A Suspicious Chinese Banquet

In China, feasting serves for much more than celebration. Want moral license to faff about your new business partners? Take them to a banquet. Want the Vice Minister of city water management to marry your hunchbacked sister? Take him to a banquet. Want friends and family to listen to a three-hour presentation on an exciting American company called Amway? You know what to do.

The ulterior motive banquet has its historical roots in China’s bad old days, circa 200 BCE, just after China’s founder had died from eating too many immortality pills. One Liu Bang was riding roughshod over the heart of the Qin Empire, leaving little but ashes and famine in his army’s wake. Fellow power-monger Xiang Yu didn’t like this one bit. Having a much bigger army, he claimed the right to treat China like a French torch-douser. When he found out that Liu Bang would not even be choosing him as prime minister in the new Qin regime, Xiang Yu figured he had every right to go ballistic on Liu and his army.

But Xiang Yu’s uncle, Xiang Bo, had a cooler head and a divided heart. He decided to sneak into Liu Bang’s camp the night before the attack and warn his old pal Zhang Liang, Liu’s chief strategist, about the impending attack. However, Zhang Liang was too loyal to ride off from his ruler, and even convinced Uncle Bo to meet Liu Bang and fess up.

Liu hadn’t made it to warlord just on guanxi. He knew butting heads with the much heftier-arrayed Xiang Yu would cost him dearly, and promised Xiang Bo fealty to his nephew. Trusting, if not overly bright, Uncle Bo set off back to his camp with the good news.

No mouth breather, Xiang Yu wouldn’t believe for a minute that his conquering rival was ready to submit without a fight. He had his own strategist, Fan Zeng; together they cooked up operation “Last Supper”, setting in stone the Chinese concept of the dual purpose dinner.

It’s tough breaking bread with a guy you know wants to kill you, but even back then it was almost impossible in China to wiggle out of a formal dinner invitation. Liu Bang RSVP’d and showed up promptly at Xiang Yu’s Hongmen camp, on the outskirts of Xi’an. He commenced with a lengthy speech expressing both regret for having left so little of China for Xiang Yu to ravage, and admiration for Xiang’s prowess at rape and plunder. Xiang Yu replied sarcastically, to the effect of “How would you know?” and out came the peanuts and cucumber with garlic.

Xiang Yu’s adviser Fan Zeng had set everything up for his liege to kill Liu Bang at a signal. Maybe he was mellowed by the bai jiu, or just not in the mood to kill a man in cold blood, but every time Fan gave the high sign, Xiang Yu ignored it. But Fan Zeng had a back- up plan. Chasing the dancing girls off, he summoned Xiang Yu’s cousin, Xiang Zhuang, to do an impromptu sword dance, and lop off Liu Bang’s head for the big finish.

In a rare burst of insight, Uncle Bo deciphered the purpose of the dance. Loath to permit such an awful end to a nice dinner, he took to the floor with his own sword dance, cutting off Xiang Zhuang whenever he got too close to his intended victim.

Liu Bang’s strategist Zhang Liang was also at the feast. It didn’t take him long to figure out that two overfed, sweaty warriors, awkwardly belly-bopping whilst brandishing their swords, was no rehearsed dance piece. A man of cunning rather than arms, he hurried outside to inform Liu’s chief bodyguard, a giant of a man named Fan Kuai, that something was rotten in Hongmen.

Even though bodyguards don’t get invited to dine with their employers, Fan Kuai broke protocol and burst in, summarily ending the dance with a few well-placed hip checks. Xiang Yu could not help but be impressed by Fan Kuai’s bravado, and sat him down with honor to a haunch of pork and a jug of top-shelf hooch. Seated by Zhang Liang, Fan got an earful and decided to cut his boss’ dinner short.

It wasn’t long before Liu Bang’s drinking brought on a call of nature. Fan Kuai followed him outside to one of those delightful outdoor latrines you still find dotting the back lanes of villages nation-wide. Liu Bang had barely finished his business before Fan grabbed him and heaved him on to a horse, ignoring his drunken protests. Jumping on his own steed, Fan led his boss back to their own camp, and safety.

Zhang Liang provided cover as long as possible, speculating that his tipsy lord was most likely still voiding his guts in the latrine. When the suspicious mumbling turned to angry accusations, Zhang Liang stood up and offered his sincerest apologies – Liu Bang had indeed drunk too much and had gone back to his camp to sleep it off. He had some nice prizes in return for the hospitality, though, a jade tablet for Xiang Yu and a set of jade cups for Fan Zeng. Xiang liked his tablet, but Fan Zeng cast his cups on the floor and smashed them with his sword in disgust. Xiang Yu’s failure to seize his chance would lead to his downfall, Fan shouted, a curse which soon came true.

To this day, a hong men wang yan, or red gate banquet, is an idiom employed to describe a celebration with a sinister purpose. The more educated refer to such a situation as “Xiang Zhuang’s sword dance”. So the next time you find yourself at a big round table, facing the door, with your hosts insisting you try all the dishes first, and someone mutters, “Xiang Zhuang wu jian,” consider yourself warned.

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