Huma Yibeifeng

 　　Over the years, I seem to have slowly come to understand what it means to be able to understand human speech and animal language. In 1992, a conference on Mongolian culture was held, where an elder presented a paper saying that Mongolian horses are very sensitive to the direction of their homeland.

　　He gave an example: in the 1950s, Mongolia aided Vietnam by gifting horses as support for its resistance against the United States. On one occasion, five horses were sent to Vietnam by truck and train. When the horses arrived in Vietnam, one was missing the next morning, and it was never found, so it was left at that. However, six months later, on a ranch on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar, the ranch owner got up early to check his horses and found a horse in the distance that looked like a wild horse, but wasn't quite, because it had horseshoes and was very thin. It was near the ranch, wanting to come in but afraid to. The owner thought that if it was a bad, sick horse, he had to find a way to get it away quickly, because it could spread disease. But when the owner went over, the horse stood there with tears in its eyes. Large tears streamed from the horse's eyes. Moreover, the skill of Mongolian horse herders lies in their ability to recognize every single one of their horses, even if they possess three hundred or five hundred. When the owner approached, he recognized the fine horse as the one he had sent to the front lines to support Vietnam six months prior. The owner embraced the horse and wept bitterly, heartbroken.

　　Medieval explorers said that Mongolian horses would raise their hooves and neigh towards their homeland before setting out, gazing at the stars to ensure they wouldn't fail to return. However, this 20th-century Mongolian horse was transported by truck and train. How could it possibly return? How many rivers would it have to cross? Not to mention the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers, there are countless rivers, mountains, villages, and many curious and greedy people within Vietnam… So, when it saw its owner, tears streamed down its face. What did the owner do after crying? He held a grand banquet, summoning all the neighbors and announcing, "My horse has returned! My horse, which has returned from afar towards home, will from this day forward be free from all labor, and no one is allowed to ride it. It will forever remain on its home grasslands." I cared for it in its old age and forbade anyone to bully it. The horse lived happily for another ten years or so.

　　I asked my elders how the horse returned. They said it was probably the northern wind, the scent of the north, which horses can smell. This is why the saying "The northern horse longs for the north wind, the southern bird nests on the southern branch" still holds true in the 20th century. It returned by smelling the scent of the north. I thought, if a person lived in such a nomadic society, they could absolutely understand the feelings and emotions of a horse. People often say, "You're worse than a beast"; I disagree with that. Birds have hearts; beasts have hearts; humans have hearts, they are the same. Therefore, I want to tell a story mentioned in the book Feng Zikai wrote for his teacher, Li Shutong: A man bought a horse. This horse had a strange habit. He went to the horse's old owner and said, "Your horse is good in every way, except for one strange habit: if it sees a white horse on the road, it stops and doesn't move until the white horse is out of its sight. Only then will it obey me and start doing its work." Mr. Feng Zikai commented that this horse possessed a human heart—I used to agree, but now I disagree.

　　It is a horse, and its heart is just like that, so why should it have a human heart? Doesn't a horse have a heart? Doesn't a horse miss home? It makes it seem as if humans and nature are completely isolated—when humans become isolated, many other creatures with feelings just like us live in nature. If we can care for these creatures, care for the grasslands, care for the forests, care for the many animals that fly in the sky and walk on the ground; if we can put ourselves in their shoes—I think that's good.

　　Some books say how to classify horses. First-class horses move when the owner rides them. Second-class horses only move when the owner signals them. Third-class horses only move when the owner whips them. Fourth-class horses don't move even when whipped. I think the author probably hasn't been to the nomadic world, to be with a herd of horses—a horse that doesn't move even when whipped must be refusing to move because there's danger ahead. On the battlefield, the image of a horse that refuses to move even when whipped for its master's safety is a recurring theme in epic poems. The epic poem *Jangar*, a heroic epic, comprises over 100,000 lines and more than 70 sections; many heroic figures are sung about alongside their warhorses.

　　Of course, a horse that immediately moves when its master mounts is a first-rate horse. But a horse that refuses to move even when whipped must have its reasons, and you must first understand those reasons—though the thinking of people in agrarian societies might be different.