Mural of Gold

Yellow Crane Tower Construction (223 C.E.)

On a yellow rock, in what would later be the city of Wuhan, a tower rose to split the country into three. A kingdom in the north, a kingdom in the south, a kingdom in the east, all born saying, I am the true ruler, the sky's son. Kneel, they said, burying spears into each other's hearts. Kneel, they said, lighting the Yangtze River with burning ships. Kneel so the mountains belong to one son. So he can kneel to the sky and say, Father, I've finally rebuilt home. Do you still remember me?

The tower watched all its life. It was first built to watch for soldiers marching into its home city. It grew up seeing kings clash, never giving up their dream of a golden home. After the kings died, the tower watched over the new kings. Like all kings, they demanded others to die for their hopes, their desperation to be a true son with a true father.

A story about the tower's name: long ago, a man turned the tower into a hotel. A homeless guest came in, asking for wine and a bed. The man fed the guest for a thousand days, and in return, the guest drew yellow cranes on the wall. The cranes came to life, dancing to the city's music—the footsteps in the market, the crackle of chestnuts roasting, the noon sunlight. Everyone came to see what home looked like. Everyone, including the emperor, sat in the hotel to feel loved.

Real life, not myth: it's uncertain the tower was home. During peacetime, its visitors never stayed. They climbed to the top, looked at the glorious view of overflowing rivers and red pagodas, and left. The ones who stayed longer were poets. The poets who wanted to see it all, to write lines that looked into the distance. The most famous poem written in the tower reads, at sunset, I wonder where my hometown is. Its author was Cui Hao, a government official who traveled his entire life, as if searching for a lost memory.

A story yet to be written about the tower: one where it's encircled with cranes. A crown of flight leading itself into a bright horizon.

Yellow Crane Tower Construction (1868)

Where did it go? It burned, burned, burned. The Yellow Crane Tower was destroyed. It fell because it was a time of chaos, an empire failing itself. When the emperors refused progress, thinking, what will happen if everyone knows how to think for themselves? How will I control the empire then? So they said no to schools, to industry, to everything new in this era. The country couldn't defend its own borders, and the city-ports swamped with opium. Rebellions sprung up every year against the emperor, yelling, this is not what my motherland looks like. Dethrone the sky's son so we can take her back.

In agony, the tower burned to ashes. Then, it was rebuilt. It was rebuilt even when the country's treasury ran dry. The empire's money is my own money, the emperors said, am I not the sky's son? They rebuilt anything they wanted. Lily-filled gardens, pavilions on koi fish lakes, the imperial palace, which was named The Forbidden City. All the while, the tower watched the rivers, trying to find peace in their unrelenting waves. Yellow cranes, where were you when the city needed you the most?

The tower never saw the end of this story. It burned down again, this time the emperor too weak to raise it up. It cried softly as it went down. The yellow crane left and never returned, Cui Hao wrote, the clouds wandered for thousands of years. Fresh sunlight fell onto its ashes.

The people threw the last emperor off his throne. The people who starved, who saw the emperors spending jewels on buildings, not peasants. They said, no more emperors from now on. This one's for a new era. A new era indeed. One without an ancient tower with a myth of yellow...