As a young student in the distant city of Leningrad in the fifteenth and sixteenth year of our nation[1], privy to the rare and precious manuscripts collected by Russian scholars at the Asian Museum of the Academy of Sciences, I had been often puzzled by the Todo Mongol^[2] letters that only contained platitudes and ended with the mysterious line: “The message is in the messenger’s mouth.”

It was custom for these letters to state the messenger’s name and explain that they would deliver the actual message orally, and my mentor, academician Vladimirtsov, said there had to be a reason behind it.

Years later, I embarked on a horseback field trip in the far region of Khovd to seek ancient stelae as well as to document folktales and dialects. I lodged at the yurt of an old Tsoros clansman named Khaltar, who had a trunk full of Todo Mongol sutras. While I was perusing them, the old man told me the story behind “the message is in the messenger’s mouth,” and I kept it to myself for over thirty years. Now, as a gray-haired writer, I wish to put the story on paper and share it with my esteemed readers.

The history of our people in the seventeenth century is full of tragedies, and historians have yet to finish researching the era known as the Dark Ages. And here I recount this particularly harrowing legend of that time:

At the battle of Zuunmod Emperor Kangxi’s army greatly defeated Galdan Boshgot’s army, putting the Dzungarian force to rout. Among the disorderly retreat of the Western Mongols, a contingent of troops, with civilian families in tow, took refuge in the flood of the Orkhon River. Led by Baatar^[3] Gölögdei of the Tsoros clan, they retreated westward and outran the pursuing Manchu army until they reached the desert terrain, where, at the sight of the formidable enemy, they were forced to surrender.

The subjugated horde had fresh wounds from the Zuunmod battle and ten thousand grievances in their minds. Thus, despite yielding to the Manchus on the surface, their hearts fumed with vengeance.

The Manchu brigade made camp about eighteen miles^[4] from Baatar Gölögdei’s encampment; a yurt marked with a dragon banner flapping in the wind was closely guarded by sentinels, for it was occupied by the Manchu commander, whose rank was Splendor Radiating General.

The general’s name was Fu. He was a tall, wiry old man who trained his troops every morning by the blare of a horn. The spectacle of Manchu soldiers practicing archery and horsemanship would attract a curious shepherd boy or two to observe from afar.

Baatar Gölögdei started paying visits to General Fu, who would saunter out of his residence to amiably welcome the old baatar. The two foes seemed to have forged a sudden friendship—the general learned Mongolian chess and Gölögdei often stayed over for a match.

The sight of Duke Gölögdei fraternizing with General Fu shocked the subjugated people—young and old alike—but they knew the baatar was an honorable man above ingratiation to the enemy. Surely, they surmised in whispers, he was on to something.

Then came the news that the general had been invited to the old duke's birthday feast. At the behest of the zagutu officer, who commanded hundred-warrior units, the leaders of the ten-warrior units, the arbatu, collected utensils, dairy treats, kumiss, and liquor in preparation of the banquet.

“Why hold a banquet in times like these?” asked the youth and elders, first from one another, then from the military leaders. The zagutu officers smiled cryptically and said nothing more than, “Messenger’s words, the old baatar’s message.”

The day of the rendezvous was pleasant, with a clear sky. A phalanx of fully armed Manchu troops marched, with banners aloft, into the camp of Baatar Gölögdei; the Splendor Radiating General, who had left his gun at the garrison, was escorted by his elite soldiers. The old baatar, accompanied by his queen and his only son, who looked every bit as a paragon of youthful vigor, had rushed to the edge of their camp to welcome the honorary guests.

The Manchu general dismounted, saluted the old baatar, and entered the size ten^[5] yurt with vermilion ornaments. The general’s troops formed separate columns, and at the sound of a horn and a bannerman’s loud orders that rang throughout the old duke's encampment, some of the elite soldiers marched toward the four corners of the yurt to stand sentry.

A squad of heavy armored soldiers, who had hoisted the Manchu dragon flag next to Baatar Gölögdei's flag, posted themselves around the two flagpoles. A retinue of General Fu’s bodyguards—tall, hale Solon troops—carried gifts and followed the general into the yurt. Soon, the sounds of toast speech and musical instruments could be heard from within.

Far away from Baatar Gölögdei’s grand yurt, festively dressed and bejeweled clansmen and women congregated at the commoners’ feasting area, and nestled themselves on the white felt rugs that had been laid in front of several tall, decorated tents. In the open space to the east stood thousands of horses, hitched up and hobbled like boxes. The tent at the north side housed seats reserved for the baatar and the Manchu guests; the western tents had elders and women, who formed a multicolored throng like the steppe flowers, all awaiting the arrival of the duke and General Fu.

Meanwhile inside the grand yurt, melodious voices of women finished singing a folk song. Shunu—the keen-eyed, splendid-faced son—served as the cupbearer and refilled a jade goblet. He then handed it to the old baatar, who held it up reverently to General Fu. General Fu winked; at this signal, the Solon warriors who had been staring hard from their post by the door rushed toward Gölögdei and Shunu and swiftly bound them up.

“Blue Tengri!”^[6] exclaimed the stunned women before the brawny Manchu soldiers tied their hands and gagged their mouths. No sound came from the grand yurt other than muffled rustling and panting.

At the General’s nod, a bannerman leaped out of the yurt, gave instructions to a soldier, and rushed back in. General Fu smiled and addressed Gölögdei, Shunu, the queen, and the girls, all tied and gagged.

“Forgive me, my host,” he said. “I’ve taken preventative measures so as not to fall for your secret plot. Otherwise, my men would’ve become headless demons. Even I would’ve fallen prey to your wicked ways! But alas, by the grace of the Emperor Kangxi’s wrathful angel, Gesar Guan Lou-Ye, one of your passing letters has been discovered, and upon finding your motives, I have retaliated. My soldiers seized and brought to me your carrier, who had this secret message:

ᡍᠠᠷᠠᡃᡐᡇ ᡐᡇᡎ ᡕᡄᡃᠨ ᠰᠠᡔᡇᠨᠠ ᡋᡅ
ᡍᠠᠷᠠ ᡋᡇᡍᠠ ᡕᡅᠨ ᠠᠷᠠᠰᡇᠨ ᡕᡄᡃᠷ ᡋᡉᠷᡅᡎᠰᡄᠨ
ᡋᡉᠷᡅᡃᠰᡉ ᡋᡉᡘᡉᡅ ᡑᡆᡉᡐᡇ ᡘᡄᡊᡎᡄᠷᡎᡄ ᡋᡄᡃᠨ
ᡋᡉᡎᡉᡑᡄᡕᡅᠨ ᡑᡇᠨᡑᠠ ᡑᡄᠯᡄᡑᡈᡉᠯᡉᠨᡄᡅ ᡋᡅ
ᡍᠠᠷᡅ ᡏᠠᠨᡓᡇ ᡔᡄᠷᡅᡎᡅ ᡐᡄᠷᡄ ᡑᡆᡘᡆᡃᡎᡆᡃᠷ
ᡍᠠᡋᡔᡅᠨ ᡘᡅᡑᡇᡓᡅ ᡍᡇᠷᡅᡏᠯᠠᠨᠠᡅ ᡋᡅᡑᠠ
ᡇᠷᡐᡇ ᡍᠠᠷᠠᡃᡐᡇ ᡐᡇᡎ ᡕᡄᡃᠨ ᠰᠠᡔᡇᠨᠠ ᡋᡅ
ᡉᡘᡄᠷᡅᡕᡅᠨ ᠠᠷᠠᠰᡇᠨ ᡕᡄᡃᠷ ᡋᡉᠷᡅᡎᠰᡄᠨ ᡘᡄᡊᡎᡄᠷᡎᡄ ᡋᡄᡃᠨ
ᡉᡅ ᡆᠯᡆᠨᡅ ᡑᡇᠨᡑᠠ ᡑᡄᠯᡄᡑᡈᡉᠯᡉᠨᡄᡅ ᡋᡅ
ᡈᠱᡈᡃᡐᡉ ᡏᠠᠨᡓᡇ ᡔᡄᠷᡅᡎᡅ ᡐᡄᠷᡄ ᡑᡆᡘᡆᡃᡎᡆᡃᠷ
ᡈᠷᡈᠯᡈᠨ ᡘᡅᡑᡇᡓᡅ ᡍᡇᠷᡅᡏᠯᠠᡕᠠ ᡋᡅᡑᠠ᠅[7]

“Here,” the general revealed a scrap of paper from his tunic. “The proof of your wicked conspiracy to invite the Manchu military leaders under the pretense of a birthday banquet, inebriate us, and massacre us.”

Coldly smiling, the general continued. “To not raise suspicion, I kept this letter, scribbled a duplicate in emulative hand, and returned it to the messenger.”

Baatar Gölögdei’s ruddy face darkened and turned to his son. Shunu hung his head in profound guilt and sighed.

At the Manchu general’s command, a bannerman removed the gags from Shunu and Gölögdei, and said:

“Better not scream. Our troops are ready to fight. If you shout, your people over there will be massacred. You and your family will be the first to die.” The soldiers then removed the gags of the baatar’s queen and his children. Then, at the sight of the queen’s swollen hands, they untied the rope around her hands.

The old baatar looked at his son and said in a low, forlorn voice, “Son, what have you done? Why did you send a letter in this time of war and chaos? Why didn’t you trust your messenger?”

Shunu, unable to face his father, merely whispered:

“This is all my fault. If I’d only known that the letter would end up in the wrong hands...”

While this transpired, a Manchu soldier entered a nearby yurt of the duke's subcommander and confiscated the swords and strings from the bows. “Make a sound and die! If you try to escape, I’ll kill you!” he yelled.

The feasting area, where the tents and the hidden cache of weapons were located, was surrounded by the Manchu cavalry and the people were corralled like sheep into a pen. A bannerman barked at the crowd, “Sit down! If you stand, we will shoot.”

The harsh voice of the Manchu officer made his words sound alien to the silent, entrapped commoners. Several soldiers hopped off their horses and started snatching the swords from the arbatu and zagutu officers. They approached a mingatu commander named Ergil, a tall, barrel-chested old man with a long, fang-like mustache.

“Alas! Young Shunu’s letter has ruined us all,” the old commander said dejectedly. “To think I’m going to lose my Egyptian steel saber of nine generations.” He brought the blade, sheathed in a ruby-inlaid silver scabbard, to his forehead for a blessing, and then handed it over to a Manchu bannerman.

"I didn’t tell you I had been captured," said a stocky young man. “It is my fault for thinking the letter contained nothing more than platitudes.” The man drew his knife; a Manchu officer was admiring Ergil’s sword when the man sunk the knife into his throat. Then, the messenger ripped out the Egyptian sword and charged at the Manchu soldiers, cutting down several that were collecting weapons. A freckled Solon soldier on a horse whipped out his bow, he drew until the arrowhead touched the bow and released it. With a thunk, the shot hit the messenger’s back and the tip of the arrow poked out from his chest. The poor man raised the sword and collapsed.

The crowd yelped in shock and the soldiers drew their bows as a Manchu officer bellowed, “If you so much as move a hand, we will shoot everyone!” He then barked orders to send a rider to Baatar Gölögdei’s yurt, and to remove the bodies from the feasting area.

Soon, another Manchu cavalryman arrived from the grand yurt. “Baatar Gölögdei of the Tsoros clan—” he announced in a thundering voice “—plotted against the Splendor Radiating General Fu and his heavenly army. The Emperor’s spirit-protector saw this and turned in the evildoer Gölögdei to the general. Cower in fear, and see what happens to your vermin of a lord’s life! Move and we’ll shoot.” The horseman then issued orders to the Manchu bannermen, and galloped to the direction of the grand yurt.

“Blue Tengri! I’m a foolish female,” an old woman cried in agony. “I have sinned, thinking my baatar lord had allied with the enemy. My poor baatar lord, my poor baatar lord!” The chorus of people expressed their sorrows like reeds murmuring in gentle wind; some tsked grimly, some sighed in despair.

At the northern side of Baatar Gölögdei’s yurt the Manchu general sat with a grandiose air. He had been fearful of the commotion at the banquet area, but an officer arrived with news that relieved him, and his weathered face, which had a scar from a sword on his cheek, beamed over his victory. With a faint smile hidden in his mustached lips, he peered at Baatar Gölögdei and said:

“It is regrettable that my soldiers came to feast in friendship, and some have lost their lives because of your evil schemes. These are all your crimes. There will be no mercy. Were you tried by the court-martial of the time of chaos, one out of ten of your subjects would’ve been cut down as a lesson for posterity. Murky headwaters do not make clear rivers; so, all your civilian households are to become indentured for nine generations. But His Grace, Kangxi the Huangdi, magnanimously decreed that the wicked be punished and the innocent be governed peacefully, so your soldiers and kin won’t be convicted. Your family alone will receive capital punishment. To ensure no rebellious thoughts linger against the victors for ten thousand generations, the wicked father and son will be killed by the “hole of the coin”^[8] method in front of the wife and children. Then, the remaining members will be simply cut down with a sword, considering that they’d witnessed the death of their loved ones.”

Gölögdei and Shunu, despite being engulfed by ten thousand dreads, didn’t want to show weakness to the enemy. They sat gazing at the queen, who held her two young daughters.

“I am the mastermind of this crime,” said Baatar Gölögdei. “How could an old soldier like me become a slave and servant to the destroyers of the Dzungarian army? To be born in a yurt, and to die in the steppe while fighting his enemies—for a man, this is an acceptable fate. I’m no stranger to taking up arms against the invading enemy, so I’m not worried in the least about being beheaded in your hands. It pains me to say this, but I implore you to spare Shunu, my only son, as the ember to carry our lineage.” He stared at General Fu, waiting for an answer.

“Father!” Shunu said. “How can that be? I alone should be punished for breaking the ancient tradition. The parents beget the body of their child, not the mind.” He bowed at the Manchu general. “Please execute me alone and have mercy on my father, mother, and little sisters. Use not just the hole of the coin method, not just any ingenious torture, but  the method of true punishment harsher than what the vilest human mind can conjure.”

“Please let me die first,” said the Gölögdei’s queen in an appeasing tone. “Before I witness the suffering of my own son. Don’t let me see my children in pain. How would they have come to this world without their mother? It is my fault to have raised them naïve and heedless. Slice me, over and over, against the hole of a coin, but please spare my children. Please, he hasn’t even fully lived under the golden sun.”

The Manchu general sat upright in satisfaction, training a proud look at the suffering captives before breaking the silence. “It is proper for a man to have one heart and one mouth,” he said. “This political crime is unpardonable. Out of compassion for House Gölögdei’s ancestral offerings and smothered hearth, I’m prescribing an amendment to spare the life of Shunu as requested. Shunu, you shall receive heavenly grace if you behead your father, mother, and little sisters with your own hands. Not only shall I abolish the hole in the coin execution of the father and son, but I’m also going to spare your life and the Tsoros Gölögdei lineage. There. My mind is set. Nothing must be changed. Either execute everyone or let Shunu survive. Counsel among yourselves on which.” He issued the order and one of the bannerman exited the yurt, and soon the sound of a Manchu horn was heard.

“Son, since the matter is settled,” Baatar Gölögdei said, encouragingly, to Shunu, “Be brave, and cut our heads off. A man’s path is long. If you are alive, you’ll find a way. Don’t be sad. Steel yourself.”

“Please,” said Shunu in a low keen. “Please let me have my head chopped before all of you.”

“Do not falter like a tin spear,” said the queen, with conviction in her voice. “No one in this world ever escapes from death. Remember what your father said. ‘If you survive, there is a way.’ We have decided. We’d rather die in our son’s hands than see our father and son tortured. My son’s courage decides whether the father will be tortured or not. General, if you’re going to keep your promise, please swear in front of all your troops that you won’t touch Shunu afterward. Execute us and spare Shunu.”

Shunu kowtowed in front of his parents. “I’ve put you all in danger by violating the ancient code of letters,” he said. “So there’s no point in me staying alive. How could I swing a sword against the two dearest people who brought me into this world? I can’t ever bring myself to do this.”

“If you remember your parents’ virtue of raising you,” said his mother. “Then honoring their words of commitment is the highest form of filial piety. Son, steel yourself now. Follow this through and your parents will die proud.”

Shunu haltingly managed, “The golden words of my father and mother are unutterably difficult, but out of sincere love and respect, I have no choice but to honor them.” He turned to the Manchu general, and bracing himself, he said, “I am ready.”

“Then bid your farewells,” said the general. “The rules dictate that you all be tied up for the execution. As a mark of courtesy for the courageous baatar, you will go out without binds on your hands.” The general exited the grand yurt, leaving the two Manchu soldiers by the door and several guards on the outside.

The Splendor Radiating General Fu, surrounded by his elite soldiers, ambled to the feasting area. Arriving at Baatar Gölögdei’s square tent, he and his bannermen seated themselves.

A Manchu soldier shuffled the crouching crowd to form a semicircle against a colorful tent. Prompted by General Fu, a Manchu bannerman walked out of the tent and intoned to the crowd the wrongdoings of Baatar Gölögdei, and explained how, by the grace of heaven, the family had been shown lenience—their new punishment was now to be beheaded at the hands of the son, Shunu. The crowd was taken aback but listened to the loud decree in dead silence. The Manchu commander paused, and explained that the old Baatar Gölögdei, along with his queen, begged for his son's life, to which the Splendor Radiating General Fu conceded. Shunu was to be spared if he personally cut off the heads of his father, mother, and young sisters. The crowd gasped in abject shock.

Baatar Gölögdei, his queen, and his two little girls arrived from the grand yurt, prodded by a Manchu guard, who ordered them to kneel before the tent. The military horn blared as the crowd's silent gaze fell on the four people kneeling in front of the tent. When a Manchu officer shot an executioner’s arrow as a signal to start, Shunu prostrated himself before his father and brought his forehead up to his knees to receive a blessing. He stood up and raised the sword; in a flash, old Gölögdei's head rolled away. A gasp escaped from the chests of thousands of people in unison, and women covered their faces with their sleeves. If the fire of revenge raged inside the broad chest of Shunu, he didn’t let the smoke escape through his nostrils. His face looked empty like that of a statue, except for his eerie stare.

Shunu prostrated himself before his mother and received a blessing from the hem of her tunic. Upon seeing a single tear on his mother’s cheek, Shunu’s face betrayed wavering doubts, and his mother said, “Don’t show weakness to the enemy. Collect yourself and hurry!” The silent surrounding crowd winced in agony at her courageous voice.

The queen cast a quick glance at the lifeless body of the old man, with whom she had trudged through the vagaries of life, and stretched her neck and shouted, “Now!” The swooshing of the sword was followed by the queen’s head rolling down next to her husband’s head, stopping in a position that looked as if she was whispering something to his ear.

Shunu’s younger sister quietly stretched her neck. Her soft-haired head dropped before her baby sister with her eyes open. His baby sister, no more than five or six years old, looked at her big sister with unblinking eyes.

The baby sister then tipped her head forward. “Big brother,” she said, pointing at the nape of her neck, “I have a boil here. It hurts when I touch it. Cut me through here. Please don’t touch my boil.” The crowd of onlookers who had been holding their breaths, heard these words with crystal clarity, and felt as if each person had been pricked in the heart by an awl.

At the fall of the youngest daughter, the Manchu military horn sounded again. Shunu was escorted away in the middle of Manchu soldiers. His yurt, home to a wholesome family at sunrise, had become a complete orphan by that afternoon. The elders say that, after the family of Baatar Gölögdei of Tsoros clan was massacred through the misfortune of a secret-betraying letter, the place became known as the Khüisiin Gobi. [9]

And what happened to Shunu? Well, he escaped that night with a few of his warriors. His band became known as the ones that picked off straggling Manchu soldiers in ones or small groups. The Splendor Radiating General stopped stepping outside without his guards; he started calling Shunu “the Mountain Fugitive,” and promised ten thousand taels to anyone who captured him alive—five thousand for his head. But he would not capture the vengeful Shunu. Fu would only wince at the daily report of his military casualties, and mutter under his breath, “When is the Mountain Fugitive going to exact his revenge on me?” He would wait and wait for the edict to arrive from the distant city of Beijing—the one that would permit him to return to his Manchu homeland. And that is the end of the tragic legend of yore that I have put down to the best of my abilities.

1957.

^[1] 1925-1926; the new era started from the year 1911 as Mongolia seceded and announced independence from the Qing State.

^[2] Vertical Mongolian alphabet derived from the Classical Mongolian Script; developed and used by the Dzungarian khanate.

^[3] Baatar, or “hero,” is an honorary title akin to European knighthood, bestowed on princes and victorious military commanders; alternatively spelled as bator, or bagatur.

^[4] The distance unit is an örtöö, or a distance between two horse relay stations.

^[5] The diameter of a yurt with ten wall-panels is around 11 meters, or 36 feet.

^[6] The sky and an object of worship. See Tengrism.

^[7] 

^{I sprinkle libations on the black banner,
Beat the bullhide drum in loud manner.
Among the crowd, the drum in black
Shall be the signal of our attack.
Cut the Manchu like a gate,
Rush in as a pincer, celebrate.
I give offering to the tall standard,
Pound the drum among the gathered;
At that signal, without tarry,
Impale the enemy and make merry.}

^[8] Method of execution where a red-hot coin is pressed onto the body of the victim and the flesh protruding from the hole is sliced off. This process is repeated until the victim dies.

[9] Derived from the phrase “khüis temtreh,” which means to massacre; located in Gobi-Altai province of Mongolia.