Thousands of life-sized soldiers stand silently beneath enormous hangars, each one with a different face, hairstyle, expression, and rank. It almost feels impossible to believe they remained hidden underground for more than two thousand years before being accidentally rediscovered in 1974 by a group of local farmers digging a well during a severe drought.
One of those farmers, Yang Zhifa, is still alive today.
To my surprise, he was actually there during my visit, quietly sitting at a table inside the museum, signing books and posing for photographs with visitors. It felt surreal to meet someone whose ordinary day of digging for water accidentally became one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of the twentieth century.
History is often associated with emperors, generals and dynasties. Sometimes, however, it is changed by an ordinary farmer with a shovel.
But what impressed me most wasn’t simply the army. It was the ambition of the man who imagined it.
One emperor. One China.
The Terracotta Army was created for Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor to unify China in 221 BC.
Before him, China was divided into rival kingdoms that spent centuries fighting one another during the Warring States Period. Through military conquest, political strategy, and an extraordinary vision of centralized government, Qin Shi Huang succeeded where no ruler before him had.
For the first time, much of what we now recognize as China became a single empire. His reign lasted only fifteen years, yet its influence continues more than two thousand years later.
Many things that seem ordinary today began under his rule. He standardized Chinese writing so officials across different regions could communicate using the same characters. He unified weights and measures, making trade far more efficient. He introduced a common currency. He standardized the width of cart axles so roads could be used consistently throughout the empire. He expanded roads, canals, and infrastructure that connected distant provinces.
Even sections of earlier defensive walls built by different kingdoms were linked together, creating the foundations of what would eventually become the Great Wall of China.
Modern China has changed beyond recognition, yet many of the ideas that hold such a vast country together can still be traced back to Qin Shi Huang’s determination to unify it.
Preparing for eternity
Like many ancient rulers, Qin Shi Huang believed death was not the end.
His mausoleum was designed not simply as a tomb but as an entire underground empire where he would continue ruling in the afterlife.
The Terracotta Army formed only one small part of that vision.
Historical records describe underground palaces, rivers of flowing mercury representing China’s waterways, mechanical traps designed to protect the emperor forever, and ceilings decorated to resemble the stars.
The extraordinary part? The central burial chamber has never been opened.
Modern archaeologists believe ancient texts describing mercury and sophisticated defensive mechanisms may contain at least some truth. Scientific surveys have detected unusually high concentrations of mercury around the mound, making excavation both dangerous and ethically complex. More importantly, today’s archaeologists recognize that opening the tomb without the technology to preserve everything inside could destroy invaluable information forever. For perhaps the first time in history, humanity is choosing patience over curiosity.
As I stood looking toward the burial mound in the distance, I couldn’t help imagining what might still lie beneath it. Perhaps one day technologies such as artificial intelligence, advanced scanning, robotics or virtual reality will allow us to explore the emperor’s hidden palace without damaging it.
Tourists gathering in front of the Terracotta Warrior: this sculpture of one military officer became famous as the "Mona Lisa" of Warriors
Some mysteries deserve to wait until we are ready.
The real heroes I met
As extraordinary as the warriors are, my favorite part of the museum wasn’t Pit 1.
It was what many visitors walk past without realizing its importance: the conservation laboratories and the restoration workshops (the so-called “Terracotta Hospital”).
Watching archaeologists and conservators patiently cleaning fragments, matching broken pieces, documenting every discovery, and slowly bringing warriors back to life completely captivated me. Every restored warrior may represent hundreds of hours of careful work. Every fragment matters, every brushstroke matters, and every decision matters.
Walking through those laboratories, I found myself smiling. The researchers looked genuinely happy. There was a quiet sense of purpose in their work that immediately resonated with me as an artist and educator.
For a brief moment, I found myself thinking: “I wish I were Chinese so I could join this team!” not because of the artifacts themselves, but because preserving human history feels like one of the most beautiful professions imaginable.
The Terracotta Army exists because one emperor wanted to be remembered forever. Ironically, more than two thousand years later, it is not only the emperor who deserves admiration.
It is also the countless archaeologists, conservators, historians and researchers whose careful hands ensure that his story, and the stories of thousands of anonymous craftsmen who built this underground army, continue to survive for generations still to come
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