INTRODUCTION
Chinese author Hai Ya received the 2023 Hugo Award for Best Novelette for his story “The Space-Time Painter” (Shikong huashi). It is the title story in the ninth volume of the “Galaxy's Edge” series (Yinhe bianyuan) published by Beijing's New Star Press (Xinxing chubanshe) in April 2022. According to the publisher, “Galaxy's Edge” is “a series of science fiction stories specially designed for young sci-fi fans and their fast-paced urban lifestyle”, “produced as small-format books designed for ease of reading and carrying”, and “gathering outstanding sci-fi works from China and overseas to integrate distant universe and brilliant starlight into every reader's life”.
As of the writing of this essay, there is no evidence that an official translation has been published for English readers to peruse “The Space-Time Painter” as a novelette. This reviewer has produced an English translation of the story. While the translation cannot be published here, it lends assistance to this review, which aims to (a) analyse the story's historical and cultural significance and (b) assess the story as a literary work.
SUMMARY OF THE STORY
Police officer Zhou Ning investigates the alleged appearance of a ghost at Beijing's Palace Museum. Based on witness reports, Zhou patrols around a remote palace, where a nearby underground warehouse is used to store paintings and calligraphy pieces from the Northern Song and Southern Song Dynasties. He sees the ghost and becomes convinced of its existence.
After a close encounter, Zhou becomes “possessed” by the ghost and starts seeing people and objects as being two-dimensional, colourless and transparent. Terrified, he is then struck by a car and severely injured. To help Zhou recover from his coma, a digital video featuring a national treasure from the underground warehouse is produced and then converted to electronic signals which are “uploaded” to his brain.
In the process, Zhou is contacted by the ghost, who reveals itself as Zhao Ximeng, creator of the national treasure – a majestic landscape painting. A talented artist, Zhao was recommended to the emperor by the most powerful court official of his time. He was ordered to create a painting illustrating the peaceful and prosperous kingdom under the emperor's rule.
Zhao was able to produce the grand painting thanks to his ability to travel through space and time via a higher dimension. He also foresaw the aftermath of the kingdom's destruction in less than a decade's time, and illustrated it all in his next painting. Trying to prevent the emperor from forming an alliance with the enemy that later destroyed the kingdom, but failing, Zhao was executed.
Having explained his past, Zhao invites Zhou to stay in the higher dimension, but Zhou declines. Zhou further learns of an artist who had been contacted by Zhao and who subsequently created a painting to explore matters of life and death. After awakening from his coma, Zhou leaves the police force to join a government agency called AIB.
STORIES BEHIND THE STORY
The artist in the story is based on the real life and work of artist Wang Ximeng (1096-1119). Aged 18 when he created the painting “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”, Wang is believed to have been a scion of the imperial family of the time, whose surname was Zhao. (Hence the name “Zhao Ximeng”.)
The emperor in the story was Huizong of the Northern Song Dynasty (960-1127). A highly talented painter and calligrapher in real life, Huizong indulged in arts and left the management of his kingdom to his court officials. Among them was Cai Jing, the manipulative Grand Chancellor in the story who recommended Zhao in exchange of the emperor's favours.
History tells us that the Northern Song Dynasty was plagued by the Khitans from the north and the Jurchens from the northeast. Manipulated by the aforementioned official Cai, Huizong agreed to form an alliance with the Jurchens in 1120 to defeat the Khitans. After that, however, the Jurchens invaded the Northern Song Dynasty in 1126. The dynasty ended when the fleeing Huizong was captured in 1127. The remaining members of the imperial family fled to southern China and established the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279).
In “The Space-Time Painter”, Zhao grew up in his brother's residence but was ill-treated because he was the son of a housemaid. He was also despised by others due to his sleepwalking during childhood, a condition that was traditionally considered to be either a disease causing anxiety and hallucination or, worse, a kind of possession by another soul. Sleepwalking in Chinese, li hun zheng, literally means “dispersed soul symptom”. Such “spirit walking” allows Zhao to travel across the kingdom without leaving his studio, and even travel through time: “Observing the world from a higher dimension is like following a spiralling piece of silk, with movement up and down causing alternation of space and movement back and forth leading to transitions through time. It's all the same to me.” This experience inspires his painting:
He cleansed himself with burning incense and bathing before drinking as much water as he could. He then nailed shut the door and window of his room and commenced meditation on his bed... It was shocking to see the young man remained motionless for three whole days, as if he was dead through and through. It was only on the fourth day that he awakened, his cheeks sunken but his eyes sparkling bright and fierce. The artist leapt up and, grabbing his ink and brush, started painting with such a burning force that it looked like he was trying to pour the flames of his life onto the snowy white surface of the silk. Soon afterwards, he collapsed to the floor. Having struggled to hurriedly swallow a pre-prepared snack, once again he fell into a deep “sleep”. This time, it took him seven days to wake up. So the process repeated, with his meditation lasting an increasing number of days each time and his infrequent waking period totally dedicated to painting. Finally, after awakening from a 12-day “sleep”, he completed his last brushstroke on the enormous masterpiece.
While this masterpiece is not named in the story, a detailed description is provided:
The grand painting on silk, 51.5 centimetres tall and 1,191.5 centimetres long, is done in a blue-green landscape technique. In terms of composition, the layout can be roughly divided into five sections, with the view changing as the viewer moves from right to left. The painter uses the traditional technique of multiple perspectives to illustrate a continuous line of mountains and hills and vast, misty rivers and lakes, with the sections echoing each other and containing detailed portrayal of water, people, sightseeing boats, fishing vessels, and bridges. The many perspectives are used alternately to highlight the variation of density, the distinction between primary and secondary, and the charming picturesque disorder. In terms of colouring and technique, azurite and malachite as primary colours are repeatedly and richly rendered against a background of ochre and cinnabar to present the bright and dark aspects of ridges and peaks, while a combination of hemp-fibre and axe-split strokes is used to outline the different textures of mountain rocks. Diverse shades of succulent green and flower blue are applied to the water and the sky in accordance with their layers, values and tones, using net-patterned mottling and wet-on-wet techniques to create a vivid and vital rhythm. The panorama is dazzling and imposing yet spirited and sprightly, a tribute to nature at the peak of grandeur...
This description is clearly intended to evoke “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”, Wang's only surviving work.
Landscape painting “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains” (partial) by Chinese artist Wang Ximeng (Source: Wikipedia)
Zhao travelled through time and witnessed the forthcoming destruction of the kingdom. In his next painting, titled “A Thousand Miles of Starvation and Deprivation”, he captured the devastating misery that he saw – “a full scale of gruesome corpses and hungry ghouls against a distant background of derelict, dilapidated palace walls”.
Zhao further foresaw “the fatuous ruler will perish in the north, and the treacherous servant will die in the south”. In reality, Huizong died a humiliated and broken man in far away northern China in 1135, eight years after his capture by the Jurchens. Meanwhile, Cai was banished to southern China and starved to death in 1125.
MATTERS OF LIFE AND DEATH
In the story, Zhou declines to stay in the higher dimension “where all the secrets of the Heaven and Earth are revealed”. Zhao then argues:
Death is rest while life is hard labour. ‘For the dead, there are no lords above and no servants below them, nor are there affairs of the four seasons. Their years are the Heaven and Earth themselves.’ In your world there are tens of thousands of things shackling you, reducing your life to that of an ant. Why do you even bother?
Zhao is quoting Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou (also known as Zhuangzi), who lived around the 4th century BCE. One of the parables in his book Zhuangzi describes the philosopher finding a skull by the roadside, “sun-bleached but still solid”. He uses the skull as a pillow at night and converses with it in a dream. The skull conveys the sentiment quoted above with the conclusion that “no [living] king enjoys greater happiness than ours [the dead]”. Later,
[Zhuangzi] said: “If I could get the Director of Fates to restore your body, with its bones and flesh and skin, and to return your children and parents and wife, and to bring back your neighbours and acquaintances, would you want that?”
The skull frowned deeply, knit its brows, and said: “Why would I abandon such kingly pleasures [among the dead] to return to the toils of the living?”
Zhao is content with his existence in the higher dimension, having had a tumultuous life that ended with execution. In contrast, upon hearing Zhao quoting a philosopher, Zhou responds with his own citation from Chinese poet Cao Zhi (192-232) to explain why he prefers the mundane world:
Why attempt death without having lived? The ‘Discourse on the Skull’ says: ‘Burden me without any reason with a shape and torture me with life. Now I've had the good fortune to die, so I've been able to return to my true self. Why are you so obsessed with weary toil, whereas I'm in love with untrammelled ease?’ I'm a firm believer that suffering will not stop the world from becoming better.
Unfortunately, here the poet is misquoted. In his essay “Discourse on the Skull”, also a conversation between man and skull, Cao's protagonist notices a skull “all by itself, alone and forlorn” and hopes “it might entrust itself to a dream to communicate its feelings”. Later, thanks to the protagonist's attention, “[the skull's spirit] suddenly seemed to arrive and vaguely seemed to be present; its shadow appeared, but its face remained hidden” as it starts responding with an eloquent elaboration on the discourse of life and death.
A complete English translation of Cao's “Discourse on the Skull” is found in The Resurrected Skeleton: From Zhuangzi to Lu Xun by Wilt L. Idema (Columbia University Press, 2014). Based on this translation, the protagonist suggests to the skull, “let me...pray to the gods and deities to let the master of fate rescind his registers so your bones and shape can be returned to you”. In response,
The skull thereupon heaved a heavy sigh and lamented with wide-open sockets: “Too bad! How come you are so obtuse? Once upon a time the master of great simplicity was so unkind as to burden me without any reason with a shape and to torture me with life. Now I've had the good fortune to die, so I've been able to return to my true self. Why are you so obsessed with weary toil, whereas I'm in love with untrammelled ease? Please leave, and I will return to Grand Emptiness.” That was the end of his words, the last to be heard, and the glare of his soul disappeared like a mist.
Comparing Zhou's words to those quoted above, it is clear the skull's words in “Discourse on the Skull” are taken out of context. With Zhou citing the skull's words in his refusal to stay in the higher dimension, the character appears to be contradicting himself.
Finally, Zhou learns of an artist who had been contacted by Zhao and who subsequently created a painting to explore matters of life and death. That unnamed artist is apparently Li Song (active 1190-1230) from the Southern Song Dynasty, creator of the silk fan painting “Skeleton Fantasy Show”.
Silk fan painting “Skeleton Fantasy Show” (partial) by Chinese artist Li Song (Source: Wikipedia)
Li is described as having “only a smattering of understanding of [Zhao's] words” but somehow “did a painting that led to much speculation by others”. Without doubt, the painting invites ample reflection on the meaning and significance of life and death.
ASSESSMENT OF THE STORY
(1) A “stand-alone” story?
In its last pages, the story introduces a brand new character surnamed Hu, a friend and self-educated historian who had previously helped Zhou solve the so-called “Chain Guillotine” case and was subsequently employed by a relevant government agency known simply as “AIB”. Hu takes over the investigation at the Palace Museum after Zhou's incident and ensuing coma. He is also responsible for Zhou's transfer from the police force to AIB at the story's end.
The character's appearance further leads to the revelation that Zhou has gained some ability to foresee the future after his encounter with Zhao. Not only does he anticipate his transfer to AIB before it is officially announced, but he also predicts Hu's arrival before the “lumpy ball of a man” shows up.
Hu's sudden appearance as a brand new character and the story's abrupt ending seem confusing. Is there, or will there be, a prequel and/or a sequel? What is the “Chain Guillotine” case about? What does “AIB” stand for and what exactly does it do as a government agency? The lack of answers in “The Space-Time Painter” may disappoint those desiring a stand-alone and self-sustained story.
(2) A “Chinese” story?
The author deliberately omits the names of the story's major characters, referring to Huizong as the “Emperor” and Cai as the “Grand Chancellor”. Not only is the artist's surname changed from “Wang” to “Zhao”, but the name “Zhao Ximeng” is not revealed until near the story's end.
Even so, those familiar with Chinese history can identify these characters thanks to the mention of the Khitans, the Jurchens, and the Jingkang Incident where Huizong's capture by the Jurchens led to the end of the Northern Song Dynasty. Meanwhile, based on the description of the landscape painting, those familiar with Chinese culture and arts can recognise it as “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains” by Wang Ximeng.
This may lead to the assumption that “The Space-Time Painter” as a story caters only for Chinese readers. However, it may be argued that the author intends to illustrate how individuals – especially artists – are often the helpless products and victims of their times. In this sense, the storytelling is not at all hindered by the lack of details about the story's historical setting.
It may be further argued that the author intends to explore an artist's creative process and their inner struggles. For example, having witnessed “the numerous hardships of the people”, Zhao is determined to “use art as a tool to be mindful of the world and to inform his fellow citizens of the kingdom's affairs”. Later, he even attempts a “deadly remonstration through his art” but to no avail. These are some of the universal themes explored in the story.
(3) A “Science Fiction” story?
A close examination of the story reveals its first half to be relatively bland, mainly chronicling the actions, thoughts and emotions of various secondary characters. Even later, when Zhou becomes “possessed” and starts having terrifying visions, the description is brief, vague and generic, relying on more “telling” than “showing”. Also missing are details of the “higher dimension” and how Zhao and Zhou are able to travel there.
This is clearly not a work of science fiction characterised by concerns for scientific accuracy and logic. Rather, the story may be seen as fantasy using the time travel plot device. Relying on the “common knowledge” of Chinese history and culture, the author focuses more on character development than world-building. There is very little depiction of each setting, whether it is a palace, a hospital, an underground warehouse, or an office at the Palace Museum's Centre for Conservation. Meanwhile, readers are expected to “naturally” accept Zhou's transition from being comatose to becoming aware of his existence in the higher dimension. Only the short paragraph below serves as an explanation:
In the midst of endless chaos, a majestic and splendid landscape painting gradually unscrolled. The wandering strains of consciousness abruptly jolted, making an effort to join each other before scattering away... As the distant scroll slowly dissipated, [Zhou] became increasingly aware of himself. Though still lacking strength and unsure where he was, at least he was no longer helplessly muddleheaded and trapped in another consciousness.
The lack of scientific and logical details in what is promoted as science fiction appears to be a major reason why the story fails to appease sci-fi fans. However, “The Space-Time Painter” is not a “time travel” story in the usual sense.
Popular “time travel” fiction often features a character from a certain space and time physically travelling to a new reality. Particularly in those cases where a contemporary character travels back in time, the focus is either how they change the past in the hope that it may influence how the present and even the future unfolds, or how they forbid any change of the past so that the present and therefore the future can unfold the way it is supposed to be.
“The Space-Time Painter” can be distinguished from such popular imagining in two ways. First, the author turns “sleepwalking” into “spirit walking” that allows Zhao to travel through space and time. Initially he can only observe those affairs occurring in the coming decades and centuries, but later, having disconnected from his body, he is able to “glimpse the happenings in the millenniums to come”.
Not only is there no mention of Zhao travelling back in time, but he is clearly aware of the limited usefulness of time travel, particularly when it involves travelling to the future:
He rarely tried to leap through time, mainly because it was of no benefits to his work. But the more important reason was that any attempt to detect the Heaven's intentions for the future would surely influence what was being done at the present. In addition to the added concerns over the potential gains and losses, there was no doubt that time could administer micro-adjustments to the changes that one would hope to make. Like flipping a pebble into water where the resulting ripples would sooner or later disappear, the efforts was ultimately futile and hardly worth making.
Interestingly, when asked about the viability of predicting the future, Zhao cites Fermat's Principle of Least Time as an explanation.
“You mean, even when a light ray bends as it passes from one medium to another, its path from one point to another point will still cover the smallest distance possible?” Zhou seemed to have detected a certain clue, but it was too unfathomable yet to be confirmed.
“Come on, open your mind a bit. You've seen enough bizarre things already,” the ghostly shadow laughed.
“You mean, before the light ray's departure, it's already predicted the results of its future, and then it takes its action?”
“That's right.”
Indeed, in the story, Zhao foresaw the kingdom's destruction and then attempted to prevent it. Fully aware that he would fail with deadly consequences, his determination to still give it a try is another universal theme that is often explored in literature. Yet, unlike the protagonists in many other stories featuring time travel, Zhao failed to “reverse the Heaven's Mandate” and did not try to predict and interfere with the future again.
CONCLUSION
Ultimately, “The Space-Time Painter” reads more like fantasy than science fiction. Indeed, the term “science fiction” in Chinese, ke huan, combines “science” and “fantasy”. Whether it is interpreted as “science-inspired fantasy” or “scientific fantasy” remains to be determined by individual authors.
Meanwhile, although “The Space-Time Painter” is richly influenced and inspired by Chinese history, culture and arts, it cannot and should not be seen as merely a “Chinese” story thanks to those universal themes well explored by the author.
Born in Taiwan and now based in Melbourne, Australia, Christine Yunn-Yu Sun is a writer, translator, reader, reviewer, journalist and independent scholar in English and Chinese languages.