The Rice pudding and Qu Yuan

---- in memory of the Duan Wu Festival


One of my earliest memories has to do with rice pudding. When I look back upon my childhood, there is a hint of the faint scent of bamboo leaves in almost anything I can remember. Peel off those dark green leaves with thin ropes around them and the white, jade-like sweet rice with a spell of inviting smell would appear in front of your eyes. Sometimes I think it’s all the fun from my childhood memories as well as the rice puddings that are wrapped in those leaves.

The time to eat rice puddings comes once a year, on the Duan Wu Festival, also referred to as the Dragon Boat Festival. Growing up in the city, I never associated with that name. I never saw any dragon boats with my own eyes anyway. Many years passed, numerous rice puddings with different fillings---mung beans, sweet beans, pork, etc were consumed before suddenly, on one Duan Wu Festival, right after I unwrapped a rice pudding and was busy licking my sticky fingers, a thoughtful question came to my mind:

“Dad, why do we make rice puddings on Duan Wu Festival again? I mean, I know the legend says you’re supposed to throw them into the river to feed the fish----isn’t that kind of odd?”

“So the fish wouldn’t eat the body of Master Qu Yuan.” said my Dad.

It turned out that I had sadly missed the whole point of this festival. It is a festival in memory of one of the greatest poets in Chinese history, but I hadn’t even heard of his name after consuming 80 rice puddings at the very least.

Qu Yuan lived during the Warring States period, when China was split up into seven states, and died around 270 BC or so --- about 200 years later than Confucius. His contribution to Chinese folksongs and poems are as unique and huge as that of Homer to the Greek epic. But, instead of being a blind lyric poet, Qu Yuan descended from the royal house of Chu (one of the states during the Warring States Period), served in high offices and was a political activist until his exile.

Qu Yuan foresaw the danger of Qin (another state) and strongly opposed the alliance with the state. Those who read Chinese history know that in another 50 years or so, Qin would finish conquering all the other 6 states and unite China, but people around Qu Yuan had no way to tell. The young scholar-official placed his pride and integrity above everything else, which unfortunately made him an unsuccessful politician. It wasn’t long before he became the target of slander from the corrupt and timid ministers who voted for allying with Qin around him. His most loyal counselor was banished and he himself was exiled.

The exile must have been a most depressing experience for Qu Yuan, but Chinese culture benefited from it. It was during this 10 year long trip the sad scholar collected numerous folksongs from the towns and villages south of the Long River, organized them into verses with high literature values, and wrote many narrative poems himself expressing his fervent love for his state and his deepest concern for her future.

These works are some of the earliest scholarly poems in Chinese history. They paved the way for poem development in the 2000 years that followed, set the tone for all the beautiful haiku that were to appear, as well as reaching the peak of narrative epic, a position that’s not to be challenged in the entire Chinese literature history.

But the poet remained an innocent fellow. For, you see, an innocent soul is the number one necessity for poetry.

A best illustration of his innocence is the story the fisherman. Qu Yuan wondered to a river and met a fisherman hermit by the bank one day. His long white robe had mud stains on the bottom and curved hem on the edge. A gust of wind blew across the river, bringing the mixed smell of fishes and wet grass as well as boat songs from the distant islands. His wide sleeves and loose sash rose with the wind, his white jade ornament that hung from the sash jingled accordingly. He was tired and curious as he had always been during the trip, he started a conversation with the fisherman.

They talked about his unfulfilled dreams, his loyalty for the King, and his unfair exile. “So why don’t you let go of yourself and drift with the waves?” Said the fisherman on the boat.

But the poet could not. Whether he WOULD not, or COULD not, we don’t know----maybe both. “The entire world is drunk, I am the only one sober. The entire world is filthy, I am the only one clean.” was his reply. He refused to join the current, let go of his own beliefs and drift in the waves.

I found this story to be a very symbolic image. You stand by the river of life, watching the gigantic trend carrying away millions of souls, trying to decide whether you should jump in and join them, or stand by as a lonely observer. The river Qu Yuan once stood by runs through ages, runs across all nation’s history, runs nonstoppingly past our feet. It is that same river that Copernicus once stood by, pondering on whether the Earth circles around the Sun; It is the same river that Monet once stood by, trying to capture the beauty of a sunrise in a “impressionistic” way that is to be blamed by every single art critic in Paris; The main character in Romain Rolland’s novel Jean Christophe, Olivier, once saw the French social trend in his time as river, how he was thrilled by the workers’ strikes, how he was curious about the socialism movements, but he could not join in. All he could do is to stand on the bank, watching the river flowing past him, with its angry waves smashing the bank and wetting his shoes.

Thinking about all these people, I started to understand Qu Yuan more. He was a loner in his time, abandoned by his contemporaries. The trend of culture would not accept him, the drinking party would not accept him. He stood by the noisy river, lonely and sober. He was both doomed and blessed for that.

He pondered and reflected too much. He would often take long walks by a well, look upon his reflection in the water and be his own person, thin and gaunt. His intimate relation with water ended in an ultimate tragedy.

In 278 BC, just as he foresaw, his home state, Chu was eventually conquered by Qin. He felt that he should pay his last respect for his hometown, for a culture that he long loved with both his political passion as a minister and his 10 years of folksong collection as an exile.

He arranged a simple yet beautiful ceremony, a sacrifice to the lost Chu culture during which his was to offer his own life. He waded into the Miluo River with a big stone tied to himself.

Then comes the origin of the rice puddings and dragon boats. Local people rushed to save him, which later became the ceremony of dragon boats competition. But the scholar disappeared in the endless waves, not a shoe of him was found. People made rice puddings and threw them into the river, saying to the fish----please do not eat our beloved poet and minister.

Qu Yuan’s story ended in water. He was carried away by the waves at last. But I would like to think, that it was only his body that was carried away. He left his flesh to the blind trend, and kept his soul for himself, in the reflecting well.

Whether the king of Chu conquered Qin, or the king of Qin conquered Chu made no difference to our lives in two thousand years. Even the hometown of Qu Yuan, Zi Gui village by the Three Gorges, went under water after the dam was built. The river of life is powerful, it washes away everything, pointless or memorable.

If you are not a fan of ancient poems, the only trace Qu Yuan had left that you would know about is the rice puddings. I started eating rice puddings by the age of 3 or 4, and did not care much about Qu Yuan until high school. Splendid stories of the ancient heroes, they inevitably fade away and morph into the mundane life.


Dr. Sweewawa