“It was a common practice among aristocrats of high prestige,” Jun informed her.
“This isn’t unlike what one might find in an Egyptian pharaoh’s grave, and I imagine for much the same reason,” the scrivener remarked. “The Shang must have also believed that the afterlife was a parallel to the physical world. An important person would want to be surrounded by the same possessions in the next world as in this.”
“It’s interesting that you would draw a comparison to the Egyptians,” Jun observed. “We know that such burial customs only became common in Egypt after the overlords conquered North Africa. The same is true here. We are seeing displays of wealth and blood sacrifice in Shang graves that bear a strong resemblance to the kurgan pit graves of the steppes.”
They proceeded in silence, walking past row after row of chariots and horses which had been interred with the dead.
The pythia felt appalled by the sheer volume of ritual slaughter on display. “I guess overlords didn’t get the news that hearses don’t come with luggage racks.”
Once they exited the exhibit hall, Cassie’s attention was drawn to plastic domes covering different plots of earth around the archaeological site. In an effort to distract herself from the unsettling displays she’d just witnessed, she darted forward. Stopping at the nearest dome, she leaned over to peer inside. “Oh!” She recoiled when she identified the contents.
The pit was filled with piles of bones—skulls, torsos, decapitated skeletons, all heaped together like scraps from a slaughterhouse.
The others caught up with her.
“Sacrificial pits.” Rou sighed forlornly. “Murdered slaves.”
“For major religious rites,” Jun said, “the Shang would kill slaves or war captives. Some were decapitated. Some sliced in half. Then their remains were thrown into pits and buried. Perhaps the logic behind the mutilation had to do with the Shang’s literal interpretation of the afterlife. One’s enemies should never be sent to the next world intact where they might pose a future threat.”
“The lesson here is never lose a war to the Shang,” Cassie muttered.
“The dynasty was frequently in conflict with its neighbors who wanted to take over the territory,” the trove keeper said. “By 1300 BCE, many more steppe nomads were migrating into northern China through Mongolia. The arrival of the Yellow Emperor a thousand years earlier had been relatively peaceful by comparison. He managed to stave off the competition because the number of other overlord bands was small. That state of affairs had changed by the time of the Shang.”
“What we’re seeing at this site is full-on overlord,” the pythia observed. “There are chariots, horses, slaves, animal and human sacrifice, male dominance, and a rigid social order including a priest class to interpret omens.”
“You forgot widow slaughter,” Griffin added helpfully. “The Shang also practiced that delightful overlord custom.”
“But where did it all come from?” Cassie asked. “Nothing we’ve seen so far leads up to this. It’s like it happened overnight.”
“Anyang may represent a tipping point of sorts,” Jun speculated. “Over a span of two thousand years, a small influx of steppe nomads with superior weaponry and horses had set themselves up as the ruling elite, imposing their traditions on the native people wherever they settled in China. By the time of the Shang Dynasty, a fresh influx of nomads from Mongolia was eager to claim territory along the northern border. The rivalries and competition among them became more intense than ever before.”
“Now I know why you warned me when we walked into this place.” Cassie’s tone was rueful. “Anyang is supposed to showcase the advance of Chinese civilization, but I think it’s a huge step backward from the peaceful farm folk whose land this once was.”
“And the march of progress didn’t end here.” Griffin gave sarcastic emphasis to the word “progress.” “The overlord infection spread from agrarian China all the way to Korea and Japan. Japan, in particular, had enjoyed a gender-balanced society with many female leaders right up to the sixth century CE when patriarchal China first began meddling in the affairs of its neighbors. Little by little, Korea and Japan both became carbon copies of what we see here in Anyang.”
By this time, the group had wandered across the park to another plastic-covered pit. Without thinking, Cassie rested her hands on the rammed earth wall surrounding the exhibit and immediately wished she hadn’t.
She was an old man lying curled on his side. He rested on a pile of oracle bones. The pit was half filled with them. It was his duty to protect the prophecies. He was their keeper—a servant of the royal house. When his spirit traveled to the other world, he would resume his duty—faithful for all eternity to his master the king. Dirt began to tumble into the pit, across his body and across the prophecies he shielded. He could feel the weight of it gradually pressing down—surrounding and blanketing him. He watched patiently until the last shovelful fell across his face and eyes, blotting out the sky. After that, he saw no more. All he could feel was the earth mounding higher over his body, pressing down heavier and heavier until its weight crushed the life out of him.
The pythia was clutching at her throat, gasping for air. She had lost all sense of where she was, or even who she was. Time, space and identity had all condensed down to the single urgent need to breathe.
“Cassie!” Griffin gripped her by the shoulders and shook her, trying to break her trance.
It was as if she heard his voice calling her through dense fog. “Whe...” She tried to speak. “Where...?”
She could feel his hands gripping her arms now. The fog seemed less thick than it had a moment before. When she blinked, his face came into blurry focus. “Griffin?”
He threw his arms around her, hugging her fiercely. “Thank goddess, you’re alright!”
Cassie realized that she had slumped to the ground next to the oracle pit. She could see other faces now. Jun and Rou
