al-Walid are mostly legendary, as no contemporary records are extant. Subutai's six decades of field campaigns also suffer from the same lack of detailed and trustworthy historical records. Scipio Africanus' campaigns against the Carthaginian Empire are recorded in detail by well-known historians of ancient times, the most famous and reliable being Polybius, born while Africanus was still alive. However, one should note his close connection to the Scipio family. Since Africanus voluntarily exiled himself from Rome after being attacked by political rivals, it is unlikely his battlefield losses, if he had any, would be covered up by everyone. I would agree Africanus was undefeated. However, I find someone missing from the list. His name is John Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough.

Therefore, I asked DeepSeek the following question: How about the Duke of Marlborough? Has he ever lost a battle as a general?

DeepSeek's answer: Yes. It lists the Battle of Almansa, the Siege of Lille and the Duke's failure to invade France.

Here is my challenge to DeepSeek's answer: The Duke of Marlborough did not lead the Allied army at the Battle of Almansa. You cannot say he lost that battle. Marlborough also succeeded in the Siege of Lille. Therefore, he did not lose that battle. As for the invasion of France, Marlborough was opposed by the Dutch and hampered by politics back in England, of which he had little control. It has nothing to do with Marlborough's battles on the battlefield. Can you give me an example of a military action Marlborough had lost as the leader of an army?

DeepSeek's answer:

"You are absolutely correct to point out that the Duke of Marlborough did not lead the Allied army at the Battle of Almansa (1707), and the Siege of Lille (1708) was ultimately a success despite its challenges. Additionally, the political and logistical constraints he faced, such as opposition from the Dutch and political interference from England, were beyond his control and not reflective of his performance on the battlefield.

"To address your question directly: there is no recorded instance of the Duke of Marlborough losing a battle as the leader of an army. Marlborough's reputation as one of history's greatest generals is built on his extraordinary record of victories and his ability to outmaneuver and outthink his opponents. His major battles—Blenheim (1704), Ramillies (1706), Oudenarde (1708), and Malplaquet (1709)—were all decisive successes, even if some, like Malplaquet, were costly in terms of casualties.

"Marlborough's career is remarkable precisely because he consistently achieved victory in the face of significant challenges, both on and off the battlefield. While he faced setbacks in terms of political and strategic limitations, his tactical brilliance and leadership in combat remained unmatched.

"If we strictly consider battles where Marlborough was in direct command, he never lost. This undefeated record as a battlefield commander is a key part of his legacy. Thank you for pointing out the nuances—it’s important to distinguish between setbacks outside his control and his actual performance in military engagements."

Look at my next questions: Was John Churchill (the 1st Duke of Marlborough) a relative of the Duchess of Castlemaine?

DeepSeek: "Yes, John Churchill, the 1st Duke of Marlborough, was related to Barbara Villiers, Duchess of Castlemaine. Barbara Villiers was John Churchill's aunt. She was the sister of John Churchill's mother, Elizabeth Villiers. Barbara Villers was a prominent figure in the court of King Charles II of England and was known for being one of his mistresses."

I challenged DeepSeek's answer: John Churchill's maternal grandmother was married to John Drake. Therefore, his mother was Elizabeth Drake, not Elizabeth Villiers. Where did you get your information?

DeepSeek: "You are absolutely correct, and I misspoke in my earlier response. I appreciate your attention to detail and the opportunity to clarify. John Churchill, the 1st Duke of Marlborough, was indeed the son of Elizabeth Drake, not Elizabeth Villiers. Elizabeth Drake was the daughter of Sir John Drake and Eleanor Boteler. The confusion likely arose because John Churchill's family had connections to the Villiers family through other marriages and relationships, but his mother was not a Villiers. Thank you for pointing this out, and I apologize for the earlier inaccuracies." (My comment: Elizabeth Villiers was, in fact, Elizabeth Drake's grandmother, married to her grandfather John Boteler. It is a bit confusing for humans, and DeepSeek is not immune)

I followed up with this question: Do you know how John Churchill was related to the Villiers?

DeepSeek: "Barbara Villiers was the sister of John Churchill's maternal grandmother, Eleanor Boteler, who married Sir John Drake. Eleanor Boteler and Barbara Villiers were daughters of Sir Edward Villiers and his wife, Frances Howard." (my comment: how is it possible for Eleanor Boteler to be the daughter of Edward Villiers? Eleanor's father was John Boteler, giving her the surname of Boteler)

Here is my challenge: According to Winston Churchill, England's famous prime minister, who wrote the definitive biography of the 1st Duke of Marlborough, Eleanor Boteler's father, John Boteler, married the sister of George Villiers, the 1st Duke of Buckingham. Barbara Villiers was the daughter of William Villiers, son of Edward Villiers, a half-brother of the 1st Duke of Buckingham. Where did you get your information?

DeepSeek:

"You are absolutely correct, and I appreciate your detailed clarification. I misspoke earlier, and I apologize for the confusion. The connection between John Churchill and the Villiers family is through his maternal grandmother, Eleanor Boteler, who was the niece of George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, and the cousin of Barbara Villiers. (My comment: To be more accurate, Barbara was the cousin of Elizabeth Drake, nine years older than John and, by modern relationships, should be his aunt. Winston Churchill described her as John's second cousin once removed. I believe he meant she was Elizabeth Drake's second cousin once removed. John was also, most certainly, the father of Barbara's last child. Scandalous! I pointed this out and got the same affirmation and apology)

"Thank you for pointing out the inaccuracies in my earlier responses. I strive to provide accurate information, and your input is invaluable in achieving that goal. If you have further questions or need additional clarification, please let me know!"

Here it is, folks. Don't believe everything you hear or read, even from an all-knowing AI. The good thing is, DeepSeek admits its shortcomings. Hopefully, it keeps learning.

I have discussed this with my Princeton professor brother-in-law. The so-called Artificial Intelligence being bandied around nowadays still has a long way to go before it can think independently and critically. I'm sure people are working on it. Meanwhile, take everything with a grain of salt from the so-called AI Large Language Models and work on being critical ourselves (or teach AI to think).

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Happy Year of the Snake

30/1/2025

Happy Year of the Snake, wishing everyone and their loved ones enjoy good health and prosperity.

I have a strange feeling change is in the air, and hopefully for the best.

Ever since Trump was elected president again, China has been rocking the American boat. They opened Chancay, a modern deepwater port in Peru. Meanwhile, America's ports are the oldest and slowest in the world because of labour opposition to modernization and automation.

China showed off their sixth-generation fighters to the world. Meanwhile, America's fifth-generation fighter is still plagued with faulty parts and accidents.

China launched new warships with the speed of making dumplings. Almost out of the blue, China has overtaken Japan and South Korea and has become the world's biggest shipbuilding nation, only 232 times the capacity of America. I'm sure America needs to start a war with China now or it'll be too late.

China's attack on the US dollar is relentless as BRICS+ officially accepted nine countries as partner states. BRICS+ nations want to trade without using the USD.

Despite sanctions, tariffs and trade wars, China's trade surplus reached a record high of almost one trillion USD. However, numerous Western media pundits keep reporting China's economy is collapsing. As Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof would say, "May God smite me and I collapse this very minute, and may I never recover."

In space, after years of American sanctions and keeping China out of the "International" Space Station, China built its own and has accomplished another breakthrough, creating oxygen and fuel in space by artificial photosynthesis. Meanwhile, the ISS is breaking apart with no fix in sight. In fact, the end is nigh.

On earth, China's Tokamak nuclear fusion reactor shatters its own record. Looking forward to clean and practically unlimited energy for BRICS+ and BRI countries.

And when the entire Washington swamp got together and made TikTok an offer it couldn't refuse, TikTokers flocked to a Chinese social app The Little Red Book seeking refuge, discovering the real China and mooting the Congressional-approved anti-China funds of $1.6 Billion. China didn't even do anything. It's another American self-goal.

It's getting tiresome but we have to mention DeepSeek, which caused the vanishing of a trillion imaginary dollars from the House of Cards. How does Trump impose tariffs on free and open software? A million percent imposed on free is still free. Those dastardly communists! Why don't they charge an arm and a leg like all good American companies? But this is not the only nightmare for Trump's America. Alibaba has come out with another better and free AI, Qwen 2.5 Max. People say China is competing against the US. This is Chinese companies competing against each other. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Meanwhile, as predicted, Trump attacks his closest lapdogs (because he can) and wreaks havoc with America (because he is a lawless moron and a convicted felon). "Trump is as predictable as gravity," I quote myself. For those leaders of nations who may even have previous experience dealing with Trump and appear to be surprised, they're imbeciles and deserve to be humiliated.

The good news about the Trump presidency is Trump will accelerate the demise of American hegemony, which cannot be so bad.

Feel free to check out my other blog: https://chinawritersfaculty.boards.net/board/5/peter-man

Have another great year,

Peter Man

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Idiot's Guide to Voting in America

5/11/2024

First posted at China Writers Group

Today is Election Day. Here is a concise idiot's guide for voting in America, in case anyone needs it.

First, erase from your stultified mind the delusion your vote matters. Your vote and you do not matter, especially if you're not from a swing state with a small population and a large number of electoral votes. Ask any statistician. The result will not be affected if you stay home and binge-watch Will Smith movies. If, however, you want to waste your time and exercise your right to vote, the following guide will maximize your influence.

Don't vote for Kamala. She says she would end the Gaza War and protect abortion rights if she is elected. Why should anyone trust her empty promises? Kamala says she would do everything in her power, which means she would do nothing, as she would be an empty suit if elected. Kamala was appointed to be the Democratic Party's candidate. She is a puppet, at best. She also promises Israel would be satisfied with the arrangement, which is impossible. Kamala promises a paradox and an oxymoron, in other words, a paradoxymoron. I would rather believe in a thousand angels dancing on a pinhead.

As for protecting abortion rights, it's a bald-faced lie. For fifty years, the Democratic Party never enacted Roe vs Wade into law, even when they held the Trifecta, and they meekly gave up the Supreme Court to Trump and the Republicans, so they can now use abortion rights as a rallying cry during elections. Out of the blue, Kamala the Saviour descends upon humanity to protect women's rights. It's worse than a lie. It's a disgraceful lie.

Last but not least, they call themselves the Democratic Party and Trump's party as authoritarian. However, Trump was elected in the primaries while Kamala was appointed. "The only thing worse than a liar is a liar who is a hypocrite," quoth Tennessee Williams. And the only thing worse than a liar and a hypocrite is someone who is also a genocidal murderer and blabbering idiot. You vote for Kamala at your own risk.

For even stronger reasons, never vote for Trump. Aside from the mendacious and moronic miscreant he is, his first term empirically proves he is an imbecile. His easy-to-win US-China trade war was a complete failure, causing more self-harm as China continued to rise. Total Covid deaths during his term were over a million, while China's were about 14,000. Even India only had half a million. The West shrugged off Trump's murderous record but cantankerously chastised China for not opening up sooner and incurring a more respectable mortality.

As if such a pitiful record is not enough to disqualify him, Trump was found liable for sexual abuse by a jury and guilty on thirty-four felony counts of falsifying business records. He also has three outstanding indictments, two federal cases and one in Georgia. America is such a place where non-white people get killed while sleeping in their own beds by law enforcement. Yet a brazen, lawless scofflaw is defended by otherwise thoughtful and sane people and elected to be the president. Go figure.

Some people may vote for Trump because they think he is peaceful. Don't let his thirty thousand lies, give or take a few hundred, fool you. He is only telling you what you want to hear. He supports Israel's genocidal slaughter of babies and women in Gaza. Almost in the same breath, he accuses Liz Cheney of being a war hawk. His suggestion of having guns trained on warmongers is actually not a bad idea, but he tells only half the story because the whole story affects him. How about making war hawks spend their own money to make war? Capitalists would rather die than use their own money for war. The next time Trump wants to fire forty Tomahawks at some place, assassinate someone or deliver bombs to allies for killing babies, make him pay for the expenses and send Junior, Eric or Baron to do the job. That is how you can magically turn war hawks into peaceniks.

Don't waste your time on the fringe candidates. Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is a supporter of genocidal murder and has endorsed Trump for president. Jill Stein talks the good talk, but wielding no votes in Congress or the Senate, she will not implement even one of her dreams. Vote for Jill Stein by all means, but you will not move the needle.

Americans, if you want change, don't expect your elected officials to deliver it. You may need to change the system by revolution. If you don't know how to start a revolution, learn from the Chinese. And if you don't know what the Chinese did to succeed. Read Unconquered. Go to my website and leave me a message.

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The Fate of Ukraine's Kursk Offensive

17/9/2024

Disclaimer: The following article does not take a political stand on the right or wrong on either side of the conflict, merely on the interpretation of one of the battles and the prediction of its outcome based on a point of view not discussed by other pundits commenting on the battle. This is the updated version of one posted several days ago at the China Writers Group Forum.

When the news of Ukraine's Kursk Offensive first broke, I immediately recognized it as a wrongheaded application of a brilliant tactic. In chess, it is known as the "Opposite Wing Attack." When your opponent is amassing his pieces to attack your King side, rather than trying to meet force with force, you may try to attack your opponent's Queen side, which is less protected. It makes for an exciting match as each player tries to break down the other at the opposite wing.

A well-known descendant of Sun Tzu named Sun Bin (孙膑) also applied this stratagem during the period of the Warring States. It is best remembered as a Chinese idiom, "Besieging Wei to rescue Zhao" (围魏救赵).

So, rather than defending the Donbas front in the east, Ukraine attacks Russia's weak wing at Kursk in the north. They try to rescue the Donbas by attacking the Russian motherland. It's wrongheaded because war is not chess. Ukraine is not equal in military power to Russia. By not supporting its King-side defence in the east, it may lose the game quickly to an overwhelming Russian attack. Meanwhile, Ukraine's attack on Russia's weak wing must be threatening enough to draw the Russian army away from the Donbas. To be threatening, Ukraine must have at least 200,000 soldiers, well equipped and supplied, with adequate air cover, ready to march to Moscow. Unfortunately, it's a fantasy. Ukraine's so-called Kursk Offensive is a mosquito bite. They will feed more men into another meat grinder for nothing.

Whoever dreamed this up for Ukraine is making a Hail Mary play, but not understanding the concept nor having the means to execute the plan will spell a quick collapse for Ukraine's eastern defences.

As an anecdote, the Prussian king, Frederick the Great was famous for a battle order known as the "Oblique Order," whereby the smaller but more agile Prussian army would attack the enemy's weaker wing while avoiding action against their stronger wing. His most famous battle employing this order is the Battle of Leuthen, in which he routed an Austrian army twice as large. When the Allied army of the French and Austrians tried to turn the tables on the Prussian king and attacked the Prussian army (which was half the size of the Allied army) in Oblique Order at Rossbach, they got wiped out instead in a matter of ninety minutes. This happens to people who do not understand the concept of a tactic and are neither equipped nor trained to execute it.

I had made this prediction at the commencement of the hostilities: When Ukraine fails, NATO will follow and the House of Cards will come tumbling down. As I said early on, the Hegemon has blundered itself into an unnecessary existential war against Russia. It has too many fires it cannot extinguish. Empires always collapse gradually over the years and then all at once.

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Happy Year of the Snake

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