Thousands of years ago.

The making of the Great Wall.

Building material was limited and scarce.

Thousands of people died in the making. Those who died became part of the Great Wall itself. Translation: they were put into it and used as building material.

Ouch.

Anyway’s, according to legend, this lady’s husband was taken away by the king who decided to build the Great Wall in the Qing Dynasty. A long time went by, yet her husband did not come back.

Hmm. So she went to the Great Wall. Someone told her that thousands of people died and they were put into the Great Wall.

Alas, this sad news reached her tender ears. (I added that part.) She cried and cried and cried on the Great Wall. Suddenly, a part of it fell down.

It is said that this is where her husband was buried.

“Wow,” I thought as my mom finished her story.

I frowned. My mom asked me what was wrong. I pointed.

There was a sign that said “No Smoking!” But yet… right next to it there was a smoker.

Sigh,” I thought as I moved on with anger. Here was the beautiful Great Wall of China, an artifact only to be found in one place, a place where thousands died for, and people were smoking.

As I sat down on the guardrail (much too low), I noticed there were carvings on the bricks. Looking closer, I saw they were names of people. Visitors. People who were lucky enough to bring a pocketknife and carve their name.

I looked up just in time to see a man spit on the ground next to me about one foot away. I looked down. The spit was slowly going into the bricks, saturating it, but not before it dried up under the intense heat.

Is this how people are treating the Great Wall?