The Chinese Empire in Local Society: Ming Military Institutions and Their Legacy [1 ed.] 036743184X, 9780367431846, 1000283240, 9781003001737

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The Chinese Empire in Local Society

This book explores the Ming dynasty (1368–​1644) military, its impact on local society, and its many legacies for Chinese society. It is based on extensive original research by scholars using the methodology of historical anthropology, an approach that has transformed the study of Chinese history by approaching the subject from the bottom up. Its nine chapters, each based on a different region of China, examine the nature of Ming military institutions and their interaction with local social life over time. Several chapters consider the distinctive role of imperial institutions in frontier areas and how they interacted with and affected non-​ Han ethnic groups and ethnic identity. Others discuss the long-​term legacy of Ming military institutions, especially across the dynastic divide from Ming to Qing (1644–​1912) and the implications of this for understanding more fully the nature of the Qing rule. Michael Szonyi is Frank Wen-​hsiung Wu Professor of Chinese History at Harvard University. Zhao Shiyu is Professor of History at Peking University. Joel Wing-​Lun (translator) is a doctoral student at Harvard University.

The Historical Anthropology of Chinese Society series Series editor: David Faure, Chinese University of Hong Kong

Historians are being increasingly attracted by the methodology of historical anthropology, an approach that combines observations in the field with documentary analysis, both of official documents and of documents collected from local society. In China, historians have been pursuing such local historical research for a generation, with very little of this work being available in English hitherto. This series makes available in English research undertaken by the Historical Anthropology of Chinese Society project based at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and related work. The books argue that top-​heavy, dynasty-​centered history is incomplete without an understanding of how local communities were involved in the government process and in the creation of their own historical narratives. The books argue that Chinese social history needs to be rewritten from the bottom up. 4

The Transformation of Yunnan in Ming China From the Dali Kingdom to Imperial Province Edited by Christian Daniels and Ma Jianxiong

5

Lineage and Community in China, 1100–​500 Genealogical Innovation in Jiangxi Xi He

6

Islam and Chinese Society Genealogies, Lineage and Local Communities Edited by Jianxiong Ma, Oded Abt, Jide Yao

7

The Chinese Empire in Local Society Ming Military Institutions and Their Legacy Edited by Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Translated by Joel Wing-​Lun

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/​ T he-​ H istorical-​ A nthropology-​ o f-​ C hinese-​ S ociety-​ Series/​book-​series/​HISTANTHCHINSOC

The Chinese Empire in Local Society Ming Military Institutions and Their Legacy Edited by Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Translated by Joel Wing-​Lun

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​43184-​6  (hbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​003-​00173-​7  (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Newgen Publishing UK

Contents

List of maps  List of contributors  Acknowledgments  1 State institutions, local society, and historical continuity: Ming military institutions from the perspective of historical anthropology 

vii viii x

1

MI C H AE L S Z O N Y I A N D ZH AO  SH I Y U

2 The social impact of changing patterns of military recruitment and logistics in Yongzhou, Hunan 

26

WU   TAO

3 Military colonies and localization in Yongchun, Fujian 

42

MA WE N RU I A N D ZH EN G ZH EN MA N

4 The evolution of temples in Jinxiang Guard and the localization of state institutions 

65

Z H AN G   K AN

5 State and local society in the reform of the garrison system in the Qing Dynasty: A case study of Yuzhou Guard 

82

D E N G QI N G P IN G

6 Where are the Western Aborigines? Ningfan Guard and the transformation of local society in southwestern Sichuan in Ming and Qing  LON G   SH E N G

99

vi Contents

7 The Green Shoots Crop Protection Associations of Taozhou, Gansu: Ming identities/​Qing histories 

115

QU E  YU E

8 The “civilianization” of military colonies and the reorganization of military households: Ningxi Battalion and the reconstruction of rural order in south China in the eighteenth century 

128

XI E   SH I

9 Military lineages and the Qing tribute grain system: The “Xie/​Chen/​Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard, Jiangxi  145 RAO   WE I XI N

10 The tribute grain system, military colony lands, and transport soldier lineages in Ming and Qing: The case of Huangzhou and Qizhou garrisons of eastern Hubei 

166

XU  B I N

Appendices I  Ming and Qing reign periods  II  Ming weights and measures  III  Glossary and character list  References  Index 

183 184 185 192 206

Maps

0 .1 2.1 2.2 3.1 4.1 4.2 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 8 .1 8.2 9.1 9.2

Locations in which chapters are set  Guards and Battalions of Yongzhou  Taochuan Battalion and surrounding villages  Yongchun, with Ming sectors  Jinxiang and vicinity  Temples of Jinxiang Guard  Yuzhou and vicinity  Yuzhou and Xuanfu  The Mianning region  Distribution of garrisons of the Sichuan Regional Military Commission in Ming  Distribution of villages in Lanshan  Old and New Yao Lands  Hereditary military household lineages of Ganzhou Guard  The Grand Canal 

xi 28 32 44 66 67 84 89 101 103 130 140 153 158

Contributors

Deng Qingping received her PhD in history from the School of History of Beijing Normal University in 2006. Since then she has been teaching in the Institute of History, School of Humanities, China University of Political Science and Law, where she is an associate professor. Her research areas are the history of Ming and Qing and the social history of north China. Long Sheng graduated from the School of History at Beijing Normal University. He is an associate professor in the Advanced Institute of Confucian Studies, Shandong University. His research interests are in social history and folklore studies. Ma Wenrui received his BA and MA in history from Xiamen University, and is currently a PhD student in the History Department of Sun Yat-​sen University. His interests are in Ming-​Qing social and economic history and historical anthropology. Que Yue is professor and chair of the Department of Communications Studies, School of Journalism and Communication, Lanzhou University. Her research interests include social change in northwest China since the Ming-​Qing, and the history and culture of Tibetan areas of northwest China. She is the author of A second type of order: The Green Shoots Association of Taozhou in Ming-​Qing (2016). Rao Weixin received his PhD from the Department of History at Xiamen University, where he is now associate professor. His research focuses on social and economic history of Ming and Qing. He is the editor of the book Research on Genealogies (Zupu yanjiu). Michael Szonyi is Director of the Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies and Frank Wen-​Hsiung Wu Professor of Chinese History at Harvard University. His books include The art of being governed:  Everyday politics in late imperial China (2017); A companion to Chinese history (2017), Cold War Island: Quemoy on the front line (2008). He is also co-​editor, with Jennifer Rudolph, of The China questions:  Critical insights into a rising power (2018).

List of contributors  ix Joel Wing-​Lun is a PhD candidate in History and East Asian Languages at Harvard University specializing in the social history of late imperial China and its southwest frontier. Wu Tao is a native of Hangzhou, China. He gained his PhD in history at Fudan University in 2003. He is now a professor in the Department of History of Sun Yat-​sen University. He has published several monographs and nearly sixty essays in different academic journals. His main research fields are historical geography and the social and economic history of the Ming and Qing dynasties. Xie Shi received his BA in history from Sun Yat-​sen University and his PhD from the Center for Historical Geographical Studies, Fudan University. He specializes in social and economic history, historical geography and historical anthropology. He is a professor in the Department of History of Sun Yat-​sen University and has been selected for the National Program of Special Support for Eminent Professionals of China. His book High and low land:  Research on the historical geography of the Lower Yangtze Delta (11th–​16th century) (2015) was awarded the Prize for Outstanding Achievement in Philosophy and Social Science of China. Xu Bin is professor in the Department of History, Wuhan University. His areas of interest include the regional history of the Yangtze basin, economic history, and social history. His books include Lineage and local society in eastern Hubei in Ming-​Qing and Institutions, economics and society: Fisheries, fisherfolk and waterborne society in Hubei and Hunan in Ming-​Qing. Zhang Kan is professor and chair of the Department of History, Xiamen University. His research interests are in the history of modern China and historical anthropology. Zhao Shiyu, PhD in literature, is professor of history at Peking University. His research is in Ming-​ Qing history, regional history, and historical anthropology. His recent works include Time in space: From regional history to historical anthropology (2017) and The lure of historical anthropology: Towards a practical history (2020). Zheng Zhenman is Distinguished Professor in the Faculty of Humanities and Director of the Center for Research in Local Documents at Xiamen University. His many publications include Family-​lineage organization and social change in Ming-​Qing Fujian (1992; English edition 2002); State and lineage: Traditional society in Fujian and Taiwan from multiple perspectives (2009), and Epigraphical materials on the history of religion in Fujian (series 2003–​present).

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Acknowledgments

Financial support for this project was received from the Hong Kong  SAR University  Grants Committee Areas of Excellence (Fifth Round):  The Historical Anthropology of Chinese Society. The editors and translator wish to thank all of the contributors for their cooperation in the long process of preparing the papers for publication. We are also very grateful to Profs. Steven Miles and David Robinson who served as commentators at a workshop for contributors; their detailed comments on the research itself and on how best to frame it for an English-​language readership were extremely helpful. We thank our friend and colleague Liu Zhiwei for his constant support. We also thank Ouyang Linhao and Zhang Zijian who prepared the maps; Bruce Tindall who copy-​edited the challenging text and prepared the index, and Jason Wu and William Sack for their invaluable research assistance. The Center for Historical Anthropology, Sun Yat-​sen University, provided assistance throughout the research and writing process. The Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies and the Department of History of Harvard University also provided financial support for the publication of this volume.

Map 0.1 Locations in which chapters are set

1  State institutions, local society, and historical continuity Ming military institutions from the perspective of historical anthropology Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Over the past thirty years, a remarkable transformation has been taking place in the study of Chinese social history. New interpretations challenge both the conventional wisdom about pre-​modern Chinese society and much existing scholarship. One group of scholars that is at the forefront of these changes is known as the South China school (Hua’nan xuepai). The school is distinguished less by new theoretical approaches than by new research methods, including the choices its scholars make about where they work. A growing number of historians of China now believe that they need to do their research not just in the kinds of places usually associated with the historical profession –​the library and archive –​but also in the Chinese countryside. This book explores one aspect of this transformation in the study of Chinese history. It shows how innovative research approaches are changing our understanding of China’s past, and helping us rewrite Chinese history from the ground up. The origins of the South China school approach can be traced back to a group of scholars who discovered –​or perhaps recognized is the better term –​ a corpus of historical materials that had previously been mostly ignored by professional historians. A vast quantity of historical documents is preserved today not in specialized collections but rather in the homes of ordinary rural people, and in their temples and other public spaces. These materials include genealogies, stone inscriptions, contracts and deeds, account books, ritual texts, diaries, letters, and the literary collections and notebooks of local scholars whose reputations never went beyond their locality and whose works were therefore never published. The collection, interpretation, and analysis of these materials, combined with observations and interviews in the places where the materials are found, has become a major methodological focus for these scholars. At roughly the same time, a second group of historians, significantly overlapping with the first, began to consider the use of the living ritual and religious traditions of rural people as a valuable historical source. Rather than dismissing the temples and temple festivals that were being revived across China since the 1980s as timeless relics of an unchanging traditional culture or the purely instrumental recycling of fragments from the past, with little to

2 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu tell us about history, these scholars ask how temples and rituals can be used to learn about the communities in which they are embedded. Documenting and analyzing these traditions and their histories has, likewise, become central to how these scholars do their work. The research coming out of these two approaches has led to the emergence of the South China school, also known as the school of historical anthropology (lishi renleixue). It offers new understandings of historical change in Chinese society, understandings that are significantly different from the version recorded in official histories and official archives and analyzed by previous generations of historians. Scholars using these research methods have made contributions in fields as diverse as the history of kinship, ethnic identity, and economic development.1 This book focuses on one specific area of Ming history, and indeed in a sense on a specific discovery. Working independently in different parts of China, each of the contributors to this volume found compelling evidence that the military institutions of the Ming dynasty (1368–​1644) had a powerful impact on the communities they studied. More surprisingly, the impact of these institutions endured well beyond the temporal limits of the Ming –​they shaped local society not just in the Ming, but also in the Qing (1644–​1911) and even beyond the Qing to the twentieth century and the present. All of the essays in the volume explore this one issue from different perspectives and in different places. In hindsight, evidence of the significance of the Ming military should have been plain to see. For example, the Ming military has left a legacy that survives in China’s administrative geography today. One can find villages in many parts of China that bear the name of the Ming-​era military unit that was stationed there long ago. It has left a legacy that survives in popular historical memory. Across China today countless families preserve and transmit collective memories of ancestors who served as Ming soldiers. References to family military service in the Ming are also extraordinarily abundant in non-​ official documents, especially genealogies. In many places in rural China, the legacy of Ming military institutions is far more visible today than that of the Manchu Eight Banners, the institution that has been justifiably central to much recent historical scholarship on the Qing. These are just a few of the many indications that the institutions of the Ming military have played a significant and enduring role in Chinese society from the late imperial period to the present. But this legacy has barely registered in much of the previous scholarship on the Ming military, which has stressed other concerns. When the editors of the Ming dynasty volumes of the Cambridge History of China surveyed the field in 1998, they acknowledged the inadequacy of the coverage of military topics: “The Ming military still needs a broad study touching on its management, its social composition, its training and specialized skills, its employment on the battlefield, and its role in preserving civil order.”2 This is not to say that military topics were neglected completely; in fact the Cambridge history

State institutions and local society  3 covered military matters in more detail than did many Chinese-​language studies. But at the time the editors presumably thought that the topic was of interest mainly to specialists. Today the situation is very different. A recent article by David Robinson makes a detailed and persuasive case for “Why military institutions matter for Ming history.” Robinson argues that attention to military institutions can help us to better understand the Ming state and to place Ming history in a broader, comparative, and global perspective.3 One reason for greater attention to the history of the Ming military recently is recognition of its connections to the preceding dynasty, the Mongol Yuan. The administrative methods of the last great Eurasian nomadic empire conditioned the subsequent history of many lands that came under Mongol sway, including China. Many elements of the Ming military system were inherited from the Mongols. The adoption and transformation of these institutions from the steppe would have long-​term consequences; so too would the subsequent reaction in the Ming to issues that had been created by the period of Mongol rule. For example, in the time of Genghis Khan large numbers of Muslims, known as Huihui, were brought from Central Asia to China. In the self-​consciously multi-​ethnic Yuan empire, these Huihui were simply incorporated into local administrative systems. But in the Ming administrative structure their descendants were an anomaly. In order to administer them, the Ming conscripted the Huihui’s descendants and assigned them to the jurisdiction of the military garrisons nearest to where they lived. Knowledge of this policy helps us to better understand the current pattern of residential distribution of Hui Muslims, with small communities widely distributed across China. The Ming approach to administering the Hui prompted new expressions of communal identity. For example, residential concentration stimulated the construction of mosques in many communities. The Hui’s non-​Hui neighbors reacted to these expressions with their own innovations in the practices and representations of identity. Thus Ming policies indirectly affected not only the small population of Muslims but the broader population as well. Our understanding of China’s ethnic history over the past 500 years would be incomplete without taking this into account. An appreciation of the Ming military is also helpful to a better understanding of the Ming role in global economic history.  If we think of the early modern period as defined in part by growing levels of interaction across human communities around the globe, the early Ming restrictions on trade seem like an interruption of the Eurasian integration under the pax Mongolica. Some scholars argue that the lifting of the Ming maritime trade ban in 1567 was pivotal to the emergence of a new era of global trade.4 At roughly the same time, the stabilization of relations between the Ming and the Mongols stimulated continental trade just as the lifting of the maritime ban stimulated overseas trade. Ming garrisons and their soldiers had always been pivotal actors in China’s foreign trade. They played a dual role as enforcers and frequent subverters of more restrictive trade policies in the Ming, and

4 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu were equally important in taking advantage of the more liberal policies after the 1570s. These changes might be fruitfully compared to contemporaneous developments elsewhere in the world and seen as part of a common trend towards integration (They also bear some striking similarities to the policies of reform and opening up associated with the Deng Xiaoping era.) The role of the military is thus crucial to fully understanding these changes and thereby situating the Ming in global history. The focus of this book is on a different question:  the impact and interaction of Ming military institutions with Chinese local society, and the long-​term consequences of the relationship. Specialized historians of the Ming military have already described these institutions and their historical evolution, detailing their operation, military effectiveness, fiscal impact, and many other topics besides.5 But does this research tell the whole story? Two ­vignettes –​drawn from the chapters in this book –​suggest some of the ways in which it does not. One of the garrisons established in the early Ming was Ningfan in Sichuan. Official sources from the period describe an indigenous group living in the surrounding areas. The sources call these peoples Western Aboriginals or Western Barbarians (Xifan); we would call them Tibetan. These people subsequently disappear from the historical record. There are no people identified as Xifan living in the area today. On the basis of the surviving official documents, one might conclude that the Xifan were killed off, died out, or moved away. But if we look closely at evidence from the region –​the genealogies of local lineages and their contemporary ritual practices –​a different explanation emerges. As Long Sheng shows in his chapter, over the course of the Ming, the Xifan of Ningfan were recruited into hereditary military service in the Ming army. Through a complicated process, they gradually shed their original identity and adopted the markers of Han Chinese identity. Through their interaction with the military institution, the descendants of the former Xifan came to self-​identify and be identified by others as Han Chinese. Similar processes occurred in places like Qinghai, Gansu, and Yunnan. Military garrisons were an important nexus for ethnic change in Ming-​Qing  China. The early Ming state also established a frontier garrison at Yuzhou in Hebei, at the foot of Great Wall, facing the Mongols. After the fall of the Ming and the establishment of the more territorially expansive Qing, Hebei ceased to be the imperial frontier. The garrison was dissolved, and its population integrated into the existing civilian government administrative system. This was part of an empire-​wide process of military reorganization in the wake of the Qing conquest, a process that has been well studied at the national level. But surviving sources from Yuzhou itself tell a very different and more complicated story. Deng Qingping explains in her chapter that the descendants of the garrison officers and soldiers resisted the dissolution of the military garrison. To strengthen their arguments, they retrospectively forged a new identity based on their ancestors’ former connection to military defense, an

State institutions and local society  5 identity that emerged only after the military institutions of Yuzhou had been dissolved. A full understanding of the historical significance of Ming military institutions requires that we shift our attention beyond the Ming itself. These two anecdotes suggest that to understand the Ming military and its consequences for ordinary people, for the subsequent history of China, and for topics such as ethnic identity and political legitimacy, we need to go well beyond the usual scope of military history studies. Perhaps because many historians have treated Ming military institutions only in military terms they have assumed it had little connection to the lives of ordinary people. But Gu Cheng pointed out long ago that the Ming military was never a purely military institution, and cannot be understood only in those terms.6 It was also a system of territorial administration that operated in parallel to the more widespread and better-​ known civilian administrative system of counties and prefectures. In many parts of China, military units were located inside the territorial jurisdiction of civilian administrative units, and managing problems that spanned overlapping jurisdictions was an issue that vexed countless Ming officials. In some border regions, the Ming never established a civilian administration, so military units in effect were the local arm of Ming government, with sole jurisdiction over population and over territory. In other parts of Ming China, military units co-​existed with native chieftaincies (tusi) in the same territory, with the commanders of military units supervising local rulers who had been enfeoffed by the Ming emperors. If we think of native chieftaincies as a form of indirect rule, then native chieftaincies under military supervision can be seen as an intermediate political form between indirect and direct rule. Because we are interested in the Ming military institution not for the topics of traditional military history –​war-​making, command and control, strategy, and so on  –​but for its interaction with and impact on local society, there are at least four key components of the Ming military about which we need a basic understanding: Guards and Battalions, military households, military colonies, and the tribute grain system. Guards (wei) were the main peacetime operational units of the Ming military. The Guards were where soldiers were stationed, where they lived and trained. By the end of the Ming there were about five hundred Guards distributed across the realm. Each Guard was divided into several Battalions (suo), and so the garrisons of the Ming are often collectively referred to as Guards and Battalions (weisuo). Because the Guards were part of the larger system of territorial administration, like civilian administrative units they administered population, including both serving officers and soldiers and others. Within the walled Guards, just as in county and prefectural towns, there were government schools with quotas of registered students, who registered for the civil-​service examinations on the basis of their status in the Guard. The Guard also administered territory. Where there was no civilian administration, the Guard was responsible for all military and civilian administrative matters. But even where the Guard co-​existed with a civilian jurisdiction, the

6 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Guard was also responsible for the administration of agricultural lands under its control, known as military colonies. Each Guard had a nominal size of 5600 soldiers and officers, and each Battalion 1120. In principle, these soldiers and officers were drawn from the ranks of a subset of the Ming population that was registered as military households (junhu). Despite the Ming founder’s claim to be reviving indigenous institutions and rejecting the influence of the preceding Mongol Yuan dynasty, the system of military households borrowed heavily from Yuan precedents. Roughly 10–​20% of all households in early Ming (and as many as half in some regions) were registered as military households.7 The original military households were descended from some of Zhu Yuanzhang’s early followers and the forces of his vanquished rivals. Later, families might become registered as military households through conscription, or as criminal punishment. Every military household was responsible for providing one able-​ bodied male for military service at all times. This responsibility was hereditary and permanent. The Yuan, on which the Ming system was based, was not the first Chinese dynasty to classify households according to the labor obligations assigned to them. But the Yuan went further than its predecessors by constructing formal systems of social control on the basis of these assignments. The Ming developed the policy even further, establishing elaborate systems to track military households and ensure that they were fulfilling their responsibilities. Because each military household was required to provide a single able-​bodied soldier at all times, not all members of the household actually provided military service. Some relatives of a serving soldier might accompany him to duty in the Guard; they were known as supernumeraries (junyu). Others remained behind; scholars refer to these as “military households residing in the original native place” (yuanji junhu). They were responsible for providing logistical support to their military brethren. They were administered separately and differently from the ordinary civilian population. Both in the Guard and in their original native place, military households thus represented a distinct category of the population, with distinct obligations, distinct rights, and therefore a distinct history. For example, immediate family members of the serving soldier in the garrison, the supernumeraries, were exempt from the corvee obligations of ordinary civilians. This meant that they enjoyed a distinctive status in local society. This distinctive status endured into the Qing even after the institution itself had been eliminated. The impact of the garrisons extended to many aspects of local political, social, and economic life. For example, Guards established their own schools, with their own quota of candidates for the civil service examinations. Because of differences in the quotas and in the number of students per school, opportunities to participate in the examinations were often higher for students in Guard schools than for students in regular civilian schools. This may help explain why so many genealogies compiled by degree-​holding literati assert that their lineage ancestors were registered as military households.

State institutions and local society  7 In order to realize the Ming founder’s wish that the army be self-​sufficient, many of the serving soldiers drawn from the military households and assigned to the Guards worked not at military tasks per se but rather as farmers, cultivating dedicated lands called military colonies (tuntian or juntun). The harvest was used to support both their own consumption and the needs of their colleagues on duty in the garrison. So the Ming military was also an institution that engaged in agricultural production, distribution, and consumption (this pattern invites comparison with the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps in modern China). The significance of the military colonies varied by region. In the borderlands, particularly in areas with very sparse population, the amount of land that would be assigned to colonies was not specified precisely, and colonists were simply allowed to seize control of as much land as they could. In the interior, although the distribution of garrisons was not as dense as on the frontier or the coast, military colonies frequently occupied the most fertile lands. Military households often took advantage of their special status to take control of other good land aside from that which they had been assigned. As Xie Shi shows in his chapter, in many regions today villages comprised of the descendants of military households from the Guards are situated in the more fertile valleys and plains, while the original inhabitants have been forced into the surrounding highlands, or else incorporated in a subordinate position into the local social hierarchy. In much of the empire, military colony lands and civilian lands were interspersed, leading to conflicts between the soldiers and civilians. These disputes grew even more frequent as the economy became more commercialized and land transfers more common. Behind this distinction lay not just conflicts of interest between the two groups but also jurisdictional conflicts between the two administrative systems under which the two groups fell. This tension endured until well into the Qing when the Ming military units were incorporated into civilian authorities, and even after. The advantages enjoyed by military households by virtue of their special position in the system could have consequences that persisted through the ages. For example, according to early Ming regulations, each military household in Henan was allocated 50 mu of land (approximately 8 acres). But many military households were able to acquire and retain more extensive holdings, becoming leading local landowners. We know of a single military household under Chaling Guard that by the eighteenth century had expanded its initial holdings almost tenfold. The household was surnamed Mao; it would later count among its members a certain Mao Zedong. The Grand Canal was the essential transport route by which the material wealth of southern China was transferred, in the form of tax, to Beijing and to the strategic areas of the northern frontiers. The tribute grain system (caoyun) was the institution that implemented this transfer. To ensure the security of the canal, the Ming maintained a dense band of garrisons along its banks. In order to reduce overhead costs, the soldiers in these garrisons were assigned responsibility for transporting the tax grain along the canal to the capital.

8 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu This function remained important even after the fall of the Ming. Although the conquering Qing eliminated most of the garrisons and integrated their populations into the civilian administrative system, it chose to maintain the canal garrisons as a special administrative unit in order to ensure the stability of grain supply to the capital, and continued to require the descendants of canal garrison soldiers to ship the tax grain. Like the colonies, the tribute grain system also produced legacies that endured even after the system was abolished. As late as 1915 the Bureau of Finance of Jiangxi Province continued to issue documents called Military Colony Land Certificates (tuntian yinzhao). One such certificate was given to a “military household” surnamed Dai from Dayou township, Ganxian county. The certificate records the location, area, and tax obligations of a plot of land. We do not now know if the Dai family that asserted rights over what had once been military colony lands was in fact descended from a Ming military household. What is striking is the continuity of these institutions as a factor shaping local tax arrangements. Even hundreds of years after the fall of the Ming, terms like “military household” and “military colony” remained meaningful in local administration. The reason for this continuity was the continued responsibility of certain households for the shipment of tax grain on the Grand Canal. These special tax categories associated with military colonies persisted even after the canal ceased operation in the late Qing. The military institution never really operated as initially intended; the army ultimately proved inadequate to defend China’s borders from external invasion, and the state response to this inadequacy was to find alternative sources of military recruitment and organization that imposed a crippling fiscal burden on the late Ming. So traditional historiography mostly paints a negative picture of the Ming military institution, focused on decline and failure. But from the examples above a very different picture of the history emerges. The existing historiography seems incomplete on many measures. Issues such as ethnic identification and self-​identification, local identity and resistance all become important elements in the narrative. After the fall of the Ming, the Manchu Qing made the Banner armies the core of the imperial military, supported by the Green Standard armies made up of Han Chinese soldiers. The system of military household registration was phased out, and most of the garrisons eliminated (as noted above, and explored in two chapters of this work, the Guards and households involved in the transportation of grain tax were the major exception to this reform). Still, Ming institutions often left considerable legacies even after their dissolution, including the emergence of new social organizations and social networks. Because these issues are rarely mentioned in the official archive or in the writings of literati elites, they are all but ignored by conventional historiography. It is possible for scholars to research histories like those of Ningfan and Yuzhou, to gather documents like the Jiangxi certificate, only by leaving the library and the archive and traveling instead to the local communities they study, in person and sometimes for an extended period. To obtain

State institutions and local society  9 these documents, they must gain the trust of local people, and to read them effectively they need the benefit of locally specific knowledge. In other words, what makes these revisionist stories possible is their distinctive methodological approach. This approach has the potential to do much more than revise our understanding of a single Ming institution. It can also help us to better understand some of the fundamental transformations of Chinese society in late imperial times from the perspective not only of the central government and of elites, but also of the ordinary people who were affected by and who in turn shaped these changes. This book brings together work by ten historians from the People’s Republic of China (PRC) all working on local society in different parts of China. None is a military historian narrowly defined. What links them together is not primarily their interest in military topics or in a single institution, but rather their broadly shared methodological approach. All the contributors, including the editors ourselves, are loosely affiliated with the South China school. Like the contributors, the editors consider this to be one of the most innovative and exciting approaches to Chinese history in the Chinese-​language scholarship today, and one that deserves to be brought to the attention of a broader audience. Despite the name of the school, none of its methodological elements is geographically limited to south China. The name arose partly because two of the first-​generation innovators of this field, historians Liang Fangzhong (1908–​1970) and Fu Yiling (1911–​1988), were based in two southern universities, Sun Yat-​ sen University in Guangzhou and Xiamen University, and their work deeply influenced a generation of social historians who were trained there. A  second reason for the name has to do with the recent history of social anthropology in China. Between 1949 and 1979, it was not possible for Western anthropologists to conduct field work in mainland China. Consequently, for several decades the leading English-​language social anthropologists of China worked mainly in Hong Kong and Taiwan. The work of these scholars, especially Maurice Freedman (1920–​1975), also made its first inroads into China in the south, where social conditions historically have been similar in many ways to the situation in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Thus the association of the South China school with the south is historical and contingent rather than substantive. Its scholars do not share the goal of revising the history of south China alone, and there is nothing in their methodology that is not potentially applicable to other parts of China.8 Showing that the methods of South China studies can be productively extended to many other parts of China is one aim of this volume. What is the South China studies approach? The practitioners of this school are committed to three methodological elements  –​the collection and analysis of new types of historical documents in the field; the adoption of new approaches from other disciplines, especially anthropology and religious studies; and the integration of the previous two elements to generate and

10 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu respond to new questions. At the core of the historical practice of the school is investigation “on the ground” in communities, mostly villages. Less formally, we can say that scholars in this school do fieldwork or, to use the more colloquial Chinese expression, they “run in the fields” (pao tianye).9 Any historically minded person who travels in rural China will soon encounter a vast archive of historical texts that have never been gathered by the formal state bureaucratic and archival system. Some of these texts are inscriptions –​on stone, wood, or other media –​that remain in situ in ancestral halls, temples, or other public and private structures where they were first erected. Others, such as religious and ritual texts, are in the hands of local religious specialists who have passed them down from generation to generation. By far the most extensive historical texts in China are lineage genealogies. Millions of families preserve their genealogies, tracing their descent back centuries and even millennia. While these genealogies have often been compiled and recompiled in multiple editions, older historical materials tend to be reprinted in each subsequent edition, giving us in some cases our only access to original Ming documents that were first copied into the previous editions centuries ago. In many communities, villagers are proud to share their genealogy with a historian doing fieldwork.10 Though they are not as easy to locate as genealogies, the number of surviving deeds and contracts probably exceeds the number of extant genealogies. Besides the best-​known collection from Huizhou, other major collections in southern China include Qingshuijiang in Guizhou, Shicang in Zhejiang, and Yongtai in Fujian, all of which are already being curated and used for research. Smaller-​scale collections across China continue to be discovered. Furthermore many genealogies, and many local archives, also include deeds related to land disputes. Unlike genealogies, which continue to be compiled, and to record and reshape local society, old land deeds no longer have much practical significance or social vitality. But their use for historical research has already begun to rewrite our earlier understandings of Chinese history. The historians of the South China studies school not only gather texts from villages; they also try to read them there, in the context that produced them. Surviving local knowledge can sometimes be crucial to making sense of surviving historical texts. To give only one concrete example, as noted above the number of surviving land and property deeds going back to Ming times and even earlier is several orders of magnitude greater than a previous generation of scholars could have suspected. A bewildering range of vocabulary is used in deeds from different places to describe land. Deeds from some places use relatively straightforward measures of area. But in other places the units of measurement are distinct to the locality. Some places describe a plot of land in terms of the tax obligation owing, or the amount of seed with which the land should be planted, or the amount of human or animal energy that is needed. Local people today still know and sometimes even use these terms. Why is one set of terms used in one place and not another? Often this is a product of the circumstances of the place –​its geography or the distribution of resources. It

State institutions and local society  11 may also be tied to historical institutions or other phenomena –​where landowners lived far from their property, leasing the lands to tenants who enjoyed long-​term usage rents while paying the tax on the land, specifying these responsibilities was what landlords were concerned about; they might have had no way of knowing or of measuring the actual dimensions of the land, or even its precise location. What mattered was the tax obligation associated with it, and so this is what deeds recorded. Without the aid of people more familiar with the social context in which the texts circulated, even something as basic as the relative size of different plots of land can be impossible for the scholar to deduce. Historians need to read these texts with the help of local people in order to make sense of them. In other words, this historical method grows in part out of the characteristics of the texts being used. Some historians in China have criticized the South China studies approach for ignoring large historical questions in favor of local parochialism. Scholars of the South China school respond that this criticism is entirely misplaced, that their interest in the local and the micro is precisely intended to develop new perspectives on big questions. To borrow Clifford Geertz’s phrase, the historians of the South China school do not primarily study villages. Rather, they study in villages. Their work may begin in a village, but understanding the history of that village is not their purpose or goal. As Fu Yiling put it long ago, the goal is “to use the small to grasp the large.” Among the large topics that these scholars seek to understand are the mechanisms by which people living in the territory of what is now China came to identify themselves with a common cultural tradition and political system, in other words: how did China become Chinese? How did the institution of the lineage develop in Chinese history? What are the important patterns in the inter-​relationship between state institutions and Chinese society over the centuries? Some scholars seek to use the history of local society to better understand the nature of the imperial institution itself. What does the empire look like from the perspective of ordinary villagers? Such questions cannot be easily answered by traditional histories of China that rely only on official and elite sources. Besides the immediate influences mentioned above, several different strands of historiography have converged over the last several decades to produce this distinctive approach. There is of course a long tradition of scholarship about reading and analysis of historical documents. In this tradition, which goes back at least to the third century CE but took its current form in the sixth, received texts inherited from the past are divided into four categories, or branches: classics, histories, philosophy, and literature. The reality is that this classification scheme was only ever intended to cover the self-​conscious textual productions of the scholarly elite. It cannot account for a huge swath, perhaps even a majority, of all the texts that have been produced in China over the millennia. The contributors to the influential collection Popular Culture in Late Imperial China in their work in the 1980s already drew attention to this misfit.11 But even they did not fully realize the scale and complexity of other

12 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu historical textual traditions, or devote much attention to developing a methodology for historical analysis of these texts. These texts represent a whole other textual tradition, or traditions, in Chinese history, which requires its own research system. Local texts may not be the types of official sources and archives on which Chinese history has traditionally been written. But they are still recognizably historical texts. A second and more innovative element of the South China approach is to treat religion and especially religious ritual itself as a historical source. Scholars draw heavily on scholarship in anthropology and religious studies for guidance on how to interpret this material. For example, while rural temples throughout China may superficially appear identical, the identities of the gods worshipped, their placement in the temple, the folklore and legends told about them, and the rituals performed for them, among many other features, can be understood as products of the history of the local community. The worship of a certain god in a certain temple in a certain place may reflect a history of migration or social affiliation; mention of imperially bestowed titles and enfeoffments, in some cases spurious, are often the product of historically specific efforts to construct particular relationships with the imperial center. Legends told about a particular deity, or even iconography, may shed light on the history of interactions between social groups who worshipped the deity or venerated the image at one time and groups who came to worship the deity at another time. We cannot easily recover the social structure of a specific community at a specific moment in time. But the rules of participation in village communal rituals, including rules of inclusion and exclusion and the distribution of roles and authority, can effectively serve as a window onto the internal structure of a community. In many parts of China local deities are paraded annually through the territory for which they are thought to be responsible. The route of these processions can cover a neighborhood, a single village, or multiple villages. The choice of a route, and the rules for inclusion and exclusion, actually constitute the self-​definition of a community. Villagers themselves have their own explanations for why the community is defined in this way, why some villages are invited to participate in a religious festival while others are not. These explanations can help historians better understand the history of a community and its networks. Underlying this approach is a profound respect for the practices of everyday village life. Rather than seeing village religion as simply the local expression of some timeless, eternal Chinese culture, on the one hand, or a form of mystification, on the other, we interpret the features of village religion as products of deliberate choices made by historical agents, even though the descendants of these agents are not always fully aware of these choices. As scholars we try to work out the historical reasons why people in the village do the things they do in their ritual and religious lives. So the focus on fieldwork is not driven by a naive assumption that rural life is unchanging, that some aspect of rural life that we can observe today has persisted for centuries, but rather by a critical

State institutions and local society  13 awareness that everyday life in past times has left legacies for the present that we can try to decode and understand. The historian who spends time in rural China and talking to villagers quickly learns that a strong sense of history is widely shared. One reason why villagers have preserved the documents transmitted from their ancestors, often at considerable risk to themselves in the political vicissitudes of the last century, is because they know and value the continuity of tradition. When South China school scholars collect legends and oral history, they are looking less for the facts as related by local people and rather more for how local people understand and explain their history. They treat local historical knowledge, how people make sense of their communal history, as itself as a type of source. There is a venerable tradition of scholars collecting documents in rural areas. The history of treating ritual, architecture, and folklore as historical sources is more recent; the idea of using fieldwork to gain insight into the lives of ordinary people is more recent still. A  key figure in the systematization of this tradition was the great historian Gu Jiegang (1893–​1980) who in the Republican period launched the formal study of folklore in China. Spurred in part by the larger intellectual trends of the New Culture movement, the efforts of Gu and his colleagues to reconstruct ancient religion on the basis of contemporary folk practices and beliefs represent the earliest efforts at historically oriented fieldwork. Another key influence on the South China studies approach is the twentieth-​century tradition of Chinese social and economic history. Liang Fangzhong and Fu Yiling emphasized the importance of local documents in distinguishing the realities of late imperial Chinese history from the normative models suggested by official documents. Their students include Chen Chunsheng, Liu Zhiwei, and Zheng Zhenman. Helen Siu of Yale University helped introduce anthropological theory to these historians in the 1980s and 1990s. David Faure of the Chinese University of Hong Kong also played an important role in the long-​term development of the South China approach, as scholar and practitioner of the school but also as the person responsible for a key source of institutional support, a multi-​year Hong Kong government grant on “The Historical Anthropology of Chinese Society” (which supported this volume and several of the projects described here). There are some interesting convergences and parallels between the South China school and Western historiography. The most obvious convergence with the broader world of social history is the shared interest in ordinary people and everyday lives, in “history from below.” Indeed, we might call the South China school “history from below with Chinese characteristics.” Though the methods of the school do not lend themselves well to quantitative analysis, its practitioners have shown great interest in making use of theoretical approaches from the social sciences, especially anthropology, that is, in interdisciplinarity. There are also striking points of “non-​convergence.” For reasons having to do with global geopolitics, namely the closure of the early PRC to Western

14 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu scholars, postwar English-​language anthropology of Chinese society took place mostly in Taiwan and Hong Kong and among the Chinese of southeast Asia. This literature is widely read by scholars of the South China studies school, and helped give rise to the alternative Chinese name for the group:  “historical anthropology.” But despite the shared label, these scholars have not been much interested in “historical anthropology” as it has developed in the English-​speaking world. Key figures such as Bernard Cohn, John and Jean Comaroff, or Emiko Ohnuki-​Tierney rarely appear in their citations, and questions of representation and reflexivity have not been central to their work. This is somewhat surprising because this group may be the most theoretically inclined of the major scholarly groups in the PRC today. The leading practitioners of the group typically see history as distinctive from other social sciences, and are therefore little interested in generating or testing new social scientific theories; they understand their obligation as scholars more in terms of understanding and illustrating the viewpoints of people in the past (perhaps this is itself a form of reflexivity). They tend to be influenced more by anthropologists and sociologists who are interested in history, such as Marshall Sahlins, Clifford Geertz, and Anthony Giddens, rather than self-​ identified historical anthropologists. Of course, there is more than one type of historical anthropology being practiced in China today. Wang Mingke, for example, is highly interested in questions of representation and collective memory. His studies of the Qiang people emphasize the historical memories that circulate among the Qiang today rather than the history of Qiang society itself, and is much closer to the work of mainstream historical anthropology in other parts of the world.12 Just as the scholars of the South China school differ in their approach from the work of traditional Chinese historiography or of European Sinology, they also differ from the work of the so-​called New Social History and New Cultural History in the West. Though they emphasize ritual symbols, they tend to be more interested in the institutional frameworks behind the rituals and symbols, and seek to bring these into dialogue with the long tradition of Chinese institutional history. Perhaps unlike historians of the West every Chinese historian, regardless of their method or focus, must come to grips with the institutional tradition. This helps explain why the contributors to this volume often begin their analysis from institutions such as the Guards and military households, as well as tax, native chieftaincy, and tribute grain systems. The work of the South China school is already known to specialists in Chinese history in the original and in some translated works, and in some recent edited collections.13 But this is a methodology that deserves a wider introduction to the world of historians beyond China. The chapters in this book revisit a much-​studied institution using the methods of the Hua’nan school in the hope of illustrating both its methods and its potential. The methods of the South China studies approach typically require a considerable commitment of time and energy to a single locality, and sometimes

State institutions and local society  15 even a single community. Why should anyone be interested in the history of a small town near Wenzhou or of a minor county town in Hebei? The purpose of historical anthropology must be to explore local instantiations of broader phenomena. As Charles Joyner, a historian of a different time and place has put it, the goal is to ask “large questions in small places.”14 In a series of fieldwork activities in Yuxian in Hebei, the Wenzhou region, and across a swathe of northwestern China, as well as workshops in Cambridge, Mass., and at the Harvard Center Shanghai, the contributors to this volume came to focus on three major sets of issues; each of the contributions deals with one or more of them: • • •

How did imperial institutions interact with local social life? How did imperial institutions evolve in the course of this interaction, and what was their impact on local society? What specific functions did imperial institutions play in frontier areas; how did they interact with processes of ethnic identification, ethnic formation, and ethnicity? What long-​term legacies did Ming institutions produce, especially across the dynastic divide from Ming to Qing? What implications does recognizing these legacies have for understanding Qing history?

The first theme, historicizing the interaction of imperial institutions and local society, should be situated in relation to the enormous field of Chinese institutional history. Traditional scholarship in this field generally aimed at understanding and explaining the operation of state institutions on the basis of sources internal to the state. The careful reading of these texts is both the strength and the weakness of this scholarship. Works in this mode often fail to distinguish adequately between the formal rules of the institution and their practical implementation. The divergence between theory and practice becomes more evident the closer one gets to the present day, but even in key works on institutional history from the late Qing, such as Hsiao Kung-​chuan’s seminal Rural China: Imperial Control in the Nineteenth Century, divergences between the system in theory and practice are generally treated simply as signs of the failure of the institution, rather than being interrogated for greater insight into the institution’s operation.15 To the scholars of the South China school, conventional institutional histories often seem to be trapped by terminology. They worry that traditional institutional historians typically identify a term in their texts, assume it describes a real, singular, and unitary phenomenon, and then look for the documents that contain that term in order to describe that phenomenon and how it changed over time. Caught in the web of documents they have identified, they risk failing to see the documents, the term, or the institution they are studying in their larger context. This approach yields an understanding of the institution from the perspective of the state and its agents, rather than from the perspective of the imperial subjects whose lives were shaped by the institution and who had to engage with it.

16 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu The traditional mode of institutional history provides the building blocks for much historical sociology of China, a field that has produced widely different views of premodern Chinese institutions. While some historical sociologists have seen Chinese institutions as expressions of authoritarianism, since the nineteenth century onwards most have seen them instead as weak and ineffective. But there is a similar blind spot: where rule and practice differ, this is typically understood as institutional weakness or failure. The possibility of interaction between society and institution, or of agency on the part of those who live within the institution, is mostly ignored. In contrast to much historical sociology, our contributors and their colleagues argue that by making use of local documents like the ones they have located, collected, and analyzed, it becomes possible to make sense of how an institution actually operated in local society, and to understand it from the perspective of those affected by the institution. One institution that appears again and again in South China studies scholarship, including the chapters of this work, is the household registration system. The household registration system is critical to understanding the control exerted by the central state over its vast territories. In the minds of imperial administrators, those people who were registered in the government population registers, regardless of where they physically lived, were imperial subjects; those who were not were aliens or outsiders. So the registration system was never simply a census. It was also a political and cultural institution and a marker of inclusion and exclusion. It had implications for ethnic categories and ethnic identity. When a family became registered, they acquired the right to attend imperial schools and take the imperial examinations, the right to own and farm land, and at the same time the responsibility to provide tax and corvee labor. We might say that household registration was part of the process of becoming imperial “citizens.” In his pioneering work on the lijia system of corvee labor allocation, Liu Zhiwei shows how the registration system could be adapted by local agents to serve their interests, including to demonstrate their identification with the state in the service of their conflicts with other local actors.16 The Mongol Yuan had previously divided the population up into different household categories according to the corvee labor they were responsible for providing:  civilians, soldiers, salt-​producers, craftsmen, scholars, musicians, and so on. The Ming largely reproduced this system. Administration of civilians (min) was delegated by the central Board of Revenue to local civilian authorities; administration of military households was delegated by the central military command to the Guards. So while one group of people was administered by civilian authorities and the other by military, the fundamental difference was in the type of labor they supplied to the state –​civilian labor or military labor. In the early Ming, many people living on the waters of the Chinese coast were conscripted and registered as military households. This was not simply a matter of them being recruited as soldiers; rather, it was part of a process of making them imperial subjects under the specific

State institutions and local society  17 jurisdiction of the military authorities. In the process, not only did the coastal regions where they lived come to be part of imperial territory, but members of different communities came to be entered into the official registers and thus became thought of and would come to consider themselves as “Han.” With such a wide range of functions and complex web of interactions with the surrounding local society, it should come as no surprise that the Ming military was deeply affected by broader changes in Ming society. Many of the institutions set up in the early Ming broke down –​or at least changed –​under the influence of commercialization and mobility, both geographic and social. The monetization of the economy especially in the wake of an influx of foreign silver transformed the processes by which soldiers were recruited and Guards managed. Military colony land was increasingly bought and sold; tax payments and labor service obligations commuted to cash; soldiers deserted en masse and were increasingly replaced by an army of paid mercenary recruits. The Ming state did not ignore these changes, and repeatedly pursued reforms to address both the changes themselves and their consequences, all the while seeking to remain consistent with the instructions of the founding ancestor. Moreover, even as its military functions weakened, the institutions of the early Ming military remained the vehicle by which huge numbers of subjects and large swaths of territory were administered. So these institutions had to be maintained for reasons that went well beyond their original military functions. Wu Tao’s essay, with which our volume begins, is an example of the productive links between traditional institutional history and new social history. Wu shows how the recruitment of different types of mercenaries to replace the depleted ranks of military households in Hunan should not be interpreted simply as an expression of the failure of the hereditary military household system. It was also a process of incorporating people, including non-​Han groups living in remote regions, under imperial control. Wu also shows how in the course of dealing with immediate challenges, local civilian officials were forced to integrate nominally distinct military institutions, leading to the “civilianization” of these systems. This theme of the “civilianization” of military institutions is echoed in Zheng and Ma’s study of garrison military colonies in Fujian. There the hereditary military households stationed in the colonies gradually developed into lineages whose interests became tied to the locality to which they had been assigned. These lineages devised new survival strategies to adapt to the local institutional and social context. They intermarried with local civilian lineages; their elite members became deeply involved in local public works. In order to better secure their property rights and demonstrate their legitimacy in the locale, they found ways to become registered not just in the military registration system but also in the civilian one. Zheng and Ma label this process the “localization” of military households, a significant consequence for local society of what might otherwise be seen simply as an institutional development within the military.

18 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Zhang Kan’s chapter on Jinxiang Guard in southeastern coastal Zhejiang uses the religious history of the garrison to explore both institutional transformations and the interaction of the garrison with the surrounding area and the jurisdiction of nearby civilian officials. He shows how official military cults and rituals proved inadequate for the religious needs of Guard residents, who on the one hand incorporated cults from the surrounding area into their own religious practice and on the other provided religious resources that came to be incorporated into the practices of the surrounding area. When seen in its full diversity, the role of the military institution in local society went far beyond purely military matters. Zhang’s chapter illustrates another form of localization, involving the interaction of the imperial state, local communities, and the military institutions that mediated between them in the production of local history. A second set of questions deals with the expansion of the imperial regime and the integration of borderlands and frontier regions, in particular with regard to questions of ethnicity and ethnic identity. The territory of the Ming dynasty was considerably smaller than that of its Mongol predecessor. To the southwest, northwest, and northeast, Ming control trailed off into a frontier zone where imperial subjects and officials encountered and interacted with peoples who they identified as different by virtue of their speech, clothing, custom, and history of interaction with successive Chinese states. Some of these people were organized into political formations that gave nominal allegiance to the Ming, which called them native chieftaincies (tusi). Later, the hereditary rule of many chieftaincies was eliminated, replaced by magistrates appointed by the imperial court and the standard civilian administration. The Chinese term for this process is “replacing hereditary native officials with circulating [i.e. imperially appointed] officials” (gaitu guiliu), which conveys clearly the idea of normalization of local administration that was held by the Ming and Qing officials who implemented it. The process must have looked rather different for the peoples on whom it was imposed. By the twentieth century, most of these regions were simply part of Chinese territory, and the peoples who lived there had come to be considered ethnic minorities who were part of the multi-​ ethnic Chinese nation. Traditional historiography typically treats this long-​ term history as a process of state expansion and Sinicization, whereby the peoples of these regions adopted Chinese ways and became subjects of the Chinese emperor. Attention to the local perspective dramatically transforms our understanding of this issue. Local records, legends, and religious rituals reveal a more complex and non-​linear narrative, in which people on the periphery redefine their relationship with the Chinese state in ways that the term Sinicization simply cannot do justice to. They negotiated their legal and fiscal status with the Ming administrative jurisdiction under which they nominally fell and grappled onto certain markers of identity (while rejecting others) that would only long in the future come to be thought of as constitutive of ethnic

State institutions and local society  19 identity. Whether their status with respect to the Ming state reflects an identity in the modern sense of the term is an unanswered question; what we can be sure of is that these markers of identity and difference were used strategically if sometimes symbolically. Long Sheng’s chapter on Ningfan in Sichuan addresses this issue most directly. He shows how military institutions on the western frontier, which were intended in part to serve as a vehicle to bring local people under Ming military and political control, paradoxically produced the effect of integrating them socially and culturally, as Xifan indigenous peoples came to subordinate themselves to Chinese officers and to adopt their surnames and cultural practices. When descendants of Han soldiers began to compile genealogies to manage disputes over land that had formerly belonged to the garrison, these people were written into those genealogies, strengthening their identification with the dominant Han culture and therefore with the imperial state. It is in part the endurance of distinctive religious practices, a kind of sub-​stratum below the contemporary ritual life of the community, that enables Long to demonstrate this hypothesis. Que Yue’s chapter adds yet another layer of complexity. She shows how a new local-​level organization that developed in Taozhou in Qing was actually rooted in the Ming military households. Their descendants came together in the aftermath of dissolution to create a seemingly new form of local social association, a crop protection association that took on a wide range of local functions. Since one of these functions was to assert the interests of the Han membership as against those of other groups –​in peaceful times the Tibetans living nearby and, in a moment of military conflict, the local Hui –​her chapter links the theme of ethnicity and ethnic differentiation with questions of dynastic continuity.17 This volume is not the first to consider the connections between Ming military institutions and ethnicity or the larger question of how developments in the Ming shaped ethnic labeling and ethnic difference more broadly. For the most part when South China studies scholars discuss identity (rentong) or ethnicity they are working with a narrower definition than is usually implied by the term in English. They are seeking to deduce on the basis of ritual and symbolic language the degree to which groups in local society identified with the Chinese state. As noted above, Zhao Shiyu has argued that the Ming military institutions had a profound impact on the emergence and solidification of Chinese Muslim ethnicity. The ancestors of many people who would later be called Hui were conscripted in early Ming and assigned to specific garrisons, where they often built mosques. This in turn further cemented their collective identity. His point is thus that Ming military institutions shaped not only the initial incorporation of these peoples into the Chinese state, but also their subsequent identity. David Faure, seeking to show such processes comparatively and building on earlier work by Liu Zhiwei, has explored how the relationship between local interests and the state produced different effects in the Pearl River Delta and in Guangxi. In the former, it

20 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu led to the identification of local elites with the state, and therefore a form of Sinicization (though he would probably reject the term), while in the latter it produced patterns of exclusion that would come to be understood as characteristic of the non-​Han Yao peoples.18 The contentious term “Sinicization” also figures in the third broad set of questions that emerges from the contributions to this volume:  institutional continuity and the Ming-​Qing dynastic transition. Eventually internal unrest and external pressure brought down the Ming. As we have seen, the Qing dynasty dissolved most of the Guards, basically eliminated the registration category of military household, and implemented a fundamentally different approach to military matters, in which the Banners and the Green Standard army were the central institutions. But despite its formal abolition, the Ming system endured in two main ways. First, Qing rulers themselves realized that such an enormous and integrated institution could not simply be eliminated without causing tremendous upheaval. The incorporation of the systems of military households and garrisons into the civilian administrative system was a gradual and incomplete process that lasted into the eighteenth century or even later in some places. Second, the institution had endured for almost 300 years. It had generated all manner of new social relations that endured even after the institution itself was formally disbanded. These persistent social legacies of the Ming system provide the foundation for the research presented by several of the contributors to this volume. To oversimplify considerably, much traditional historiography treats the seventeenth-​century transition from Ming to Qing as fundamentally similar to other dynastic transitions in Chinese history, with one ruling regime and house giving way to another. This view rests on a particular understanding of the significance of the Manchus, originally a people from northeast of China proper. Historians in this mode generally assumed that the Manchus were powerless against the attractiveness of Chinese culture and therefore willingly adopted Chinese ways, in effect shedding their original culture and becoming Chinese. In the last thirty years, scholars working mostly outside of China have challenged this paradigm. These challenges first originated in the seemingly neutral realm of sources. Whereas previous generations of scholars had assumed that court documents in the Manchu language were simply translations from Chinese originals, these historians interpreted them as reflecting some distinctive features of court practice. They went on to identify ways in which the Qing regime was not simply a carbon copy of the Ming, but retained many distinctive elements from the Manchus’ Inner Asian traditions. This approach, now labeled the New Qing History, has come under considerable criticism from historians in China who think it is politically motivated and intended to delegitimize the contemporary PRC’s territorial and ethnic claims.19 Our contributors explore the question of continuity from a very different perspective. Several of the essays in this volume are set primarily in the Qing

State institutions and local society  21 rather than the Ming. Some Qing specialists may find it surprising even to see a reference to Guards and military households in the Qing given that it is a well-​known “fact” that the Qing disbanded the Guards and dissolved the military households. As we have already noted, in actual fact some functionally specific Guards and military households –​notably those responsible for the transport of tribute grain to the capital –​were retained by the Qing. But our purpose is not to point out this minor inaccuracy in the general understanding of the Qing military. Rather, attention to the legacies of the Ming system reflects the contributors’ view that even if we take the views of New Qing History into account, this does not mean that Chinese society was discontinuous from Ming to Qing. It does not follow that because the Qing was ruled by Manchus, or because it expanded the territory of the empire by incorporating Mongolia, Tibet, or Xinjiang that there was therefore a fundamental break in every aspect of the organization of society. The establishment of the Qing brought great changes to how society was organized, to be sure, but we must understand the overall character of these changes, and their limits. This question of continuities and discontinuities from Ming to Qing takes on new significance in light of the so-​called New Qing History. For the most part, works in this vein concentrate on the patterns of Qing imperial rule and the governance of the Qing’s vastly expanded territory from the Ming. The discontinuities between Ming and Qing are particularly apparent here. But scholars in the South China school tend to work more on the hinterland, and on areas with a substantial (if not total) Han population. Here the continuities often seem more evident than on the frontier. Perhaps any simplistic attempt to weigh the relative importance of continuities versus discontinuities is doomed to failure. When the Qing conquered the area around Dunhuang, in western Gansu province, in the early eighteenth century, a debate ensued about how best to govern the newly submitted territories. Some officials proposed a version of the Ming Guard system. This was not because they cared about establishing continuity with the Ming; it was because their knowledge of Ming institutions was part of the intellectual resources they brought to bear. The point of this story is that from the perspective of local society, there were continuities and discontinuities everywhere, and indeed, continuities emerge out of discontinuities and vice versa. In the specific realm of military institutions, it is all too easy to assume that because the Ming system was rooted in military households and Guards, while the Qing system was organized around Bannermen and Banners, the differences between the two dynasties outweigh the similarities. In fact, both dynasties allocated land to soldiers to farm; in practice this land was often sold off to civilians or became concentrated in the hands of officers, and the state tried repeatedly to recover and redistribute the land. In the Ming, the intended beneficiary of this redistribution was military households assigned to the military colonies; in the Qing it was families of Bannermen. Both states looked for ways to encourage the self-​sufficiency of a large standing army in

22 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu order to reduce its fiscal burden. Thus this issue also raises questions about continuities in institutions and how the features of imperial institutions may have contributed to the resilience of the empire. (Two historiographical discoveries –​of the Mongol origins of many elements of the Ming system and of the enduring impact of Manchu heritage on the Qing –​suggest that shared Inner Asian continuities may be an avenue for fruitful comparison between Ming and Qing. But this is not the focus of the research in this volume). Deng Qingping’s c­ hapter –​from which the anecdote about Yuzhou above is drawn –​illustrates the complexity of the question of institutional continuity from the perspective of local society. The dissolution of the Garrisons in the early Qing was not simply a matter of a high-​level decision. The outcome affected the rights and interests of many different people who had been associated with the military institution in different ways. These people tried to defend their interests as best they could. This affected the process of dissolution and left a deep imprint on local society. Deng shows that even where the institutions were formally dissolved, they continued to leave a legacy. Xie Shi shows in a very different context how the dissolution of the Ming system in the Qing had complex social consequences, ranging from changes in settlement patterns to the emergence of new forms of collective identity. Xie’s chapter, like several others, also illustrates how temporary expediencies adopted by local officials to deal with tax shortfalls became precedents that residents deployed to their advantage. This is another expression of the phenomenon of “localization” of imperial institutions. The volume closes with two chapters on the tribute grain system. Rao Weixin’s chapter can be seen as an exemplar of the South China studies approach to collecting local documents. A  nineteenth-​century text that he collected from the descendant of its author opens up a whole new window onto the operation of a central Qing institution –​the tribute grain system. The tribute grain system in Qing was truly a legacy of the Ming system of Guards and hereditary military households. The institutions of the Ming military performed functions that went well beyond military functions as narrowly conceived. This helps explain why the institutions were retained even as their military effectiveness declined. As we have seen, in parts of the empire the Guards effectively served as the local territorial administration. In other parts, they were responsible for the vital shipment of tax grain from the provinces to the capital. For reasons of expediency, the Qing continued to assign this latter function to those Guards that had been responsible for it in the Ming, and this meant retaining those Guards even though in most places they were dissolved. Having retained these Guards, the tribute grain system was therefore subject both to path dependencies arising from the earlier system and to efforts by its participants to reshape the institution to better serve their interests. This case study shows that the issue of institutional continuities from Ming to Qing is far more complex than previous scholarship has acknowledged. Rao’s chapter also addresses questions from the first theme  –​on the interaction of imperial institutions with local society –​but in this case he is

State institutions and local society  23 dealing with an institution of Ming provenance that was retained –​with significant changes –​in the Qing. He argues that the capacity of the tribute grain system to accommodate the interests of local actors engaged with it actually demonstrates a strength of the Qing system, and may help explain dynastic resilience in Chinese history more broadly. Xu Bin provides a second perspective on the grain tribute system in the Qing. Like Rao, he shows that despite similarities in terminology, the system as it operated in the Qing was very different from the way it had been envisioned in early Ming. The system had changed over the course of the Ming as a result of adjustments, experiments, and interactions with society. The late Ming system then provided a “blueprint” that the Qing could use as a guide to address the distinctive challenges of moving the tribute grain north. Like Rao, Xu shows how the individuals and families in the system were not simply its puppets; they pursued their interests from within the institution as best they could. Xu suggests that the social institution of the lineage actually developed and was strengthened in the areas he studied as a strategic response to the state institutions with which its members had to deal. No serious scholar would challenge the argument that the Ming military –​ an enormous, sophisticated, and consequential institution –​is an important subject for historical analysis. The main contribution of this volume is to demonstrate that its significance goes far beyond military history narrowly defined, and even beyond the history of the Ming. The institution played a role in some of the most important developments of the period. It profoundly shaped many aspects of local society not only in the Ming but also during the Qing, and beyond. While the contributors to this volume focus on a specific institution in specific contexts, their shared ambition is to contribute to a broader reconsideration of Chinese history. The chapters collected here call for a fundamental re-​examination of early modern China and for efforts to situate China in a global history that considers how societies in different parts of the world experienced and responded to common challenges of the early modern era –​challenges of state-​building for political elites and challenges of responding to state-​building by ordinary people. They propose new ways of thinking about and studying institutional history, and new ways of thinking about ethnicity and ethnic identity past and present, both in China and beyond. Above all, they convey the importance to historians of being alert to indigenous representations of history, of exploring how ordinary people understand their history and the ways ordinary people have had an impact on their own history.

Notes 1 There is a considerable literature in Chinese exploring this historiography; work in English is more limited. See for example, Liu Zhiwei and Sun Ge, Zai lishi zhong xunzhao Zhongguo: guanyu quyushi yanjiu renshilun de duihua (Seeking China in history:  A dialogue on understanding local history research) (Dongfang 2016);

24 Michael Szonyi and Zhao Shiyu Chen Chunsheng, “Congshu zongxu:  zuoxiang tianye xianchang,” (General preface: Towards the fieldwork site) in Zhao Shiyu, ed, Xiao lishi yu da lishi: quyu shehuishi de fangfa yu shixian (Little history and big history: Method and practice of regional social history)(Sanlian 2006); Zhao Shiyu and Shen Bin, “Cong shehuishi dao Zhongguo shehui de lishi renleixue” (From social history to the historical anthropology of Chinese society), Zhongguo shixue 25 (2015), 35–​49; Li Ren-​yuan, “Zai tianye xunzhao lishi:  sanshinian lai de Zhongguo Huanan shehuishi yanjiu yu renleixue,” (Seeking history through fieldwork: Thirty years of south China social history research and anthropology), Kaogu renlei xuekan 88 (2018), 109–​140; Kenneth Dean, “Introduction,” Minsu quyi 167 (2010), Special issue on “Stone inscriptions, local history, and fieldwork,” 1–​63. 2 Denis Twitchett and Frederick Mote, “Introduction,” Cambridge history of China, vol 8, The Ming dynasty, 1368–​1644, part II (Cambridge 1998), 7. 3 David Robinson, “Why military institutions matter for Ming history,” Journal of Chinese History 1 (2017), 297–​327. 4 Denis Flynn and Arturo Giraldez, “Born with a silver spoon: The origin of world trade in 1571,” Journal of World History, 6.2 (1995), 201–​221. 5 This literature is thoroughly summarized in Robinson, “Why military institutions matter” (2017). 6 Gu Cheng, Yinni de jiangtu: weisuo zhidu yu Ming diguo (Hidden territory: The garrison system and the Ming empire) (Guangming ribao chubanshe 2012). 7 See Michael Szonyi, The art of being governed: Everyday politics in late imperial China (Princeton 2018), 27. 8 In works such as Changcheng neiwai (Inside and outside the Great Wall) (Beijing daxue 2016), Zhao Shiyu has already sought to demonstrate the applicability of these approaches to other places. Also see Zhao Shiyu, “Weisuo junhu zhidu yu Mingdai Zhongguo shehui –​lishi renleixue de shijiao,” (The system of garrisons and military households and Chinese society in Ming:  From the perspective of historical anthropology), Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban), 30.3 (2015), 114–​127. 9 For further discussion see Thomas DuBois and Jan Kiely, eds., Fieldwork in modern Chinese history (Routledge 2019). 10 For more on the challenges and opportunities of using genealogies as a research source, see Szonyi, Art of being governed, 18–​19,  27–​29. 11 David Johnson, Andrew Nathan, and Evelyn Rawski, eds., Popular culture in late imperial China (Berkeley 1985). 12 Wang Mingke, Qiang zai Han-​Zang zhijian: yige Huaxia bianyuan de lishi renleixue (The Qiang between Han and Tibetans: A historical anthropology of the Chinese borderlands) (Zhonghua 2008). 13 For example, David Faure, Emperor and ancestor: State and lineage in south China (Stanford 2007); Zheng Zhenman, Family lineage organization and social change in Ming-​Qing Fujian (Hawai’i 2001); David Faure and Ho Ts’ui-​p’ing, eds., Chieftains into ancestors: Imperial expansion and indigenous society in southwest China (UBC 2013); He Xi and David Faure, eds., The fisher-​folk of late imperial and modern China: An historical anthropology of boat-​and-​shed living (Routledge 2016). 14 Charles Joyner, Shared traditions: Southern history and folk culture (University of Illinois 1999), 1. 15 Hsiao Kung-​chuan, Rural China:  Imperial control in the nineteenth century (University of Washington 1960).

State institutions and local society  25 16 Another recent work on the salt trade neatly shows how market forces could also play a role in the implementation of national-​level institutions at the local level. The Ming and Qing states imposed a state monopoly on salt, issuing licenses that authorized the transfer of salt from producer to consumer only in specific regions. This was an administrative decision that ended up driving the articulation of regional differences. But private trade in salt was permitted for reasons of efficiency, so the market rather than the institution alone shaped the process as well. Huang Guoxin, Shichang ruhe xingcheng: cong Qingdai shiyan zhuanmai yanjiu (How does a market form?:  Research on the Qing salt monopoly) (Sanlian 2018). 17 Another group of younger scholars are making a more conscious effort to bring the New Qing History and South China studies approaches into dialogue. The six articles in a recent special issue of the journal Lishi renleixue xuekan (Journal of Historical Anthropology) borrow freely from the approaches of both, exploring such issues as the complexities of local policy implementation in the Qing and the role of religious frameworks and ritual practices in the integration of different peripheries into the Qing empire. Lishi renleixue xuekan, special issue on “Hua’nan yanjiu yu xinQingshi de duihua” (The dialogue between South China studies and the New Qing History) (2017). 18 This is among the central arguments of Faure, Emperor and ancestor. 19 For a summary, see Joanna Waley-​Cohen, “The New Qing history,” Radical History Review 88 (2004), 193–​206.

2  The social impact of changing patterns of military recruitment and logistics in Yongzhou, Hunan Wu Tao

Unlike the Yuan and Qing dynasties, which saw massive “outward” territorial expansion, the Ming might better be characterized in terms of a kind of “inward” expansion in which people and groups who had been outside of direct state control were brought into the political order. The garrison system of Guards and Battalions, which was implemented not only at strategic positions on the borders but also throughout the interior, was an important element of this process of “internal colonialism.”1 The garrison system was never purely a military system. It was also a system by which state resources were managed. The most important of these resources were the agricultural lands of the garrison system’s military colonies (juntun). Roughly half of the almost two million standing soldiers in the early Ming were assigned to cultivate military colony lands. They were supposed to keep part of the harvest from these lands to support themselves and transmit the rest to their garrison, where it provided rations for the soldiers serving there.2 The Ming did not rely exclusively on hereditary military households (junhu) to provide its military personnel. From the mid-​Ming onwards, the sources of military recruitment became increasingly diverse, and irregulars of various types began to be incorporated into the system. New non-​hereditary forms of military service also appeared. By the mid-​sixteenth century, a network of Barracks (ying) staffed by a combination of Guard soldiers, mercenaries, and civilian militia developed. These changes marked a significant divergence from the system as it had been originally designed by the founding emperor. The performance of military functions by soldiers in the Guards became increasingly divorced from agricultural functions that were fulfilled in the military colonies by men who were only nominally soldiers.3 In response to these transformations, the already long-​deteriorating garrison system had to be restructured. These changes had significant implications for the military’s agricultural colonies. The original system by which military resources were managed and allocated underwent a long period of transition, with important consequences for local society. During the first half of the sixteenth century, the Ming court established numerous military outposts in Yongzhou Prefecture in southern Hunan, near the provincial borders with Guangdong and Guangxi. One gazetteer

Changing patterns of military recruitment  27 describes the resulting distribution of military bases with this evocative language: “The garrisons were as dense as forests, in a web of military colonies, with guardposts and fortresses rising up among them like mountain peaks.”4 The soldiers stationed in these various bases consisted of locally based Guard soldiers and mercenaries, known as “killers” (shashou), who had been recruited from elsewhere. Some of these “killers” were Yao people who had been previously pacified, or “cooked.”5 The shashou killers supplemented the ranks of the Guard soldiers, serving defense and combat functions as intended. They also used various stratagems to take over military colony fields that had originally been under the control of the Guards. On the surface, this might appear to be a process of outsiders encroaching on and expropriating military resources. But if we think instead in terms of how different types of military forces were being drawn into the Guard system, we may interpret this phenomenon as an expression of the expansion of the system rather than its decline. This dynamic is evident in the negotiations over local resources, state power, military property, and legal status that undergirded the system of military colonies.

The establishment of Taochuan Battalion and the institutional decline of the military Yongzhou was strategically located on one of the key transportation routes connecting the north and south of the empire. The postal routes between Hunan and Guangdong and between Hunan and Guangxi converged at Yongzhou. These transportation routes served to connect the key river systems of the Yangzi and Pearl Rivers. Yongming County, one of the subordinate counties of Yongzhou, had been formally established in the Tang.6 Starting from around the thirteenth century, Yao lumber traders began to gather in large numbers in the Nanling mountains where Yongming bordered Guangxi.7 These people were mostly unregistered by the state. They moved freely from place to place, without any direct control from state authorities. There were reportedly also groups of Yao bandits who lived in mountain caves and engaged in banditry and plunder.8 This sort of violence was a potential problem for the security of the transport routes, so officials saw the Yao as a threat and sent troops to root them out. In 1183, the court ordered officials in Hunan and Guangxi to “block up the streams and close the gorges and pathways,” that is, to blockade the region in order to end this sort of harassment.9 This process continued on and off for a century, leading to the famous Qin Mengsi uprising in the late Southern Song and the Deng Si uprising of the late Yuan. The latter lasted until 1369, a year after the founding of the Ming, before County Vice Magistrate Peng Deqian was finally able to suppress it.10 Through the efforts of local officials, Yongming quickly recovered from the turmoil of the Yuan-​Ming transition. But the Ming court was never able to stop worrying about its control over these newly subdued lands. Early in the dynasty Yongzhou Guard was created

28  Wu Tao

Map 2.1 Guards and Battalions of Yongzhou

to defend the region, prevent further unrest, and maintain security along the north-​south transport route.11 In 1393, an uprising by “Man barbarians” broke out in Yongming; forces from Yongzhou Guard suppressed the rebellion and seized its leaders.12 But repeated episodes of unrest made it clear that relying on Yongzhou Guard alone was inadequate to maintain local order. Two years later, the Ming made a substantial adjustment to military deployment in Yongzhou Prefecture, upgrading Daozhou Battalion to a Guard and renaming it Ningyuan Guard.13 The following year three new battalions, Pipa, Taochuan, and Jintian, were established under Ningyuan Guard.14 Yongzhou Prefecture thus now had two Guards:  Yongzhou and Ningyuan. Taochuan Battalion and Pipa Battalion were located in the south of Yongming County, serving as outposts protecting the north–​south transport artery in the Nanling region where imperial control was weakest. Taochuan Battalion lay southwest of the Yongming county seat. When it was first established, some of its soldiers were assigned military functions and others sent to cultivate military colony fields. Some of these lands were nearby and others lay in neighboring administrative districts.15 The officers of the Battalion included the commander and other permanent officers, as well as a grain commissioner and deputy commissioner who were responsible for collecting tax grain from the Battalion’s colonies.16

Changing patterns of military recruitment  29 High levels of desertion in Yongzhou and elsewhere, however, made administration of the colonies difficult from the early fifteenth century onward. Lacking adequate manpower, colony soldiers began to rent out colony fields to others. In response, from the mid-​fifteenth century, officials encouraged soldiers to put down deeper roots in the localities in which they were stationed, by means of policies that will be described below. They also dispatched Troop-​ Purifying Censors (responsible for conscription) to fill shortfalls in the ranks. Problems in the performance appraisal system and poor communication between the military and civilian administration systems created space for corruption and limited the efficacy of these efforts.17 In 1467, Liu Hao, a supervising secretary in the Office of Scrutiny for Revenue, submitted a memorial on the overall problems of the conscription system across the empire. He reported that as of 1456 over 576,000 imperial soldiers had deserted or otherwise gone missing from the registers. Two years later only 31,000 replacements had been found. No one could say what had become of the vanished troops. Liu cited the example of Huguang –​where Yongzhou was located –​to demonstrate the seriousness of the problem:  the original quota of soldiers there was over 200,000, but by 1465 fewer than half the original number of soldiers remained.18 The situation in the Huguang Military Regional Commission, which had jurisdiction over Taochuan, was every bit as grave as Liu Hao described. In order to address the problem of insufficient troops in Guangxi, since the early Ming seven hundred soldiers from Taochuan, Pipa, Chengui, and Ningyuan had been assigned to guard Liucheng and Wuxuan in Guangxi in rotation.19 With so many soldiers rotating out every few years, this policy inevitably impacted Taochuan itself. Moreover, since the soldiers of these Battalions were unhappy about being sent to serve their rotation in faraway Guangxi, they found ways to shirk or avoid their duties.20 As a result, the number of soldiers available for rotation assignment declined. Colony soldiers were sent to fill the ranks. This led to a vicious cycle that hastened the decline of the Guard system. One direct consequence of the decline of the system was that considerable colony property was lost to civilian encroachment. According to Wang Yuquan, the loss of colony land was already becoming extremely serious by the late fifteenth century.21 The Longqing-​era (1567–​1572) Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer records the original area of colony fields for Ningyuan Guard and for Pipa and other battalions as 518 qing (roughly 3400 hectares or 8400 acres; one Ming qing is approximately 6.5 hectares or 16.2 acres). By the 1560s, owing to desertion and the encroachment of colony fields by civilians, only 150 qing remained on the registers.22 Much of Taochuan Battalion’s colony fields must also have been lost. At least some of the empty ranks of the Guard could be filled by conscripts, whose first task upon arriving at their post would be to recover lands that had previously belonged to the garrison colonies but that had been lost to civilian encroachment. The original registration data regarding the colony

30  Wu Tao fields gave the colony soldiers some leverage in their dealings with these locals, but recovery efforts inevitably led to conflicts with the people who had seized or occupied the lands. For example, a Yao document reports that in 1472, Taochuan Battalion received a large influx of conscripted soldiers, and this led to serious conflicts with the Yao over colony fields. We can infer that the Yao had previously taken advantage of the opportunity afforded by the desertion of previous soldiers and the challenges of maintaining the military colonies to seize large amounts of colony fields.23 Whether or not this specific account is accurate, the Ming proved unable to rescue the garrison system from its state of decay. By the 1560s, of Taochuan Battalion’s original quota of soldiers of 1,120, “1,030 had deserted, [and only] 127 actually remained.”24 With almost 90% of manpower lost, it must have been all but impossible to administer the colonies. Colony fields were interspersed with civilian lands, making it difficult for colony officers to keep track of the lands and easy for corrupt soldiers or local magnates to hatch schemes to expropriate them. Economic differentiation among the colony soldiers intensified; a single soldier might come to control one or two hundred mu of fields (6.4–​12.8 hectares or 16–​32 acres; one mu is about .064 hectares or .16 acre). We can infer that various groups of people, including the Yao, took advantage of the cracks in the system and shared in the spoils. By the mid-​fifteenth century, it had become unusual for colony fields to be cultivated exclusively by colony soldiers. Hundreds of years later, in the eighteenth century, descendants of soldiers, civilians, Yao, and Zhuang lived interspersed with one another in Fuchuan County in Guangxi, also located in the Nanling Mountains.25 The origins of this settlement pattern lay in the various groups that had encroached on the military colonies once the system started to decline in mid-​Ming.

“Paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion” Seizing or becoming tenants on military colony fields was not the only way that outside elements permeated the garrison system. Local legends suggest that just as large numbers of soldiers were deserting, some Yao were being incorporated into the garrison system as irregular soldiers (that is, not as members of registered military households). A  damaged stele dating from the 1620s in Gudiao village in southwestern Yongming, near the border with Gongcheng County, reports that “at the beginning of the Hong[wu] reign (1368–​1398), the ancestors of the Yao took responsibility for defending the mountain passes. They thereby earned the right to reclaim the fallow fields belonging to the garrison.”26 In the mid-​to late Ming it was not uncommon for Yao people in peripheral regions to be assigned to local guard duties, and there are many records from the mid-​fifteenth to the early seventeenth centuries telling of the “pacification” of Yao from the nearby counties of Gongcheng and Fuchuan in Guangxi, and Ruyuan County in Guangdong. These stories tell of former “bandit” Yao groups who had not previously

Changing patterns of military recruitment  31 submitted to discipline and would periodically rebel. After they were pacified they became “good Yao” (liang Yao), gave up slash-​and-​burn swidden farming as a mode of production and were allowed to occupy colony fields that had been abandoned by deserting garrison colony soldiers. The portion of the harvest that they paid in taxes became an important element of garrison finances. And because these “good Yao” took on responsibility for defending mountain passes on transportation routes, they enjoyed special tax exemptions, including exemptions from corvee and miscellaneous surtaxes.27 An old Yao document entitled The Comprehensive Record of Fuling (Fuling tongji) traces the history of how the Yao “earned the right to reclaim the garrison’s fallow fields by taking on responsibility for defending the mountain passes” back to the early Ming. Some Qing gazetteers describe two groups, the Black Yao and the White Yao, being pacified and recruited into the military.28 For example, the 1709 edition of the Yongming county gazetteer reports that in the early Qing, when the colony field taxes that were due to Taochuan Battalion were commuted to silver, a permanent exemption worth 12.87 taels was granted to these Black Yao and White Yao as a reward for their having accepted pacification.29 The Daoguang-​ era (1821–​ 1850) Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer contains similar records relating to Yao tax exemptions.30 The details of the timing of the pacification of the Black Yao and White Yao have been lost, but from the nature of these special privileges, it appears that those Yao who accepted pacification came to some kind of agreement with the garrison whereby they were granted the use of the colony fields in exchange for helping the garrison defend transport routes through the mountains. After the garrison system was disbanded at the beginning of the Qing, the story of the Yao “defending mountain passes” gradually began to appear in official historical narratives. It was also preserved in their specific tax practices, which were in fact a legacy of the garrison colony land system. During the Qing, local “cooked Yao” villages like Fuling, Gudiao, Qingxi, and Goulan went to great pains to emphasize their historical origins as Black or White Yao, and how, as reward for their services, they had become the legal owners of garrison colony land.31 Some later narrative traditions of these villages mention two different types of land. The first type was land that was registered under the tax system of Yongming County and expressed in terms of area; the second type was land registered under the garrison colony system and expressed in terms of volume of grain tax payable. The sources use the phrase “paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion” (xiansuo liangxiang baona) to describe this structure. In other words, the Yao were responsible for tax payments to both the garrison and regular county tax systems.32 A Tian Surname Genealogy that I collected in Qingxi village records: “The tax levy to the county [amounts to the tax on] 19.5 mu; the tax due to the garrison was originally 13 bushels”33 (1 bushel or dan is a measure of capacity equivalent to 23.4 gallons).34 The term “civilian hundreds and military tithings” (minli junjia) that appears on a damaged stele in Gudiao village allows us to better understand

32  Wu Tao

Map 2.2 Taochuan Battalion and surrounding villages

the implications of “paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion” for the structure of and boundary between the military and civilian systems.35 The Comprehensive Record of Fuling reveals that the state tax recorded in the Yongming tax and corvee register was part of the regular civilian tax system, while annual rewards paid back to the Yao in livestock, alcohol, and silver were drawn from the garrison system accounts.36 The latter comprised not only the compensation that the garrison paid to Yao soldiers for defending mountain passes; it also served as proof that the Yao legitimately held and cultivated garrison colony lands even as they were being drawn further into the system with the status of informal combatants.

Killers (shashou) in the Barracks system, and encouragement of permanent settlement As described above, from the early fifteenth century onwards, garrison soldiers deserted in large numbers. Efforts to conscript replacements were unsuccessful. Even after the practice of using informal combatants, principally Yao soldiers, to defend the mountain passes was implemented, these soldiers remained outside the official system. This led to further reforms of the military system during the first half of the sixteenth century. These reforms shifted

Changing patterns of military recruitment  33 the center of local defenses out of the existing Guards and Battalions and into new units called Barracks (yingbing). The corps of soldiers became increasingly diversified. Yongzhou Prefecture, whose main military bases had been Yongzhou and Ningyuan Guards, established large numbers of Barracks and sentry posts on the prefectural borders, particularly on the southern border with Guangdong and Guangxi. This produced a complicated pattern of garrisons, colonies, Barracks, and stockades interspersed with one another.37 In Yongming, a total of sixteen Barracks were established, the administration of which was distributed between Yongming County and Taochuan Battalion. Each Barracks was assigned a certain number of imperial troops, and a certain number of shashou (“killer”) soldiers.38 The shashou were a distinctive category of civilian recruits. According to the sixteenth-​century edition of the Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer, the shashou in Yongzhou Prefecture were not locals, but came from neighboring Yangshan County in Guangdong. They were not regular garrison soldiers –​ they did not have hereditary military registration, and their service was not necessarily a lifetime bond  –​but since they were recruited from elsewhere, they were also clearly not simply ordinary civilians fulfilling regular corvee labor obligations. Nor were they part of the regular civilian militia system in which civilian males were impressed by a draft lottery. Shashou were recruited jointly by the local civilian authorities and the garrison. Their remuneration came not just from the regular administrative system’s budget line for militia expenses but also included grain tax from the military colony fields that was commuted to silver.39 This indicates that military finance and regular local government finance, which had originally been two different systems, were becoming intermingled. The diversification of the corps of soldiers as part of the shift to the Barracks system in the mid-​Ming did not fully resolve the old problem of desertion. Unless the problem of ensuring military rations was effectively addressed, it would be difficult to prevent newly arrived soldiers from deserting and returning to their native place. Yongzhou Prefect Shi Chaofu implemented measures aimed specifically at discouraging the Yangshan shashou from returning to their place of origin if their salaries were not paid, by “converting them gradually into locals.”40 A  survey of colony lands led by Yongzhou official Wu Xian in 1568 created a mechanism to encourage the shashou to settle permanently. The land survey revealed a substantial amount of colony fields in Yongming. Wu reorganized the newly surveyed fields into units of 51.8 mu, and assigned them to currently serving soldiers to cultivate.41 But by this time the number of soldiers was already insufficient, so even after the allocation there remained many surplus fields with no one to cultivate them. Zha Duo, the prefectural judge of De’an Prefecture, wanted to summon the non-​soldier members of the military households, known as supernumeraries (junyu), to cultivate the fields and to “substitute on behalf of serving soldiers.” But the number of supernumeraries in the local garrisons was still insufficient to cultivate all the available fields. Because the problem of

34  Wu Tao finding a stable source for the salaries of the shashou from Yangshan was still unresolved, Zha Duo decided to allocate these colony fields to the shashou with families in lieu of providing them with a salary.42 Cultivating these fallow lands effectively gave the cultivators permanent ownership rights. From the mid-​sixteenth century onwards, this became the main method to address the desertion of colony soldiers and idle colony fields. The most direct consequence was that the shashou and their descendants took advantage of the favorable policy to put down roots. In Yongming County’s Yanshiying village a stele dating from 1623 entitled “Record of the Temple of Master Yang Xiongfu” records that a series of Yao rebellions had rocked the county in the mid-​sixteenth century.43 The ancestors of the Feng, Chen, Qian, Lu, and Shao surnames were brought from Guangdong to suppress the rebellion. At first they lived temporarily in caves. Afterwards they gradually established local registration, accepted corvee obligations, and acquired permanent housing. This stele does not specifically identify these Cantonese as Yangshan shashou. But the deities enshrined in the Master Yang Temple –​military officers named Yang and Feng –​as well as linguistic evidence (discussed below), provide important clues as to the origins of these new arrivals. According to records in the Qianlong-​ era (1735–​ 1796) edition of the Yangshan county gazetteer, there was a Master Yang Temple in Yangshan at which Officers Yang and Feng were worshipped, and these were cults indigenous to Yangshan.44 Officers Yang and Feng had become the objects of a cult because of their suppression of rebellions during the Chenghua (1465–​ 1487) and Longqing (1567–​1572) reigns. According to my field work, these stories appear not only in historical gazetteers, but are still passed down in some parts of Yangshan even today. Even if these officers’ spiritual powers and achievements were not recognized by the authorities during the Ming and Qing, and even if stories of their being bestowed imperial ranks were fabricated, the limited area of transmission of this local indigenous cult allows us to assert with confidence that the first bearers of the Feng, Chen, Qian, Lu, and Shao surnames in Yongming were originally shashou from Yangshan. In addition to the Feng, Chen, and other surnames of Yanshiying, the Deng, Shao, Long, and Liang of Jizuiying in Yongming County also worship Master Yang and Master Feng as their common ancestors.45 Shijian is another village whose residents claim to be the descendants of Yangshan shashou. Although no remains of a Master Yang Temple have been discovered there, the nine surnames in the village have built an “Ancestral Hall for the Nine Shares,” which suggests a similar kind of social organization to that in Yanshiying and Jizuiying, whereby multiple surnames worship a common ancestor.46 These three villages all belonged to the system of Barracks and sentry posts that were established in Yongming during the early to mid-​sixteenth century. Their residents have thus preserved historical memories of their origins as shashou up to the present. Linguistic research on the distribution of different dialects in the region also confirms the Yangshan shashou origin of some of these residents of

Changing patterns of military recruitment  35 Yongzhou. The original shashou recruits apparently had the choice between being treated as mercenaries from elsewhere who could cultivate land temporarily, or entering the local population registers (though not as hereditary military households), which made them permanent residents and also liable to corvee labor service. The “Record of the Temple of Master Yang Xiongfu” reports that the Chen, Liang, Ou, Shao, and Feng surnames that resided in sector 17 of Yongming County registered as a civilian household under the name “Chen Liang’ou” (that is, a combination of the three largest surnames) and were entered into the Yongming lijia system no later than 1623.47 The dialect spoken by these families reveal their origins. Within the borders of Jiangyong, the main dialects are the southwestern “official” dialect (guanhua) and southern Hunan dialect. But a small number of Cantonese speakers are also found in Jizuiying and Shijian.48 This linguistic distinctiveness is emphasized in the Shijian Feng Surname Genealogy: the Feng surname “lived together with the Zhang, Xu, Liang, and Chen surnames, with whom they had come from Guangdong. For several hundred years, they continued to speak the language of Yangshan, Guangdong, which was not understood locally.”49

Guarding the mountain passes and the Barracks system The Barracks system implemented in the Yongzhou region in the mid-​Ming was funded mainly from a tax that was nominally collected to cover the costs of civilian militia forces. Shashou salaries were paid from this civilian militia tax. This was a tax levied specifically on the registered Yao households. Before the provisioning of the shashou had been ensured, local officials often tried to encourage ordinary civilians to fulfill their tax obligations by reducing the civilian militia tax and then transferring responsibility for making up the resulting fiscal shortfall to Yao households.50 The “Yao households” referred to here did not include all the Yao living in Yongming County, nor did it correspond to the Yao men defending the mountain passes for the garrison. It referred specifically to those “cooked Yao” who had formally registered in the Yongming population registers. The imposition of the civilian militia tax on the Yao may have been due to the ambiguous status of these people, who “paid taxes to both the county and the Battalion.” The 1623 “Yongming County Prohibition Stele” consists largely of prohibitions on the inappropriate levying of corvee surcharges, such as a “surcharge to cover porter rations” on Yao households.51 The reason this problem might arise was that while the Yao households had entered the garrison system as informal soldiers, they also acquired civilian household registration in Yongming County. So they also belonged to the Yongming lijia system and were liable for corvee labor duties like other civilians. The reason that the Yao households were made responsible for the burden of financing the civilian militia was likely also a product of this same logic. From another perspective, under the system of “paying taxes to both the county and the

36  Wu Tao battalion,” the Yao households who were registered under the regular civilian administrative system and also informally registered in the garrison system could use their dual status to their advantage, by occupying colony fields that had originally belonged to the garrison. Civilian officials probably considered transferring the burden of financing the civilian militia onto the shoulders of these Yao households to be fair and reasonable. In fact, to solve the problem of large tracts of garrison colony fields going fallow, the Yongzhou prefectural authorities repeatedly lowered the requirements for reclaiming colony fields: “If surplus fields are [uncovered through] land surveys, then people can be recruited to cultivate them and pay the military colony grain tax. The [tax receipts] could be used to feed the soldiers.”52 This opened a convenient door for Yao households and other civilian households to enter the military colony system. Yao households had the privileged status of “paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion,” which other ordinary civilian households did not, and they could exploit loopholes in the system to maximize their interests. Their special fiscal status encouraged the formation of a collective identity for these “cooked Yao.” In the early phases of the Barracks system, the Yao men tasked with defending mountain passes were also organically incorporated into the system. Among the sixteen Barracks under Yongming County and Taochuan Battalion, Jingxi and Tuzhai Barracks were located in Qingxi and Gudiao villages respectively. The Yongzhou gazetteer calls Qingxi “Yao village” and Gudiao “Yao mouth.”53 From this we can deduce that during the mid-​Ming, when the Barracks system was being rolled out, the two villages were identified as Yao settlements. It would be impossible for dozens or even hundreds of people in outposts like Jingxi and Tuzhai near mountain passes near the border of Hunan and Guangxi not to have left any trace in the locality. The incorporation of Yao households into the tax system that was used to fund the civilian militia demonstrates that the Yao were a part of the Barracks system. The Comprehensive Record of Fuling contains an early Qing appeal by a Yao man that provides further evidence in support of this argument. The text sketches in detail the space where colony soldiers and Yao lived. At the beginning of the Ming, Fuling village established the “three colonies and four passes”: the “three colonies were called Beicun, Liucun, and Kuijia, and the colony soldiers lived here; the four passes [were called] Majian-​Baizhu, Dongling, Meimu, and Maodong. The Yao lived in these confines, and they frequently drove off bandits.”54 This spatial pattern seems to describe not the situation of the early Ming but rather of the mid-​Ming, when the Yao men guarding the mountain passes had been incorporated into the garrison system. Similar cases to the Yao men who defended mountain passes being integrated into the garrison system can be found elsewhere. During the Jiajing reign, the Deputy Military Commissioner of Liangguang, Zhang Jing, also recruited “wolf ” soldiers (lang bing) to cultivate colony fields in his jurisdiction.55 In the Qing, the Barracks system was adopted by the Green Standard army. Taochuan Battalion and the Pipa Battalion were formally disbanded

Changing patterns of military recruitment  37 in 1688, and two years later a land survey was carried out across the whole of Hunan Province.56 This marked the end of the garrison system. The garrison colony fields were now incorporated into the subprefecture and county tax and corvee system. Yao fields in some villages including Fuling, Gudiao, and Qingxi, however, were exempt from the survey of 1690, according to Yongming Magistrate Li Yuelin, and through deliberate efforts by the Yao households, the amount of Yao fields exempted from taxation continually increased. The exemption eventually came to apply not only to the colony fields presented to the Black and White Yao when they surrendered and were pacified in the Ming, but also to civilian fields cultivated by Yao on which they had originally paid civilian taxes.57 This indicates that the “cooked Yao” villages came to control greater and greater resources. It also shows how the symbolic meaning of the garrison system continued to play a role in local society throughout the Qing. From the mid-​Qing onwards, the opening up of the mountain lands on the southern border of Yongming County accelerated. The people called “Fuling Yao” no longer lived under poor conditions in the mountain passes but in the more centrally located Fuling basin.58 We still do not know whether these superior lands had been Ming garrison colony lands or civilian lands; nor can we trace the movement of specific communities and the transformation of specific social organizations. But we can be relatively certain that the formation of this settlement pattern was linked to earlier processes such as the diversification of the corps of soldiers, the reallocation of military colony resources, and the opening of mountain regions.

Conclusion The garrison system as designed by Zhu Yuanzhang at the beginning of the Ming faced enormous difficulties by the early to mid-​fifteenth century. In response to mass desertion, the abandonment of military colony fields, and the renting out or illicit sale of the fields by those soldiers who remained, local officials recruited civilians and other people to ensure the colony fields were cultivated. In order to maintain the system as envisioned by the dynastic founder, reforms such as renewed efforts at conscription and recruitment of new soldiers were implemented from the Zhengtong reign (1436–​1449) onwards, but these had limited effectiveness. Even when garrison colony fields could be put in order there might be no one to cultivate them, and military funds were often diverted through corruption. In order to maintain the security of transportation arteries and to resolve conflicts that arose in the process of implementing the system, civilian and military officials in the southern border region of Yongzhou Prefecture had to find alternative methods to maintain the system. They offered amnesty to mountain Yao who had originally been set in opposition to the garrisons, persuaded them to submit to the state system, and, by conferring on them military land resources, transformed them from “uncivilized subjects” (huawai zhi min) beyond the pale of civilization

38  Wu Tao to “civilized subjects” (huanei zhi min) within. These “cooked Yao” who were absorbed into the garrison took advantage of the special policy of “paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion” to secure legitimacy for their origins and their property holdings. They circulated between entering and leaving registration, occupying military land resources and enjoying tax exemptions that ordinary civilian households did not. During the early sixteenth century, the Ming state tried to directly address some of the problems of the garrison system. While continuing to maintain the basic structure that had been established at the start of the dynasty, it integrated different types of local armed forces and created the Barracks system that was staffed by multiple kinds of soldiers. The Barracks system did not rely only on the original resources of the garrisons and the civilian militia funds of the subprefectures and counties for its operations. Another important reform soon followed, namely, allocating some garrison colony lands to the shashou recruited from Yangshan, Guangdong. The incorporation of these groups took the restructuring of the practices of imperial governance in the locality a step further. Changes to the overall governing system sparked by the barracks system went further still. The garrison colony fields came to serve as a kind of mechanism through which military resources were allocated to groups that provided military service. Various types of soldiers were permitted to occupy garrison colony fields, with some colony fields even being transferred into the civilian subprefecture and county system. The draining away of state property and the watering down of its special character corresponded to the expansion of local resources and their reallocation. The “civilianization” of military colonies from the mid-​Ming began long before the total incorporation of the military colonies into the regular administrative tax and corvee system brought about by the garrison reforms at the beginning of the Qing. From this perspective, the study of Ming garrisons must not be limited to the study of the system itself. We must go beyond purely functional accounts of institutions and consider the perspective of ordinary people. On the larger level of garrison logistics and the diversification of the corps of soldiers, we should investigate changes to the garrison system and how ordinary people used these systems to create their local culture. This will certainly force us to revise our understandings of the Ming legacies for Qing institutions to include the perspective of social life.

Notes 1 See Tan Qixiang, “Shi Mingdai dusi weisuo zhidu” (On the system of military commissions and garrisons in Ming), Yugong 3.10 (1935), reprinted in Changshui ji (Renmin chubanshe 1987), vol. 1, 150–​158; Wang Yuquan, “Mingdai de juntun” (Military colonies in the Ming) in Wang Yuquan shilun ji (Historical writings of Wang Yuquan) (Zhonghua shuju 2005); Gu Cheng, Yinni de jiangtu: weisuo zhidu yu ming diguo (Hidden territory: The garrison system and the Ming empire) (Guangming ribao chubanshe 2012); Yu Zhijia (Yue Chih-​ chia), Weisuo, junhu yu junyi:  yi

Changing patterns of military recruitment  39 Ming-​Qing Jiangxi diqu wei zhongxin de yanjiu (Garrisons, military households, and military service in Jiangxi in the Ming-​Qing) (Beijing daxue chubanshe 2010); Deng Qingping, “Weisuo yu zhouxian: Ming-​Qing shiqi Yuzhou jicheng xingzheng tixi de bianqian” (Garrisons and counties:  The transformation of the local administrative system in Yu subprefecture during the Ming and Qing periods), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 80.2 (2009), 291–​331. 2 Wang Yuquan, “Mingdai de juntun,” 940. The two other main types of resources that were under the control of the military were weapons and fodder. 3 See Li Du, “Mingdai mubingzhi jianlun” (On the conscription system in the Ming dynasty) Wenshizhe, no. 2 (1986), 64–​70; Wang Li, “Mingdai yingbingzhi chutan” (Preliminary research on the Barracks system in Ming dynasty) Beijing shifan daxue xuebao, no. 2 (1991), 85–​93; Xiao Lijun, Mingdai shengzhen yingbingzhi yu difang zhixu (Local order and the Barracks system at the provincial and township levels in the Ming) (Tianjin guji chubanshe 2010). 4 Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Longqing edition), j. 11. 5 [Chinese sources dealing with different ethnic groups often make a distinction between “cooked” and “raw” groups based on the degree to which they had assimilated to Chinese customs and been incorporated into state structures. trans.] 6 Li Jifu, Yuanhe junxian tuzhi (Maps and gazetteers of the prefectures and counties of the Yuanhe reign) (reprint Zhonghua shuju 1983), j. 29, 713. 7 Wen Tianxiang, “Tixing jiezhisi yu anfusi pingkou xunhuan li” (On the suppression of bandits by the judicial and military commissioners), in Wen Tianxiang quanji (Complete works of Wen Tianxiang) (reprint Zhongguo shudian 1985), 295. 8 Gu Yanwu, Tianxia junguo libingshu (Characteristics of each province of the empire) (reprint Siku quanshu cunmu congshu, Qilu shushe 1997). 9 Guiyang zhili zhouzhi (Guiyang prefectural gazetteer) (Tongzhi edition; reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng: Hunan fuxian zhiji, vol. 32, Jiangsu guji chubanshe 2003), j. 3. 10 Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (Guangxu edition; reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng:  hunan fuxian zhiji, vol. 49, Jiangsu guji chubanshe 2002), j.48, 673. 11 “Yongzhou fu” (Yongzhou Prefecture), in DaMing yitong zhi (General gazetteer of the Great Ming) (reprint Sanqin chubanshe 1990), j. 65, 1008. 12 Taizu shilu (Veritable records of the Taizu reign), Hongwu 26 (1393), in Ming shilu (Veritable Records of the Ming), j. 229, 3354. 13 Ibid., Hongwu 28 (1395), j. 243, 3529. 14 DaMing yitong zhi, j. 65, 1008. 15 Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition), j.1, 46. 16 Ibid., j. 1, 75. 17 See Yu Zhijia, Mingdai junhu shixi zhidu (Hereditary military households in the Ming dynasty) (Xuesheng shuju 1988), 79, 98, 100, 107; Zhang Jinkui, Mingdai weisuo junhu yanjiu (Studies on military households in Ming garrisons) (Xianzhuang shuju 2007), 348–​358. 18 “Jinyue qingjun guanyuan buxu rongling guanshu baixing touxie wence xunsi zuobi li” (Conscription officials are not permitted to allow civilians to cause problems by compiling their own registers), Huangming tiaofa shilei zuan (Substatutes of the Great Ming, arranged by category), (reprint Zhongguo zhenxi falü dianji jicheng, series 2, vol. 5, Kexue chubanshe 1994), j. 27, 63–​65.

40  Wu Tao 19 Guangxi tongzhi (General gazetteer of Guangxi) (Jiajing edition, reprint Beijing tushuguan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 41, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1998), j. 31, 388. 20 Ibid., 390. 21 Wang Yuquan, “Mingdai de juntun,” 1026. 22 Yongzhou fuzhi (Longqing edition), j. 11, 696. 23 Shou Desheng and He Kexun, eds., Fuling tongji (1841), manuscript, 30; Qianlong wushier nian suici ding wei siyue Tian Taiyun miaolu zupu (Genealogy copied by Tian Taiyun in 1787), 15. 24 Yongzhou Fuzhi (Longqing edition), j. 11, 692. 25 Fuchuan xianzhi (Fuchuan county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition), j. 1, 33. 26 Untitled inscription (late Ming), located in Gudiao primary school, Gudiao village, Cushijiang Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. 27 See “Yaomu Wanli ernian shibei guji” (Old record on stone of Yao affairs, dated 1574), inscription in Xinhe village, Xiling Township, Gongcheng County, Guangxi Zhuang autonomous region; Fuchuan xianzhi (Fuchuan county gazetteer) (Wanli edition), 1: 8–​9; Li Mo, “Niupo Dongsu Yao bei de faxian dui yanjiu Yaozushi de zhongyao yiyi” (The significance of the discovery of the Niupo Dongsu Yao inscription for the study of Yao history), Guangdong shehui kexue, no. 4 (1987), 95–​102. 28 Fuling tongji. 29 Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (1709), j. 5, 455. 30 Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Daoguang edition; reprint Huxiang wenku, Yuelu shushe 2008), j.7, 486. 31 Fuling tongji, 21. 32 “Shipai zongzhi,” (Genealogical charts) in Qianlong wushier nian suici ding wei siyue Tian Taiyun miaolu zupu, 2. This was very different from the civilian militias on the northern frontier and the “wolf ” soldiers (langbing) of Guangxi described by Wang Yuquan, which were also incorporated into the garrison system but exempt from grain tax. For further information, see Wang Yuquan, “Mingdai de juntun,” 1052; Wu Tao, “Xiansuo liangxiang baona: Hunan Yongming xian ‘sida minYao’ de shengcun celue.” (Paying taxes to both the county and the Battalion: The survival strategies of the “four major branches of civilian Yao” in Yongming County, Hunan), Lishi yanjiu, no. 5 (2014), 61–​78. 33 “Shipai zongzhi,” (Genealogical charts), in Qianlong wushier nian suici ding wei siyue Tian Taiyun miaolu zupu, 2. 34 This bifurcated tax system did not necessarily apply specifically or only to Yao people. The mid-​sixteenth-​century edition of the Yongzhou gazetteer compares the Ming mode of dealing with the Yao with that of the Song: “Those who today are referred to as ‘good Yao’, and obey the orders of the government officials, are the same as those who in Song would have been called ‘cooked households or proximate Yao’ (shuhu jinYao).” (Yongzhou fuzhi (Longqing edition), j.  17, 734.) What “obeying the orders of government officials” meant in Ming was very different from the Song practice of dealing with the Yao by registering them as a special category of households. But after thoroughly examining various kinds of documents transmitted across generations, in the garrison system dominated by hereditary military households, I  have found no evidence of a distinctive “Yao registration” category in the Ming. The distinction must be understood in the context of the garrison system, which had not existed in Song.

Changing patterns of military recruitment  41 35 Untitled inscription, (late Ming), located in Gudiao primary school, Gudiao village, Cushijiang Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. 36 Fuling tongji, 30. 37 Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Riben cang zhongguo hanjian difangzhi congkan, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1992), j. 14. 38 Yongzhou fuzhi (Longqing edition), j. 11. 39 Ibid., j. 11. 40 Ibid., j. 11. 41 Yongzhou fuzhi (Daoguang edition), j.8, p. 523. 42 Yongzhou fuzhi (Kangxi edition), j. 14. 43 “Xiongfu Yanggong miao ji” (Record of the Yanggong temple) (1623), inscription located in Banyueyan, Yansiying village, Taochuan Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. 44 Yangshan xianzhi (Yangshan county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition), j. 18. 45 Hunan Yongzhou fu Yongming xian shiba du Liangshi zupu (Genealogy of the Liang surname of sector 18, Yongming County, Yongzhou Prefecture, Hunan), 1. 46 Zhang xing zupu (Zhang surname genealogy), 8. 47 Lushi zupu: qizhong fang (Lu surname genealogy: Qizhong branch) (1980), 1. 48 Tang Ling, Yongzhou nanbu tuhua yuyin yanjiu (Research on local dialects in southern Yongzhou) (Beijing yuyan daxue chubanshe 2010), 6. 49 Fengshi jiapu (Feng surname genealogy), manuscript. 50 Yongzhou fuzhi (Longqing edition), j. 11. 51 “Yongming xian shijin bei” (Stele of prohibitions for Yongming County), (1623), located in Gudiao primary school, Gudiao village, Cushijiang Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. 52 Yongzhou fuzhi (Longqing edition), j. 11, 695. 53 Ibid., j. 11, 693. 54 Fuling tongji, 31. 55 Wang Yuquan, “Mingdai de juntun,” 1001. 56 Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (Daoguang edition), j. 5, 24. 57 Fuling tongji, 39. 58 The original local term for Fuling central basin is “Fuling yuan.” In the local dialect, “yuan” refers to arable land located in a mountain basin.

3  Military colonies and localization in Yongchun, Fujian Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman

Most of the soldiers serving in the Ming garrison system did not perform what we usually think of as military duties. Some 70–​80% of the total force fulfilled their obligations to the Ming state by cultivating military colony lands, retaining part of the harvest to support themselves and handing the rest over to the garrison in which they were registered, to provide rations for those soldiers who did perform military duties. The situation in the military colonies thus directly impacted the operation of the overall garrison system. Moreover, the military colonies consisted of huge amounts of land that were widely dispersed. So the colonies could also have a profound impact on the communities in which they were embedded. Previous scholarship on the Ming military colony system has mostly focused on the evolution of the system over time and on evaluating its strengths and weaknesses. Much less attention has been paid to the significance of the system for social and economic history. The scholarly consensus can be summarized as follows. In the early Ming, colony soldiers bore an especially heavy tax burden, which led to high levels of desertion followed by encroachment and appropriation of abandoned colony fields by officers and local magnates. Policy reforms in the mid-​Ming reduced the tax burden on military colony soldiers, resurveyed the remaining colony fields, and ordered family members of soldiers, known as supernumeraries (junyu), to take over cultivation of some abandoned fields. These reforms stabilized the system. In late Ming, civilian administrative units took over tax collection functions from the garrisons, effectively “civilianizing” the military colonies. Overall, the colony system is usually seen as a failure, for it did not meet its own objectives: a self-​sufficient military and reliable logistical supply.1 Recent research has demonstrated that the tax on military colony fields constituted a significant proportion of local total tax revenues in Ming and after. In some places, many of the leading lineages in local society in Ming and Qing were originally families of military colony soldiers.2 This suggests that even if the system may have been a failure from a military perspective, it nonetheless had profound consequences for local society. What were these consequences? How did military colony soldiers become integrated into local society such that they could become its leading families?

Military colonies and localization  43 From 2013 to 2016 we conducted fieldwork in Yongchun County, Fujian, collecting a considerable body of material including genealogies of military colony lineages and other local documents.3 This chapter uses these documents to explore the history of the military colony system in Yongchun. We discuss how lineages of military colony soldiers came to be registered with and pay taxes to the local civilian authorities, the details of their marriage networks, and their participation in local public affairs, in order to explore the process of localization or reterritorialization of military colony soldiers.

The military colonies of Yongchun and their soldiers Yongchun County, located in mountainous central Fujian, was first established as a county in the tenth century, and by the Song-​Yuan period the standard sub-​county administration was in place. But in the early Ming much of its arable land had gone fallow and the registered population had decreased considerably. Yongchun was said to have become a place “where tigers roamed.” This was the context in which military colonies were established in Yongchun in the early Ming. The sixteenth-​century gazetteer of the county records: In 1391, the registered lands of Yongchun amounted to 2,437 qing [almost 16,000 hectares]. By 1412, the amount had shrunk to 860 qing, largely due to the decline in registered population. Households were extinguished; fields went fallow. The court ordered soldiers to replace [the original farmers] to cultivate the land and pay tax. This was the origin of the military colonies.4 The military colonies of Yongchun County were first established in 1404. A total of twenty-​four colonies was created, manned by soldiers from Fuzhou Left and Right Guards and Xinghua Guard. Each “colony” consisted of a Company of one hundred soldiers, led by a Company commander (baihu) and other lower ranked officers. According to early Ming regulations, each colonist was assigned 30 mu, so each colony should in theory consist of 3,000 mu of arable land. In practice, colonies rarely held this much land. In the early Ming, a gazetteer reports, the total holdings of the twenty-​four colonies in Yongchun amounted to 70,804 mu. “The total levied surplus tax was 16,480 bushels (dan).”5 The surplus tax here refers to the portion of the harvest that each colonist was required to submit to the authorities for transmission to the Guards. It was initially set at twelve bushels per soldier, and was later reduced to six bushels. According to the gazetteer, there were 2,760 colonists in the early Ming, so the surplus tax levy should have amounted to roughly 33,000 bushels before the reduction, and 18,000 after. The figure given in the gazetteer clearly refers to the amount levied after the reduction in the surplus tax. In the mid-​fifteenth century, an uprising led by Deng Maoqi erupted on the upper reaches of the Minjiang river. Meanwhile, pirate incursions along the coast threatened the provincial capital of Fuzhou. To defend Fuzhou,

44  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman

Map 3.1 Yongchun, with Ming sectors

the authorities transferred colonists back to their original Guards to fulfill military functions. This caused massive disruption in the Yongchun colonies. “The fields went fallow or were seized by civilians, and the amount remaining shrank continuously.”6 After order was restored in the late fifteenth century reforms were implemented in the hope of restoring the lost colony lands and securing tax revenues. According to the gazetteer: In the Chenghua period (1465–​1487) officials were despatched to inspect and resolve the situation. They first eliminated land that had been lost [from the registers] and clarified what actually remained. This was distributed to cultivators, in order to ensure that the tax could be collected. This led to the creation of various categories such as “actual cultivator” (zhengzhong), “replacement cultivator” (tiezhong), “group cultivator [i.e. multiple households assigned to a single colony plot]” (pengzhong), “assembled cultivator [i.e. a single cultivator assigned to dispersed fields]” (pindazhong). Three to five soldiers were ordered to combine into a single military [registration]. So the number [of soldiers] was reduced. A colony might have only forty registered soldiers, or even as few as twenty. In the Hongzhi period (1488–​1505), Supervising Secretary Ni was despatched to inspect and address the situation. Hoping to restore the original [land] figures, he seized civilian lands, [causing such dissatisfaction] that unrest broke out. To fulfill his mission, he registered land as if it was previously concealed land he had discovered, and then demanded the

Military colonies and localization  45 original payments that would have been due. This made it very difficult for the colonists to fulfill their tax obligations. They were in a bad way. Censor Luo then memorialized that the colonists should be permitted to pay tax at the old rate.7 The core of the first phase of reforms was to ensure that each colonist had access to their allotted quota of colony fields, in order that they could fulfill their tax obligations. Where the allotment was inadequate a number of solutions were possible. Multiple colonists might be combined into a single composite registered household, with shared responsibility for a single tax payment on a single allotment. As a result the nominal number of registered households declined considerably, and the actual tax liability on each colonist was also reduced. The second phase of the reforms was aimed at returning tax payments to their original level. Large amounts of colony lands that had been concealed or lost were recovered. In the process, much civilian land was also expropriated, leading to great dissatisfaction. Later, land that had been distributed to soldiers in the previous wave of reforms was reclassified as colony fields that had been lost or concealed. The original tax levy on these fields was then reimposed, creating great difficulty for the colonists. The Hongzhi-​era reforms were in fact a repudiation of the earlier reforms, which is precisely why they failed. Censor Luo’s intervention led to the elimination of these excessive levies. “Pay[ing] taxes at the old rate” actually meant restoring the tax levies to the amounts of the earlier, Chenghua-​era reforms. According to the late sixteenth-​century gazetteer of Quanzhou, the Censor’s name was Rao, not Luo, and he only suspended the excessive levies rather than eliminating them entirely. Only later did a third official memorialize their final elimination. The gazetteer continues that due to large scale desertion by colonists earlier in the century, a certain official “permitted people to apply to tenant the colony fields, but there was opposition.”8 Colony lands nominally belonged to the state. That colony land could legally only be cultivated by registered colony soldier households and could not be transferred to others was a core principle of the Ming. So the official’s proposal that civilians be allowed to cultivate the lands naturally generated some criticism. From the mid-​fifteenth century onward, large numbers of colonists were combined into composite households, which inevitably meant that the total number of registered households fell considerably. By the early sixteenth century, there were only fifty-​nine “officers and soldiers present in the colonies.” Of these, twenty-​six belonged to the nine colonies assigned originally to Fuzhou Left Guard; twenty-​three to the five colonies of Fuzhou Right Guard, and ten to the ten colonies of Xinghua Guard. According to the registration records, in six of the colonies there were no soldiers at all. This might suggest that by this time the military colony system in Yongchun had completely collapsed. But in fact, the term “officers and soldiers present in the colony” by this time referred not to individuals but rather to the corporate lineages that had developed out of the descendants of the original soldiers.

46  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman Aside from the nominal serving soldier, each lineage would also have had many, perhaps very many, supernumeraries. (Of course, as we shall see below, some of these supernumeraries might already have registered with the civilian authorities and therefore left the colony administrative system.) Beginning in the mid-​Ming, various reforms were proposed to redress the shortfall in colony soldiers. These included “assigning supernumeraries in the garrison and the colony to farm” and “assigning already-​serving soldiers [to the colony fields] to collect the rent [from the tenants] and pay tax.” In addition, groups of colonists were combined together into a single unit and a single colony allotment cobbled together from different fields.9 This had the effect of increasing the number of military households that were assigned to colony allotments. Though the Guards would eventually be abolished, in the early Qing the military colony fields continued to be treated as a distinctive category in the county tax system, and colony soldiers were still responsible for meeting the tax and corvee obligations on that land. By the early Qing, the number of colonists assigned to the various colonies had been restored to roughly 40% of the original quota, with 517 colonists from Fuzhou Left Guard, 285 from Fuzhou Right, and 220 from Xinghua. This enabled local officials to more effectively control colony lands and collect colony taxes according to fixed amounts as they had in the past. In 1582, colony lands were again re-​surveyed, and “the lands that had been lost were restored.” By the mid-​eighteenth century, registered colony fields amounted to 38,000 mu, bearing a tax burden of 7,402 bushels of tax grain. This made up a substantial part of the county’s total tax revenues. In the early Ming the colony tax had been approximately 2 dou (0.2 bushels) per mu, while the tax obligation on civilian-​registered land was 3 sheng (0.03 bushels) per mu. Obviously the tax on colony lands was much higher, and this was one reason for the high level of desertion and disappearance by colony soldiers. In 1445, tax on colony lands was commuted to silver at the rate of 0.25 taels of silver per bushel. In 1495, this policy was extended across the province. The tax revenue, now in the form of silver, was “despatched to the capital to meet military needs on the frontiers.”10 The process of commutation and the rate at which the tax was commuted varied considerably in Yongchun. According to a sixteenth-​century gazetteer of Quanzhou, in fourteen of the colonies of Fuzhou Left and Right Guard, “the tax is collected directly by Yongchun County. The grain tax amounts to 3,845 bushels commuted at the rate of 0.268 taels per bushel. The county remits this to Fuzhou Prefecture to transfer to the military command.” For the ten colonies of Xinghua Guard, Yongchun County collects 411 bushels in grain tax, commuted at the rate of 0.53 taels per bushel, as well as 298 bushels of previously commuted grain tax commuted at the rate of 0.255 taels per bushel. This is despatched to Xinghua Prefecture.11

Military colonies and localization  47 The rate of commutation for some of the Xinghua grain tax was almost double that of Fuzhou, possibly because the commutation of the tax obligation took place at different times. In the late sixteenth century, the land was resurveyed in order to reduce the burden on the Xinghua colonies. “Magistrate Xu Jianshan received permission from his superiors to collect the tax in silver for colony lands recovered in excess of the original amount.”12 The new commutation rate for this tax was even lower than that for Fuzhou. Besides the grain tax, colony soldiers were responsible for various forms of corvee labor both in the Guard and in the colony, including transporting the grain tax and maintaining the walls of the Guards. These labor duties too were gradually converted to monetary obligations. By the time of the “Equalization of Labor” reforms of the Zhengde reign period (1505–​1521), these obligations had been completely monetized.13 The overall scope of these obligations in Yongchun in the Ming is not fully clear, but the evidence from Qing records suggests they were not too burdensome. For example, Fuzhou Left Guard’s tax quota was 3,161 bushels, with responsibility to provide 517 units of labor, converted to a total obligation of 119 taels. For Fuzhou Right Guard, the corresponding figures are 1,776 bushels, 285 units of labor, and 67 taels; for Xinghua 2,465, 220, and 50. If the average tax liability per colonist was the equivalent of 6 bushels of grain tax, and the labor surcharge was 0.04 taels per bushel, this means that each colonist probably had to pay 0.24 taels in labor service charges, amounting to about 15% of the grain tax obligation. In the Qing, the standard tax rate on ordinary civilian lands was 0.053 bushels/​mu; rates on colony lands ranged from more than double to almost four times that figure. But since the corvee labor obligations on colony lands were lower than on civilian lands, the overall tax burden was probably similar for the two types of land. According to the eighteenth-​century gazetteer of Yongchun, when corvee obligations were recalculated as a surcharge on the land tax, the total surcharge was 1.16 taels per original bushel of tax obligation. At a tax rate of roughly 0.05 bushels/​mu, one bushel was roughly equivalent to the tax on 20 mu of land. So the 1.16 tael surcharge amounted to only 0.06 taels per mu. The labor surcharges on Yongchun colony fields in Qing varied. For the Fuzhou Guards, the surcharge on previously registered fields was 0.28 taels per bushel, for newly reclaimed fields 0.25. For Xinghua the corresponding figures were 0.5 and 0.25. There was also an additional labor surcharge of approximately 0.04 taels per bushel of tax obligation. At a rate of roughly 0.2 bushels/​mu, one bushel would be roughly the tax on 5 mu of land. Thus the labor surcharge amounted to between 0.06 and 0.11 taels per mu.14 This means that aside from the colony lands that had originally belonged to Xinghua Guard, the overall tax rates for military and civilian land in Qing Yongchun were basically similar. Unlike in the Ming when tax rates for colony lands were much higher and therefore more likely to be evaded, the tax rates for civilian and colony lands were now roughly equivalent. As such, the

48  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman incentives to evade tax were now much lower, and thus the situation of military colony lands after the Ming became more stable.

Colony lineages “enter lijia registration” Soldiers from Fuzhou Left Guard and Xinghua Guard settled in the Dapu, Dali, Dongping, and Dongguan districts of Yongchun. From fieldwork in these places, we have learned that a number of the military household lineages that first migrated to the region in the early Ming are among the most prominent local lineages even today. The genealogies of these lineages, which were originally registered as military colonists, often include records describing how the ancestors “entered into [civilian] registration and [began to] pay [civilian] tax (ruji shouchan).” This refers to the lineage establishing a registration in the civilian lijia registration system and thereby acquiring legitimate ownership of ordinary civilian registered lands, which as military households they could not have held legitimately or securely. These records are thus an important marker of the localization of these lineages. The Taiping Li The founding ancestor of the Taiping Li, Li Bin, is said to have been a native of Chengdu in Sichuan. In 1384 he came to Fuzhou to replace his brother in the position of banner head (zongqi) of Fuzhou Right Guard, Front Company. In 1403, he was transferred to Fuzhou Left Guard, and sent to Yongchun as general colony officer (zongtun) to reclaim lands for cultivation. “He first settled at Dianshang in sector 15, then moved to Bixi, Chenban, Dalaitou, and Linkou.” After he died, the second of his four sons, Xiong, replaced him in the hereditary position as general colony officer. “He moved from Dalaitou and settled at Taiping, where he built two residences, established 40 mu of sacrifical fields, and constructed the Kunlun stockade for the defense of the community.” Bin’s third son, Fu, “moved from Dalaitou and settled at Chenban, Caicun, and Yangtou, and built two structures there.” The Li lineage who live today at Taiping are descended from Li Xiong and Li Fu. Li Bin’s other two sons left no descendants.15 Li Xiong’s son Li An was the first Li to enter into civilian registration. “He took over the position of general colony officer, built a dwelling below the hillside, purchased lands from civilians that could be rented out, and in 1472 became attached (fuji) to the civilian registration in the 8th jia.”16 In other words, in order to register the civilian lands he had acquired, Li An registered under the lijia system. In the Ming tax system, military households were permitted to “attach” (fuji) their registration to the local authorities in order to pay land tax, but were not required to fulfill corvee duties associated with the lijia system.17 This meant that they were only partially integrated into local society. In the late fifteenth century the Li family formally entered the lijia

Military colonies and localization  49 system. According to the gazetteer, when Li An’s younger brother Li Zhen took over the position of zongtun, he built a dwelling at Yangzhong; later he expanded it by two halls to the west. He purchased 400 mu of civilian land, and in 1495 became head of the 4th jia. The Li’s civilian registration began from this time.18 Besides the fact that they had purchased substantial amounts of civilian lands, the main reason why the Li family acquired a lijia registration was the rapid growth of the population of the lineage. From four members in the second generation their numbers grew to eight in the third generation and twenty-​three in the fourth. According to Ming tax regulations, military households were not permitted to divide. Though only a single person in each generation served as the “serving soldier,” his remaining kin, known as supernumeraries, were not permitted to establish their own households. According to the Yongchun gazetteer: The colony of Front Company Commander Sun Fu is in sectors 15, 16, 17, at the place locally known as Front Garden Colony … At present there are four [colony soldiers] present … [One of them is] Li Xiong, [whose currently serving descendant] is Li Qi.19 According to the genealogy, Li Qi was the fourth generation descendant of the lineage, and served in the hereditary position in the early seventeenth century. This is why he is recorded in the gazetteer; of his male relatives there is no record. The Li probably thought it necessary to enter the lijia registration system to ensure they had sufficient space to survive and grow. According to the genealogy, the initial registration was the work of another member of the fourth generation, Li Zhao. Li Zhao was Li An’s adoptive son. His nature was filial and friendly. Observing his father fulfilling his duties in the colony, he persevered in finding a way to ensure the obligations were met. He urged his father to establish a civilian household in order that they could be included in the civilian registration. His father was pleased and said: “I am in straightened circumstances, and have this son to rely on. If this son had not given me this guidance, I would never have woken up.”20 As an adopted son, Li Zhao was presumably not eligible to take over the hereditary military position. This may be why he advocated changing their registration. His suggestion opened up new possibilities for the development of the family. In the late fifteenth-​ century, because large numbers of lijia-​registered households had disappeared, the authorities in Fujian sought ways to stabilize

50  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman tax revenue. The existing li headmen were allowed to find taxpayers to serve as heads of the subordinate units themselves. The state no longer sought to monitor each lijia corvee unit. By taking on responsibility for the payment of tax, li heads essentially earned the right to assign subordinate positions and thereby distribute the tax burden themselves. Once the Li family had formally entered the lijia system, they began to acquire lands, to prepare their members for the examination system, and to build the lineage. Li Qing of the fourth generation took over the position of general colony officer. He was steady and resolute in his dealings with others, and excelled at management … He established more than 800 mu of fields, built two dwellings and a shop at Xikou in Dongguan; two premises at Kengwei bridge, and two premises in front of the ancestral home at Yangzhong. He set aside rental income amounting to 100 bushels to support the expenses of relatives taking the exams, and established a sacrificial estate with an income of 50 bushels. Li Qin, another member of the fourth generation “expanded the rental properties by over 500 bushels, and established a sacrificial estate with an income of 40 bushels.” Li Zhe of the fifth generation “expanded the civilian and military fields by more than 1,000 mu, and established a sacrificial estate with an income of 100 bushels.”21 In the Hongzhi period (1487–​1505), fourth generation member Li Yu became the first lineage member to pass the exams and become a county student; in 1583 both Li Kaifang and Li Kaizao passed the highest level examinations and became jinshi. Also in the Wanli period (1572–​ 1620), the Li built a temple and an ancestral hall, becoming one of the leading hereditary lineages of the locality. The Dapu Lin The founding ancestor of the Dapu Lin was Lin An, who was reportedly originally from Tongan County. In 1388 he was conscripted into military service and assigned to Yongning Guard near Quanzhou. In 1395 he was transferred to the Rear Company of Xinghua Guard. After his death he was replaced by his son Lin Weizai. In 1403, Lin Weizai was despatched with Company Commander Luo Bian and Squad Commander Bai Zhi to serve in the military colonies of Yongchun. The Qing edition of the Lin genealogy states that, “according to the military service record, Lin Weizai took his sons Lin Chimao, Lin Puji, Lin Guan, etc., received an allotment of military colony fields, and cultivated lands as a military colonist at Taoyuan, located in sector 9/​10.” This makes Lin Weizai the founding ancestor of the Lin of Dapu. The Ming gazetteer refers to him as the “Ancestral Soldier (zujun),” that is, the first ancestor of the lineage to have been registered as a military household. Since Ming times the Lin of Dapu have been divided into two main branches, Hongbu and Lingbian. The two branches have contradictory accounts of their

Military colonies and localization  51 origins. The Hongbu Lin say that Lin Weizai had three sons, Chimao, Puji, and Guan, and that they are the lineal descendants of Chimao. They believe that Fosun, the founding ancestor of the Lin of Lingbian, must be descended from one of Weizai’s other sons, Puji or Guan. The Lingbian Lin trace the genealogy differently –​they believe that Puji, Guan, and Chimao, also known as Fosheng, were not brothers but successive descendants of Weizai, with Puji being the third generation descendant; Guan the fourth, and Chimao the fifth. Chimao’s sons were Cong, Fa, Meilu, and Lesi. The Lingbian Lin claim to be descended from sixth-​generation Lesi (and are therefore also the lineal descendants of Chimao). The difference in the two branches’ understandings of their genealogical relationship actually has to do with Ming policies on assigning replacements for colony allotments. That is, it is the institution governing the transfer of responsibility over colony fields that has created this ambiguity in the genealogy The Lingbian genealogy includes a text entitled “Document of division of lands” between their lineal ancestor Fosun, son of Lesi, and “the uncles” of Hongbu. The document divides the colony allotments for which the Lin have taken responsibility among the four main branches, and establishes that responsibility for corvee labor and meeting the needs of visiting officials will rotate through the branches. According to the text, three of the brothers had previously divided the estate in 1510. Ten years later, Fosun, a nephew who had left the community long ago, returned and demanded his share of the family estate. The listing of the plots of land suggests that by this time the Lin had already taken over responsibility for at least three separate allotments of colony fields, the original allotment registered under the name Lin An, and two additional allotments originally registered to other military households. According to Ming regulations, “when taking over the fields of a deceased soldier, an individual is only permitted to take over one allotment; a household is permitted to take over two allotments; any other allotments must be withdrawn.”22 In practice, when military households took over allotments, three supernumeraries were allowed to take over the allotment of a single serving soldier. Lin Cong was registered as the current serving soldier, so his two brothers and his nephew Lin Fosun must have been supernumeraries under his name. This is why they were allowed to take over the two additional allotments. The scribe who wrote the agreement, Ma Ciyi, was a minor official responsible for colony affairs. The phrase “This contract has been officially verified” shows that this agreement had been officially recognized, and therefore had legal force.23 Already in the Qing, the Lin of Hongbu were expressing doubts about whether Lin Fosun was really Lin Cong’s nephew. A genealogical text from the Kangxi era reports:  “The Lin of Lingbian served under our ancestor in the military when he came to Yongchun; though they share our surname they do not in fact belong to our branch.”24 That is, the ancestor of the Lingbian military household was not a member of the Hongbu Lin lineage. In that case, why would Lin Cong have recognized Lin Fosun as his nephew?

52  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman This must have been in order to meet the criteria for taking over the allotment of a deceased soldier. It was said that Fosun came back from Yongning with the intention of taking over a colony allotment because Lin Cong had gone looking for him. According to the Lingbian Lin records, while still a child Lin Fosun had followed his widowed mother when she remarried into another lineage; his stepfather belonged to a military household assigned to Yongning Guard. So for him to be entitled to take over an allotment that belonged to Xinghua Guard, he needed to first reaffirm his actual ancestry, which would qualify him to receive the land as a supernumerary of the Lin. This kind of recognition of ancestry shaped by the needs of the system of transferring military colony allotments is probably what led to the contradictions in the genealogical charts. From the mid-​Ming onwards, the Lin tried not only to take over the colony allotments of deceased soldiers but also to appropriate civilian lands. Like the Li, they too therefore sought to obtain a lijia registration. The Hongbu genealogy records: “In 1522, Cong purchased the registration of the Ma surname in the jia of Chen Fu, registering for corvee duties under the name Lin An, and registering the land for the payment of tax.”25 The Lins’ registration had originally been in the name of a family surnamed Ma; the Ma were themselves a colony family, so the transfer of the registration was quite a complex matter, and led to a lawsuit between the Ma and the Lin. A later text reveals that the Ma had previously used their position as low-​ ranking colony officials to obtain a civilian lijia registration in the locality. The Lin purchased the Mas’ fields and building plots, which led them to be registered in the civilian system in 1522. At that time, the Ma retained their lijia registration, and the Lin were simply attached to the Ma registration. Ten years later the Lin took advantage of the recompilation of the population registers to establish their own household registration under the name Lin An, substituting this registration for the original registration of the Ma.26 The Lingbian Lin probably did not initially fall under the lijia registration established by Lin Cong. In the late sixteenth century they established a lijia headship of their own under Lin Yuanying, Fosun’s great-​grandson. He worried that our line had not yet established a household for the fulfillment of corvee duties, so he requested that Gentleman Wenzhi should spend two hundred taels of silver to purchase the position of head of lijia unit 8; his contribution is indeed great. The Gentleman Wenzhi referred to here is Lin Cunyi, great grandson of Lin Cong. The Hongbu genealogy does not give a detailed account of this matter, but Lin Cunyi’s biography includes the phrase:  “He exerted himself in the matter of the military equalization tax and arranged for us to be included in the list of taxpaying [households].” The Lingbian genealogy has the following record for Lin Yuanying’s eldest son Zhenxian: “After his father had purchased

Military colonies and localization  53 the position of li headman, the right to this post was [later] sold off by an immoral kinsman. He exerted himself and brought a lawsuit, and was able to recover it.”27 This indicates that a member of the Lin family may have sold off the lijia household registration that had been collectively purchased, and the Lingbian Lin reacquired it. As a result, the registration came to belong to the Lingbian Lin, and the Hongbu branch no longer had any claim on it. After the Hongbu and Lingbian Lin were registered the lijia system, they began to prepare their members to participate in the examinations and to undertake other lineage-​building activities. They gradually became one of the leading lineages of the region. Lin Cong’s great-​grandson Lin Chun “admired scholarship, and hired a teacher to instruct his third son Weikui. He provided a full salary and plentiful meals; he treated [the teacher] with great courtesy.”28 Weikui was a gifted student, “he participated in composition competitions and won fame; in the minor examinations [his answers] were always renowned in the region,” but he failed to win a degree. Weikui’s fourth son, Lin Da, was highly regarded for his scholarship. “Magistrate Luo Nianan appreciated him most of all.”29 After several generations of exertion, the Hongbu Lin produced their first xiucai. At roughly the same time, they first constructed an ancestral hall and compiled a genealogy. They thus came to have the attributes of a true neo-​Confucian lineage. The Hongbu ancestral shrine was known as the Double Cassia Hall. Construction began in 1520. It was on the site of the residence of the first ancestor. Later in the sixteenth century, Lin Chun of the senior branch and brothers Lin Cunxing and Cunyi of the second branch converted the former residence into a dedicated shrine. Because the third branch had by that time already disappeared, the expenses of the construction were divided between the senior and second branch. A genealogy was first compiled in the early seventeenth century under the leadership of Lin Cunyi. An affine named Chen was asked to assist with the compilation of the genealogy; he tried to come up with a single genealogy that included both the Hongbu and Lingbian branches but could not reconcile the contradictions, and his efforts were viewed with suspicion by later generations. An essay composed in the Kangxi era (1661–​1722) records: “According to the genealogy compiled by Mr. Chen, Puji was the third generation ancestor and Lin Guan the fourth. He incorrectly treated the two brothers as if they were father and son.”30 Though the Hongbu Lin did not accept this version of the genealogy, the Lingbian Lin have transmitted it, so that up to the present day the two groups do not share a consistent genealogy. Beginning with Lin Yuanying (1564–​1621), the Lingbian Lin flourished and produced successive generations of degree holders. Yuanying “hired teachers to instruct his sons, who passed the xiucai examinations while still young; but his ambitions [for them] were even greater.”31 His son Zhenxian was a county student; his grandson Keyuan a prefectural student. Keyuan made major contributions to the lineage, raising funds for a school called the Yanfeng Academy, and bribing a clerk to have the academy’s property “entered in the registers under Lin Zhen.”32 This occurred in the early Qing, enabling the Lin

54  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman to gain control over the school. The Lingbian Lin also engaged in other forms of lineage construction in the late Ming, including the construction of an ancestral shrine and rebuilding the ancestral tombs.33 The Tang of Dali Fosun, the first generation ancestor of the Tang of Dali, was said to be a native of Nanjing. “In 1376 he was ordered to serve as a colony soldier, and transferred from Nanjing to Longjiang in Fuzhou. In 1414 he was transferred to sector 9/​10 of Yongchun.”34 The date of the transfer, 1414, accords with neither the late Ming county gazetteer nor other genealogical accounts, and is probably an error for 1404. The Tang had a single member in the second generation, and four members of the third generation, after which the lineage divided into four branches. But the Tang did not flourish in the Ming. They were repeatedly transferred to other colonies or back to the garrison for military duty, and were never entered into the local lijia system. In the mid-​fifteenth century, Xuanzhen, the sole member of the second generation, was forced to leave the colony as a result of the Deng Maoqi rebellion. When his descendants returned, they found that their lands and residences were gone, seized by local civilians. So they had no choice but to reclaim wasteland in the area. This generated conflict and lawsuits with local civilians. The lineage continued to grow and by the late Ming numbered over one hundred members. But the Tang did not become registered in the lijia system until the early Qing. Tension between civilians and military colonists may be the reason for this. This tension would have led to the maintenance of clear distinctions between the two registration systems, and this might have made it difficult for the Tang to be registered in the civilian lijia system. Tensions continued. In the Wanli period, a new land survey of both civilian and colony lands was conducted. The results were recorded in the Yellow Registers and the Colony Registers respectively. The shape and size of the plots of land were all recorded, which meant that the various records could be cross-​referenced, making it more difficult to take advantage of the situation. On the basis of these records, civilian landholdings fell under the administration of the lijia heads and colony landholdings under the colony heads, known as tunjia, with each responsible for collecting and transmitting the appropriate taxes and corvee levies. This system persisted to the Qing. Under this system of divided administration, the Tang could have made use of “attached registration” (fuji) or “being entered into the registers” (ruji) to acquire civilian lands and take responsibility for the taxes associated with those lands.35 That they did not shows that the Tang either did not need to or were unable to enter the civilian registration system. In the early Qing, the garrison, colony, and lijia systems were all significantly reformed. The Tang repeatedly relocated, purchased civilian lands, acquired lijia registration, and gradually entered the local civilian registration system:

Military colonies and localization  55 In 1650, the colony was restored to the Guard. Guard officials transferred the tax to the county. The Ninth Colony established a “Public Office” (gongguan), located in the ancestral residence of the Zou of Taiping. In 1667, the position of Guard official was eliminated; the tax continued to be paid to the county. In 1680, the Guard imposed a head tax; the quota of fiscal males assigned to the Ninth Colony was 434, yielding a tax obligation of 119 taels. Our ancestor, reflecting that Caishan was remote, moved to Yangtou, purchased civilian lands, established a shrine and acquired a household registration under the name of Tang Jiyu, under the household of Wu Xing in this sector. Subsequently, by order of the governor-general this registration was cancelled. In 1691, Chaoji, Chaozhi … and others agreed that they should purchase [a registration] in the 5th jia, sector 8, and pay taxes together with [the household registered under the name] Yan Wang. The name was first registered as Tang Guijun, and later changed to Tang Feng. This was a plan intended to enable the descendants to acquire property and flourish. Our ancestors were first civilians, then became soldiers, then from soldiers became civilians again. To be registered as both soldiers and as civilians makes sense; there is benefit to be obtained from both.36 This “Public Office” that was set up by the colonists in response to changes in the tax system subsequently became a ritual site where the collective ancestors of the various lineages received sacrifice; the participants were known as the “Brothers of the Ninth Colony.” This was thus an alliance of military colony lineages. When a new head tax was imposed in 1680, the Tang must have begun to think about improving their situation. They moved from Caishan to nearby Yangtou, established themselves there and acquired a civilian registration by affiliating with the lijia headship of the Wu family. But this practice of affiliating with a lineage of a different surname was later forbidden. Lineages were required to obtain their own registration. So in 1691, in the interest of securing the further development of the lineage in the future, they collectively purchased their own household registration together with the Yan. Since the registration was in the name of the Tang, they must have been in the lead. The concluding comment in the genealogy suggests that in the end they retained both colony and civilian registration, and that this was to their benefit. Of course, compared to other Yongchun colony lineages, it took the Tang much longer to acquire this status, so the consequences for the overall development of the lineage are less evident.

Marriage networks of colony lineages The military colonists of Yongchun had a distinctive marriage pattern. Military colony lineages typically did not intermarry with one another. Rather they did their best to intermarry with the local people. The “Brothers of the Ninth Colony” from Fuzhou Left Guard explicitly forbade intermarriage

56  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman among military households:  “Men and women of the same generation [among the association] are seen as siblings, so they may not intermarry. This upholds [Confucian] teaching and shows respect for norms.” This rule is said to have begun in the early Ming, because the lineages that made up the colony formed a “bond-​brotherhood.”37 But there must have been over a thousand military colonists even in the early Ming; it would have been impossible for such a bond-​brotherhood to have been established all at once. This custom must have developed gradually. It led to the emergence of social networks that linked the colony soldiers and the local civilians. The genealogies of the Yongchun colony lineages show clearly that in the early Ming their preferred choice for marriage partners was leading local lineages. The scope of their marriage network grew over time, as did the social status of the lineages with which they intermarried. This suggests that the social status of the Yongchun colony lineages in the Ming also grew over time, and leading lineages and their elite members were increasingly willing to intermarry with them. These marriage choices obviously benefitted the development of the colony lineages and encouraged their further territorialization. Of course, the specific circumstances of each lineage affected its marriage choices. The Li of Taiping probably had the highest social position of all the Yongchun military colony lineages in the Ming. Their founding ancestor, Li Bin, came to Fuzhou in 1384 in the company of his brother, whom he then replaced in office. He brought his wife, née Chen, with him from Chengdu. But Li males from the second generation onwards all intermarried with leading lineages in Yongchun. Only a small number of secondary wives may have belonged to the garrison system. For example Li Xiong of the second generation “married a woman of the Jin surname of Nanyang, then took concubines surnamed Ou and Cai.” Li Fu “married a woman of the Huang surname from Longwanku in sector 14.”38 Both Xiong and Fu later inherited the position of colony administrator. All of the Taiping Li today are descended from them. Their intermarriage with local lineages must have helped with their subsequent acquisition of property and their integration into the civilian lijia registration system. From the third generation onwards, not only did Li men take local women as wives, they also married their daughters into local lineages. The marriages recorded in the genealogy show that beginning in the second generation, aside from a small number of marriages made with major surnames from neighboring counties such as Nan’an, Jinjiang, and Dehua, most marriages were made with registered lijia households from the various sectors of Yongchun. Several, including the Jin, Qiu, and Lin of sector 9, and the Liu of sector 13, were prominent lineages that had settled in the region in Song or Yuan. Even more important, from the third generation onwards, marriages began to be made with prominent urban lineages, as well as local scholars, clerks, and other members of the local elite. This development shows the spatial expansion of the Li lineage’s social networks.

Military colonies and localization  57 The Li genealogy records the story of fourth generation member Li Qing’s concubine, née Yang. According to Qing’s biography, she was a native of Lanxi in Sichuan. When he was falsely accused of a crime, the judge imposed a severe penalty. She threw herself on the mercy of the court, pleading for Qing to be released, and eventually his innocence was revealed.39 Yang probably came from the same Sichuan native place as the Li. She may well have belonged to a military household from the same Guard. Although the crime of which Qing was not accused is not specified, the mention of a severe penalty suggests it was no small matter. Still Yang was able to approach the court directly and secure Li Qing’s release. This not only shows Yang’s heroism, but may also reflect the prominence of her natal family. But she was still merely a concubine in the Li family. This suggests that when the Li made marriage partner decisions, they did not see marriage partners with a military background as particularly desirable. The marital details of the founding ancestor of the Dapu Lin, Lin Weizai, are not known. His son Fosheng married a woman née Liu, the eldest daughter of Liu Xiang. According to the late Ming registration records, Liu Xiang was the lijia head. The marriages of subsequent generations of the Lin were all to registered lijia households of the district, that is, to indigenous lineages. Because of the discrepancies between the Hongbu Lin and Lingbian Lin genealogies, there are some inconsistencies in the recording of marriages. But we can infer from the genealogies that from the second to the sixth generation, the Lin married primarily with the Liu, Zheng, Wu, Wang, and Hong of the same district, as well as a number of other lineages from nearby areas. The registration records reveal that all of these were registered lijia households, and several of them, including the Liu, were lijia heads. The Lin were an ordinary military colony household of Xinghua Guard. Even though from the third generation onwards they had a civilian registration, they had no members who obtained examination degrees prior to the eighth generation. Their social position cannot have been high. So their early marriage network consisted mainly of ordinary people. The only exception was Lin Hejing of the fifth generation, who married two of his daughters to county students. Hejing had a reputation as a skilled businessman:  “In managing affairs he had his methods, and paid attention to even the smallest detail,” such that he “soon became rich.” In mid-​career he was the victim of slander, “which almost cost him his life.” After being released from jail, “he gradually recovered his original estate.”40 These details suggest that his ability to form marriage ties to the local literati elites must have been tied to his wealth. The lineal ancestor of the Lingbian Lin is said to be Lin Lesi, son of Lin Chimao (though the Hongbu Lin genealogy disputes this). The details of the marriage patterns of his descendants are incomplete, since the genealogy records only incoming daughters-​in-​law but not daughters who married out. But we still have enough information to get a sense of their marriage situation in the late Ming. Compared to the Hongbu Lin, the Lingbian Lin’s marriage network was smaller, consisting primarily of local registered households, but the social

58  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman position of their marriage partners was higher, including a number of county students and other literati elites. This phenomenon is also evident among the Taiping Li, and suggests that the social status of lineages consisting of military households rose after the mid-​Ming. It also reflects the Lins’ efforts to pursue examination success. The biography of fourth generation ancestor Lin Yuanying –​cited above as the man who hired a teacher for his sons –​includes an interesting account of his arranging a marriage for his son. Yuanying is seen as the ancestor most responsible for the later flourishing of the lineage, mainly because he paid for the purchase of a lijia registration together with the Hongbu Lin, after which his descendants became eligible to take the examinations. This explains why he hired a teacher for his son, who passed the lowest level examination while still a youth. After he arranged for the engagement of his eldest son to the daughter of the Chen lineage of Dongguan, he learned that the Chen family had once mocked his own family because their residence was so humble. He also learned that his future daughter-​in-​law had a dowry consisting of lands earning rent of 120 bushels. He promptly selected a site and built “a mansion of 120 chambers” in order to silence the Chen.41 Naturally the point of this story for the Lin is not Lin Yuanying’s profligacy but the resulting marriage alliance with a prominent local lineage with a history of cultural success. Lin’s son came to the attention of the Chen through the recommendation of his teacher. Having just entered the civilian registration system, the Lin gained the opportunity to participate in the local examinations, which in turn gave them the opportunity to join in the local elite marriage networks. Intermarriage with local lineages helped military colony households in their effort to enter into the civilian registers and become eligible to take the exams, and thus promoted the process of territorialization. But in places where there was considerable tension between soldiers and civilians, there were greater obstacles to intermarriage. For example, among the Dali Tang, both first and second generation ancestors married local women. At that time relations were relatively harmonious. But by the time of the third generation, who returned from Fuzhou to a scene of constant conflict in the colony, it had become impossible to intermarry with local lineages. The genealogy records only the natal surnames of the wives of the fourth generation, which indicates that they probably did not come from prominent local lineages. Prior to the 1582 land survey, the Tang frequently were in conflict with local lineages over land, and it would have been very difficult to create stable marriage relations. In the majority of marriages prior to the sixth generation, the details of the marriage do not survive, indicating by their absence that most marriages can’t have been with local lineages. This may be part of the reason why over the whole course of the Ming the Tang were never able to enter the local lijia system.

Colony lineages and local public affairs Military colony soldiers belonged to the garrison system, and were responsible for providing corvee labor to the garrison and to the colony, not for

Military colonies and localization  59 supporting local public affairs. But once they entered the lijia system and the baojia village constabulary, they began to participate in various types of local activities. From the surviving genealogical records, it appears that they became involved in tax and corvee collection, local security, local public works, charitable works, and education. Investigating the process and manner in which they became involved in these activities not only deepens our understanding of the process of localization or territorialization of these households but also helps us better understand their role in local development. Li An, third generation ancestor of the Taiping Li, became attached to a civilian registration in 1472. According to the rules at that time, each military household with “attached registration” was responsible for providing a single male representative to fulfill lijia corvee responsibilities, while the remaining adult males remained subject to the jurisdiction of the garrison system.42 By 1492, Li An’s younger brother Li Zhen “was established as head of the 4th jia.” In other words he registered as a regular lijia household, with responsibility for service as li head once every ten years, which meant being responsible in that year for all the tax and corvee matters of the li. This responsibility was shared by all of the members of the lineage.43 After they had entered the lijia system, the Li began to devote themselves to education. Li Zhen hired teachers to instruct his younger relatives; fourth generation Li Qing “set aside lands earning 100 bushels rent to cover the expenses of the sons and nephews in taking the exams.” Li Yu of the fourth generation was the first to take the examinations, whereupon the Li truly entered the ranks of the local literati and became recognized as members of the local elite.44 In addition to tax matters and education, the Li also took a leading role in strengthening public security. Yongchun is a remote mountainous region with a reputation for violence and banditry. This was especially true in the Ming, when local society was very unstable. Many stockades were built for self-​defense. Li Xiong of the second generation “built Kunlun stockade, for the protection of the community.”45 At that time the Li had not yet joined the lijia system, so while the purpose of the stockade was the protection of the whole area, it was primarily a defensive fortification for the colony soldiers. By the mid-​Ming, the Li had become the main force in local defense, as revealed by the biography of Bosheng of the fifth generation. Bosheng served as “head of the Wan’an stockade of Bangtou,” that is, head of the local militia defense force. Before roving bands of maritime bandits (wokou) attacked Yongchun in 1560, he recruited and trained militia soldiers and reinforced Liu’an stockade. After the bandits seized the county seat, he led the militia in the defense of Dongguan. In 1562, when bandits again threatened the county town, he worked together with the Huang surname to lead militia forces in a counter-​attack, and forced the bandits to disperse. After this, the bandit threat was eliminated and the eastern part of the county, that is, Dongguan and Dongping, the places where the Taiping Li lived was protected.46 Clearly, from the mid-​Ming onwards the Li were at the core of local military force, effectively protecting local society.

60  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman The Dapu Lin entered the lijia system somewhat later, and by the late Ming still had not earned any examination success. So their influence on local society was less than that of the Taiping Li. Recall that they first acquired civilian registration in 1522, attaching themselves to the Ma family’s registration, and then ten years later acquiring a registration in their own name under the jurisdiction of another lijia head. In the later sixteenth century the Lingbian Lin cooperated with the Dapu Lin to purchase the registration of an existing head, freeing them from their subordination to the original head. But this registration was soon illicitly sold off, and later recovered by the Lingbian Lin. In this period some Lin members entered the official administrative system, thereby raising their degree of influence in local society. For example Lin Cunshan, a sixth generation member of the Hongbu Lin, abandoned scholarship and purchased a degree. Another purchased the position of clerk. The Lingbian Lin used their position as li head to assert control over local public affairs. Lin Yuanying’s grandson Zhaoxin led the reconstruction of a local academy and used his position of leadership to assert control over the academy’s property. In the Qing, this academy became a center of elite activism.47 In the Ming-​Qing transition, the southern Fujian region experienced a long period of instability. Members of both the Lingbian Lin and Hongbu Lin played a leadership role in local defense. According to his biography in the genealogy, Lin Qizhu served as leader of the local stockade. He also borrowed money to support the participants in the stockade, enabling them to endure the transition. He knew the stockade was difficult to defend and so led lineage members to move elsewhere. Sure enough, the stockade eventually fell to local bandit forces. At that time lineage member Lin Jinjiu did not wish to move away. He is said to have argued that “the bandits target the rich; we are poor so what can they hope to gain [from us]?” In the end his four sons were all killed. The author of Qizhu’s biography praises him for his foresight, which allowed him to protect not only himself but also others. But later, some believed that if he had shown greater resolve and maintained defense of the stockade, the disaster could have been avoided.48 It is impossible for us to pass judgment on this matter, but the controversy does indicate that by this point there was already considerable economic differentiation within the lineage, and therefore disagreement about how best to respond to threats. The Lingbian Lin also suffered attacks in the early Qing, but the effects were not so serious and in fact may have strengthened their local social position. Because Lin Zhaocui’s father served as commander of the stockade, Zhaocui was seized as a hostage by Zheng Chenggong’s forces, and he eventually died at Haicheng. Lineage members felt that he “offered his own life in the place of his father, and died for the sake of filiality, something rare even among the ancients.” So they erected a tablet for him to receive sacrifice, and established property to support the sacrifice. Later this estate was incorporated into the sacrificial estate of his parents, and became one of the Lingbian Lin’s important ritual organizations.49

Military colonies and localization  61 The turmoil of the Ming-​Qing transition led to the militarization of local society, and this in turn provided an opportunity for the rise of military household lineages. In unstable times, local lineages had to maintain good relations with the military households. Naturally these sorts of lineage alliances could have a profound effect on local society. According to the Qianlong-​era county gazetteer, the people gather their lineage and dwell together, and the size of the surname determines their strength. At first the large lineages bully the smaller ones; more recently the smaller ones unite together, and now the larger lineages are bullied by them.50 The rise of military household lineages in Yongchun from the mid-​Ming onwards was part of this process of the militarization of local society and the formation of lineage alliances.

Conclusions The localization of military colony military households in Yongchun in Ming was primarily expressed through their acquisition of civilian registration, intermarriage with local lineages, and participation in public affairs. Though different lineages experienced the process differently, the overall trend was similar. Localization continued over the course of the Ming-​Qing transition, with the former military households becoming leading lineages of the county. Acquiring civilian registration was an important symbol of localization. The precondition for this registration was ownership or control of civilian lands, and the purpose was to facilitate ownership and management of such fields. According to Ming regulations, if a Guard household owned civilian land, it was required to acquire an “attached registration” in the lijia system, and provide one adult male to supply corvee labor. In this situation, so long as a military household lineage continued to provide military service labor, it should have had no need to formally enter the civilian registration system. But the Yongchun military lineages, even after having obtained “attached registration,” all went on to obtain their own lijia registration, becoming full members in the local lijia system. Having entered the registration system, these lineages then began to participate extensively in local public affairs. Even more important, this made them eligible to participate in the exams and thereby enter into the local literati stratum. Both the Taiping Li and the Hongbu Lin had a number of members attain examination success from the mid-​Ming onwards, which contributed to their becoming leading local lineages. The development of the Taiping Lin was rather slower; they did not obtain a civilian registration in the Ming but only in the early Qing, and after this registration initially being cancelled it was only in the late seventeenth century that they finally entered the civilian registration system, which gave

62  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman them the credentials needed to participate in the exams, so they only gradually developed into a major local lineage. Intermarriage between Yongchun colony lineages and local lineages began in the early fifteenth century. This suggests that the status of the military colony lineages was fairly high from the outset, which is why local lineages were willing to intermarry with them. In times and places of tension between military and civilians, intermarriage between the two groups was impeded. The experience of the Dali Tang in the sixteenth century provides an example of such a situation. The genealogies of military households suggest that their marriage partners were mostly from registered lijia households if not lijia heads. The resulting marriage networks provided important support for their efforts to enter into civilian registration and participate in local public affairs. This must be why for the most part, military household lineages tended not to intermarry with one another. In the early phases, they made marriages mainly with ordinary families; once they entered into the civilian registration system, they began to intermarry more with the elite stratum. This is especially evident from the experience of the Taiping Li. Intermarriage with the local literati elite raised the social position of the military lineages, and accelerated their process of localization. The participation of military lineages in local public affairs was also a phenomenon that arose after they became part of the civilian administrative and registration systems. In the lijia household registration system, colony lineages had to take responsibility for tax collection matters when it was their turn in the decennial rotation. In the baojia local constabulary system, colony lineages had to cooperate with other local lineages to maintain local security and defense. The role of military household lineages may well have been especially important in remote and mountainous areas like Yongchun, where social unrest was common. Beginning in the mid-​Ming, defensive fortifications were built in many places in Yongchun, and members of military lineages often took on the position of “stockade head” or “fort head,” responsible for leading the local militia. Li Bosheng of the Taiping Li was one example. After serving as head of Wan’an stockade, he went on to recruit and train mercenaries, cooperating with the military forces of other communities to repel the incursions of bandit forces and thus protect the entire eastern part of the county. Aside from tax and military aspects, colony lineages appear frequently in accounts of local charitable, education, and public works activities from the mid-​Ming onwards. These are all elements of the process of localization of these lineages. Exploring the impact of this process on the development of local society would tell another side of this same story.

Notes 1 See for example Wang Yuquan, Mingdai de juntun (Military colonies in the Ming dynasty) (1965, reprint Zhonghua shuju 2009); Tang Gang and Nan Bingwen, “Luelun Mingdai juntun shizu de shenfen he juntun de zuoyong” (On the status

Military colonies and localization  63 of officers and soldiers of Ming military colony fields and the role of the colonies), Nankai shixue, no. 1 (1980), 108–126; Tang Jingshen, “Mingchu tunjun de fazhan jiqi zhidu de yanbian” (The development of military colonies in the early Ming and the transformation of the system), Lanzhou daxue xuebao, no. 3 (1982), 33–45; Yi Baozhong, “Guanyu Mingdai juntun zhidu pohuai guocheng de jige wenti” (On several questions concerning the process of decline of the military colony system of the Ming), Songliao xuekan, no.  3 (1984), 41–​46; Gu Cheng, “Ming diguo de jiangtu guanli tizhi” (The system of borderlands management of the Ming empire), Lishi yanjiu, no. 3 (1989), 135–​150; Mao Yike, “Lun Ming-​Qing tuntian de siyouhua licheng” (The process of privatization of Ming military colonies), Zhongguo jingjishi yanjiu, no. 2 (2017), 35–​48. 2 For example, Liu Zhiwei, “Cong xianghao lishi dao shiren jiyi –​you Huang Zuo ‘Zishu xianshi xingzhuang’ kan Mingdai difang shili de zhuanbian” (From the history of local magnates to literati memory –​the transformation of local power in the Ming from the perspective of Huang Zuo’s “Narrative of the biographies of previous generations”), Lishi yanjiu, no. 6 (2006), 49–​69; Mao Yike, Qingdai weisuo guibing zhouxian yanjiu (The incorporation of garrisons into civilian administration in Qing) (Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe 2018); Li Yongju, “Mingdai Henan de junshi quangui yu shishen jiceng –​Guide fu shijia dazu yanjiu” (The power of the military and the literati stratum in Ming Henan –​research on the powerful hereditary lineages of Guide Prefecture) (PhD dissertation, Xiamen University, 2008); Wu Caimao, “Mingdai weisuo zhidu yu Guizhou diyu shehui xingcheng yanjiu” (The Ming garrison system and the formation of local society in Guizhou) (PhD dissertation, Xinan University, 2017). 3 Participants in this fieldwork included undergraduate and graduate students of the History Department of Xiamen University, Profs. Zheng Zhenman, Liu Yonghua, Zhang Kan, Rao Weixin, Zheng Li of the History Department; Huang Xiangchun of the Anthropology Department, Xiamen University, and Michael Szonyi, Harvard University. 4 Yongchun xianzhi (Yongchun county gazetteer) (Jiajing edition; reprint Yongchun wenxianshe 1973), 131. 5 Ibid., 153. 6 Ibid., 154. 7 Ibid., 154. 8 Quanzhou fuzhi (Quanzhou Prefecture gazetteer) (Wanli edition), j. 7. 9 Yongchun xianzhi, 158. 10 Shen Shixing, et al., Wanli DaMing huidian (Statutes of the Great Ming, Wanli edition) (reprint Taiwan wenhai chubanshe 1987), j. 18. 11 Quanzhou fuzhi, j. 7; 12 Yongchun zhouzhi (Yongchun Subprefecture gazetteer) (Qianlong edition), j. 9. 13 Yu Zhijia, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi (Garrisons, military households, and military corvee) (Beijing daxue chubanshe 2010), 186. 14 Yongchun zhouzhi, j. 9. 15 Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu (Li of Taiping, Taoyuan genealogy) (2008), j. 1. 16 Ibid., j. 1. 17 Yu Zhijia, “Lun Mingdai de fuji junhu yu junhu fenhu” (On military households with affiliated registration and the household division of military households in the Ming), in Gu Cheng xiansheng jinian ji Ming-​Qing shi yanjiu wenji (Zhongzhou guji 2005), 80–​104.

64  Ma Wenrui and Zheng Zhenman 18 19 20 21 22 23

Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu, 4th edition, j. 1. Yongchun xianzhi, 156. Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu, 4th edition, j. 1. Ibid., 4th edition, j. 1; Appendix (fulu). Shen Shixing et al., Wanli DaMing huidian, j. 18. Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (Hongbu Lin surname genealogy, 4th branch) (1930), 1:70–​71. 24 Hongbu Linshi baxiu zupu (Hongbu Lin surname genealogy, 8th edition) (2009), 1. 25 Ibid.,  27–​28. 26 Ibid.,  27–​28. 27 Ibid., 3:317. 28 Ibid., 1:80–​81. 29 Ibid., 2:127. 30 Ibid. 31 Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (2011), j. 4. 32 Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (1930), 1:11. 33 Ibid., 1:16. 34 Tangshi zupu (Tang surname genealogy) (1917), j. 1. 35 See above regarding fuji (“attached registration”). 36 Tangshi zupu, j. 1. 37 Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu (2008), appendix, 159. 38 Ibid., j. 1. 39 Ibid., j. 1. 40 Hongbu Linshi baxiu zupu, 1:36. 41 Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (2011), j. 4. 42 Yu Zhijia, “Lun Mingdai de fuji junhu yu junhu fenjia” (2005). 43 Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu, j. 1. 44 Ibid., j. 1. 45 Ibid., j. 1. 46 Ibid., j. 1. 47 Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (1930), 1:11. 48 “Diaochong Dian xiongdi siren beihai xiaozhuan” (Mournful and respectful account of how Xiong and his three brothers came to harm), in Hongbu Linshi baxiu zupu, 3:321 49 Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (2011), 5:143. 50 Yongchun zhouzhi, j. 16.

4  The evolution of temples in Jinxiang Guard and the localization of state institutions Zhang Kan

The Ming Guard system as it was designed by the dynastic founder built upon the military institutions of previous dynasties. Despite subsequent reforms and adjustment, the basic structure of the institution persisted to the end of the dynasty. Although the functions and operating mechanisms of the Guards were distinctive from those of the local civilian administration, the Guards were not independent or isolated from local society. Officers and soldiers who inherited their posts and settled in the Guard or its surrounding area entered into relationships with local communities, and became part of local society themselves. Though most Guards were disbanded at the beginning of the Qing, the social organizations that had formed in the Guard during the Ming persisted in the new context and adapted to the new situation. Entities that had previously been primarily military in their nature and functions were transformed into social entities. The history of the Guard system can be understood as one expression of a much broader trend of the whole Yuan-​Ming-​Qing period, the localization of state institutions. The history of popular religion in the Guards was part of this process by which imperial institutions became integrated with and adapted to local society.1 This chapter uses Jinxiang Guard, Zhejiang, as a case study to explore the ways in which temples and rituals in the Guards initially served to represent the power of the state, and how they were transformed through their interaction with local interests, becoming part of local society and culture. Jinxiang Guard is located in southern Zhejiang, in present-​day Jinxiang township, near the city of Wenzhou and the border between Zhejiang and Fujian. Jinxiang Guard was established in 1387. It was situated at a strategic location near the mouth of the Aojiang river. The Guard consisted of Front, Rear, Centre, Left, and Right Battalions, all within the Guard walls, and Pumen, Zhuangshi, and Shayuan Battalions, which were outside the walls but under the administration of the Guard. The Guard administered an additional eleven coastal stockades, fifteen watchtowers, and fourteen signal towers, comprising a comprehensive coastal defense system. Based on fieldwork and historical sources, we can see that every place where troops were stationed also housed a variety of temples. Temples were located

66  Zhang Kan

Map 4.1 Jinxiang and vicinity

not only within the Guard walls, but also outside, in what would later become Puzhuang Battalion. Of course, this system of temples did not emerge fully formed when the Guard was established. Rather, it resulted from a process of continual accumulation and transformation. This process reveals that the Guard temple system was not closed, but was connected to and interacted with other local and regional religious networks. This chapter focuses on several temples, including the Qidao [Military Banner] temple, the temple to the God of the Wall, the temple of Duke Yan, the Daoist Green-​girdled Belvedere, and the Auxiliary Temple of Old Man Yang to discuss the proliferation of religious practices in Ming Guards. It explores four main questions: 1 How did the imperial system of rites become localized through the rise and fall of official Guard rituals (jidian)? 2 How did local religious sects expand their own influence by becoming involved in the operation of official Guard temples?

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  67

Map 4.2 Temples of Jinxiang Guard

3 How did deities brought to the locality by the Guard soldiers contribute to the integration of the Guard with local society? 4 How did local militarization affect the legitimacy of other local deities?

The rise and fall of the Military Banner (Qidao) temple and the gradual abandonment of the imperial military ritual canon Official military rites were an important element of Ming imperial rule. In the 8th lunar month of 1368, the founding emperor of the Ming dynasty personally specified the basic structure of the canon of military rituals. The maji ritual was to be performed whenever soldiers were dispatched. This ritual, which projected the hopes for victory of the emperor, officers, and soldiers, became the most important ceremony in the official military rites.2 It consisted of twelve steps, and was quite grand. When soldiers returned to camp after battle, they were to conduct a series of three rituals known as receiving surrender (shouxiang), presenting prisoners to the ancestral hall and the altar of the earth and grains (xianfu), and the awarding of merit (xingshang). Sacrifices to the god of the Qidao, or Military Banner, which

68  Zhang Kan protected officers and soldiers, were also among the most important in the canon.3 In 1376, the Ming court ordered that Banner temples be constructed in the capital, in the princely fiefs, and in all Guards. An annual ritual was to be conducted in every temple. The sacrificial texts, the rites, and music were to be uniform across the empire.4 Guard officers presided over the rites, and Guard musicians performed.5 Each Guard had thirty to fifty musicians, with seven to ten assigned to each Battalion.6 In addition to routine rituals, rituals were performed by officials or ritual professionals whenever a Guard sent troops on an expedition, upon the awarding of military honors, to mark the reconstruction of the Banner temple as well as on other occasions. Jinxiang Guard’s Banner temple was located to the east of the Guard commander’s administrative office or yamen. Besides regular rituals to rally morale, many other ceremonial activities were held there.7 In 1417, Zhang Qian, a commander under Admiral Zheng He, led a fleet of ships on a campaign to eliminate pirates on the seas near Jinxiang Guard. With one hundred and sixty men, he succeeded in annihilating four thousand pirates. After the battle, Zhang Qian’s fleet docked at Jinxiang. The court dispatched functionaries to bestow awards of merit on Zhang Qian and the Guard commander, as well as the Battalion commanders, Company commanders, and regular soldiers. The ceremony of “dispensing rewards and honors” was conducted in accordance with the canonical military rites.8 There were no large-​scale military operations in Jinxiang after the Yongle period (1402–​1424) and the military functions of the Banner temple gradually weakened. At the same time, increasing numbers of Guard soldiers deserted. The Guard started to collapse. In 1431, Wenzhou Prefect He Wenyuan reported serious deficiencies in the provision of military goods and materials. The stock of bows and arrows was inadequate and it was impossible to guarantee the supply of grain rations for soldiers conducting maritime patrols.9 During the Zhengtong reign (1436–​1449), Pingyang Magistrate Zhang Hui also memorialized that he lacked the resources to adequately maintain military facilities. He warned against transferring the logistical burden onto the ordinary civilians. He asked that the central government help deal with the logistical shortfalls.10 We can well imagine that when Guards were in dire financial straits, the ceremonial activities of the Banner temple would not have been a top priority for Guard officials. When temples collapsed, little effort was made to repair them.11 For example, after the Wenzhou Guard Banner temple collapsed in a storm during the Chenghua reign (1465–​1487), it was not repaired for many years afterwards. Eventually, in 1499, Wenzhou Prefect Wen Lin helped the Guard Vice-​commander rebuild the temple. They ordered the barracks in the vicinity of the Guard to contribute labor and resources to complete the reconstruction. This was thirty years after the Banner temple collapsed, which suggests that the rites stipulated in the early Ming must have been suspended for a long time.12

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  69 The fact that Wen Lin and other local civilian officials had to get involved suggests that Guard officers did not consider Banner rituals very important, and that the temple was no longer a ritual center as it had been in the early Ming. Though some Banner rituals were still being performed in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, for the most part these rituals were maintained or revived only with the assistance of prefectural and county civilian officials. During the Jiajing reign (1507–​1566), in order to strengthen anti-​ pirate defenses, Rui’an Magistrate Liu Ji required that the various armed forces in the county engage in standardized military drills. In order to unify professional soldiers and civilian militia forces, Liu Ji implemented new Banner rituals, and added a further element, a blood oath. The oath committed the armed forces to defend their own stations and coordinate with one another whenever an enemy appeared.13 It might have appeared that Liu Ji was trying to recover the original unifying function of the military rites. But it was not Guard officers themselves who presided over the Banner ritual, indicating that the military rites as initially implemented by the court had been abandoned.

The establishment of the Guard Daoist temple and the transmission of local Daoist sects At the beginning of the Ming, Zhu Yuanzhang implemented strict policies concerning religion, including limits on the number of Buddhist and Daoist temples. He ordered that each prefecture, subprefecture, and county should only be allowed to maintain one large temple. Buddhist nunneries, Buddhist temples, and Daoist temples that did not fit within the quota for old temples were considered “licentious shrines” (yinci) and marked for destruction.14 When a new walled Guard was built, a new temple –​a Banner temple or a temple to the God of the Wall (chenghuang miao) –​could be established in accordance with this ritual canon. Other temples could be built or rebuilt only if they fit within the quota for old temples. When Jinxiang Guard was first established, it had no Daoist temple. According to an extant stele entitled “Record of the Green-​girdled Belvedere (Huanlü Guan),” the first Regional Military Commissioner, Zhang Lin, found an abandoned temple in the mountains that had been included within the quota for old temples. He then applied to the higher authorities to rebuild it.15 The purpose of erecting the stele was to demonstrate the legality of rebuilding this Daoist temple. But we need to analyze this record carefully. The content of this stele suggests that the story may have been a fabrication. The purpose of building the Daoist temple was to provide for the daily religious needs of people in the Guard. How could this be brought in line with court regulations? It may be that local people assisted Zhang Lin to first find an existing registered temple. After his report was approved by the court, he used this approval to legitimize the construction of a new Daoist temple inside the Guard.

70  Zhang Kan This is indeed what happened. Zhang Lin learned that there was an existing temple registered in the locality, the Belvedere of Clear Virtue (Deqing guan). He sent a memorial to the Board of Rites requesting its reconstruction. After obtaining permission, he instead built a Daoist temple within the walls of the Guard. The new temple was called the Green-​girdled Belvedere. Of course, somebody needed to take care of matters at the crucial point of approving the temple’s reconstruction, and this person was the Vice Minister of Rites. During the Hongwu reign (1368–​1398), Zhang Zhi held this post, and along with learned elderly scholar Liu Sanwu and others was one of Zhu Yuanzhang’s main consultants on the system of rites. Regulations pertaining to ritual were implemented only with his approval.16 He approved the Green-​ girdled Belvedere, ensuring its legal status. In the Ming system of religious management, the highest office for the management of Daoism was the Central Daoist Registry, an office under the Board of Rites. Subordinate Daoist Registries were also established at the prefectural, subprefectural, and county levels. Since it was established with the approval of local authorities, the Green-​girdled Belvedere fell under the management of the Pingyang Daoist Registry. The registry office assigned a priest, Yang Boshi, to oversee religious activities at the Belvedere. Since Song-​Yuan times, the mainstream strand of Zhengyi (Orthodoxy Unity) Daoism in the Wenzhou region had been the Donghua school, whose leading figure was Lin Lingzhen (1239–​1302), a native of Pingyang.17 The 38th generation Heavenly Master of Longhu Mountain, that is, the patriarch of Zhengyi Daoism, Zhang Yucai, revered Lin’s teachings and bestowed on him an ordination certificate naming Lin Grand Master of the Way of the Numinous Jewel and Communicator of the Mysterious String. Zhang appointed Lin as the Wenzhou Instructor of the Mysterious String teachings, overseeing the Tianqing Daoist temple in Wenzhou. So the Donghua school had strong local associations with Wenzhou. Lin Lingzhen’s own teachings became known as the Shuinan school. In 1372, Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang confirmed the hereditary Heavenly Master of Longhu Mountain as the leading Daoist for the whole empire. This elevated the prominence of the Shuinan school centered on Pingyang. The school’s 18th generation patriarch Lin Shizhen trained at the Eastern Marchmount Belvedere south of Pingyang, and was invited to an important ritual fast in Beijing in 1425. The Daoist Registry of Pingyang was housed in the Eastern Marchmount Belvedere, and the Green-​girdled Belvedere was under its direct administration. So the two temples had a close relationship. Yang Boshi, who was responsible for overseeing religious activities at the Green-​girdled Belvedere, had received his ordination certification in Zhengyi Daoism at Longhu Mountain. He thus both carried on the tradition of the Shuinan school and served as the local representative of imperial Daoism.18 In the early Ming the Green-​girdled Belvedere became an important site at which Guard soldiers could worship and pray for help and blessings from the deities. The newly renovated hall would have been filled with the scent

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  71 of burning incense donated by worshippers. During the Yongle reign, the Daoist priest of the Green-​girdled Belvedere was Zheng Bozong, a student of the same master as Yang Boshi, as indicated by both bearing the generational character “bo” in their Daoist ordination names. The Genealogy of the Nanlou Zheng from Jinxiang has preserved a text entitled “Expression of appreciation presented to Master Dongxu [Empty Cavern, i.e. Zheng Bozong] for his prayers for rain.”19 It records an occasion when the entire county was experiencing severe drought. The Commander of Jinxiang Guard requested that Zheng Bozong use his Daoist techniques to pray for rain. Other evidence indicates that when the Guard lacked religious or ceremonial experts, they turned instead to local religious specialists like the priests of the Green-​ girdled Belvedere. Of course, the senior officers of the Guard established the Green-​girdled Belvedere precisely in order to serve the needs of the soldiers. The temple’s fate became closely connected to that of the Guard system. During the Xuande reign (1426–​1435), the decline of the Guard had a direct impact on the temple. During the Chenghua (1465–​1487) and Hongzhi (1488–​1505) reigns, the Guard’s fortunes were restored, and the Green-​girdled Belvedere also experienced a revival.20 According to textual records, the Daoist priest who at that time oversaw the temple was Zheng Deyan. Like Zheng Boshi, he was born into the Nanlou Zheng family of Pingyang County. Zheng Deyan raised funds for the renovation of the Green-​girdled Belvedere. The repairs took more than twenty years. From the process of restoration, we can see that the Green-​ girdled Belvedere no longer depended entirely on the Guard but followed a more autonomous development path. Zheng Deyan used the Green-​girdled Belvedere as a place for ascetic practice and as a guesthouse for visitors. Local Daoism emphasized individual space and autonomy, and this could at times lead to tension with Guard officials. In 1547, the famous anti-​pirate commander Zhu Wan (1494–​1550) led his troops to the Fujian-​Zhejiang border in an attempt to stamp out militarized private maritime trade. These efforts only exacerbated the “pirate” (wokou) phenomenon along the southeast coast, which lasted well into the Qing. Jinxiang Guard became a command post on the front line in the struggle against maritime banditry, and soldiers and officers were constantly occupied with military tasks. Officers appropriated the Green-​girdled Belvedere, citing the need for battle preparedness as their justification. The Daoist priest of the temple was extremely upset, and he appealed to subprefecture and county officials. The priest and the officers engaged in litigation that dragged on for eight years. The focus of the suit was the demand that the property of the Green-​girdled Belvedere be returned to the Daoist priests.21 The case was finally concluded in 1555, only after officials of various levels from Wenzhou Prefecture and Pingyang County had all been drawn in. Pingyang County Magistrate Li Boyu inscribed the judgement on a stele, confirming that Green-​girdled Belvedere was an independent religious space and clarifying that the Daoist priests should have complete control over temple affairs.

72  Zhang Kan We can see from this process that the establishment of the Guard effectively created an independent military zone, and that religious activities in the Guard were initially distinctive from those in the surrounding area. But the Guard was embedded in the locality. It interacted with local religious groups and had to admit local ritual specialists to participate in the Guard’s religious activities. Because of this, a locally based Daoist sect with a long tradition infiltrated the Guard walls. This produced unintended consequences. On the one hand, the Green-​girdled Belvedere, as a religious site that served the needs of the Guard soldiers, used its religious power to form an independent sacred space. On the other hand, the temple’s Daoist priests were appointed by the Daoist Registry at the Eastern Marchmount Belvedere, and as Daoist priests who had studied under the Donghua sect, their social network extended far beyond the Guard system. They expanded the space for ritual activities, bringing local religion into the Guard. They began to contest control over cultural and social space with the Guard leadership, and eventually gained the upper hand.

The spread of the cult to Duke Yan and the integration of coastal populations The troops stationed within the walls of Jinxiang Guard were divided into Left, Right, Center, Front, and Rear Battalions. Each Battalion had a temple where the troops sacrificed to the Marquis who Calms the Waves, Duke Yan (Pinglanghou Yan gong). According to historical records, Duke Yan was originally a native of Jiangxi named Yan Xuzi. During the Yuan dynasty, he became a water deity protecting tribute grain transportation on the ocean. According to legend, during the Yuan-​Ming transition, Duke Yan’s spirit appeared on Lake Boyang, and helped Zhu Yuanzhang’s army defeat the army of Chen Youliang. As a result, he was given the title “Marquis who Calms the Waves” by Zhu Yuanzhang, becoming the protective deity of the Ming navy. Jinxiang Guard’s chief function was maritime defense. The forts under the Guard’s jurisdiction were fortified for naval defense and equipped with battleships. During the Yongle reign, the Ming capital was moved from Nanjing to Beijing, and the government employed the military to transport grain to the north along inland waterways and on the ocean. The soldiers of Jinxiang Guard participated in this maritime tribute grain transportation. We know this because in 1406, Front Battalion Platoon Commander Huang Jinbao and fifty-​five other tribute grain soldiers from Jinxiang were transporting grain by sea to Beijing when they encountered stormy seas and were blown off course, landing in the Kilju region on the northeast of the Korean Peninsula.22 During the Hongzhi reign, Jinxiang Guard still maintained forty-​eight battleships, including twenty-​three allocated to the five Battalions within the walls of the Jinxiang Guard, nine allocated to Pumen Battalion, and sixteen allocated to Shayuan Battalion. Because belief in Duke Yan was closely associated with the navy, because the legend of Duke Yan’s

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  73 miracles was already widely known, and because sacrifice to Duke Yan was considered more efficacious than sacrificing to the God of the Banner, the Duke Yan temples replaced the Banner temple as the most important space for unifying the military forces of the Guard. The Duke Yan temple not only united the military groups within the walls of the Guard, it also disseminated Duke Yan’s miraculous stories among the local population, and this made him a symbol that unified populations inside and outside the Guard’s walls. Zhuangshi Battalion, one of three Battalions outside the Guard walls in the early Ming, was close to the coast on flat, low-​lying land. This made it difficult to defend, and hostile forces repeatedly breached the Battalion walls. So the Ming court eventually disbanded Zhuangshi, and its boats and soldiers were transferred to Pumen Battalion, which was renamed Puzhuang. After the Battalions were combined, two Duke Yan temples, an east temple and a west temple, were established in recognition of the Battalion’s origins as two separate units.23 An interesting facet of this story is revealed through a legend passed down among the local population and which I recorded during my fieldwork. The coastline in the Jinxiang region is marked with a number of deep bays, which were home to fishing people that lived on the sea, saltern households responsible for harvesting salt, boat dwellers, and other groups. When soldiers patrolled the waters or conducted maritime grain transportation, they inevitably came into contact with these water-​dwelling populations.24 These historical conditions found their way into a local legend about the establishment of the Puzhuang Battalion’s east and west Duke Yan temples. The legend begins: In the late Yuan and early Ming, a fisherman from Lijiajing (Li family well, near Pucheng) was fishing on the sea. From dawn until midday, he cast his net, but did not see a single fish. One day, when he was drawing in his net, he thought it felt a bit heavy. When he had drawn it in, all he saw was a length of wood. He threw the wood back into the ocean and continued to fish, but each time he drew in his net, there was the same piece of wood. The fisherman knew something strange was afoot, and made a vow to the piece of camphor wood: “If you want me to take you home, then I need fresh fish to balance my carrying pole on the road.” Sure enough, his net was soon filled with fish. The fisherman hung the piece of wood on one end of his carrying pole and the fish on the other, and returned home. This kind of story is common across the coastal zone from Vietnam to Zhejiang.25 Story elements such as a piece of drift-​wood, spiritual apparitions, and fishermen reflect the historical process of water-​based populations coming ashore. The story continues: On his way home, the fisherman passed by a small temple at the west gate of Pucheng, and his carrying pole suddenly became heavy. The fisherman

74  Zhang Kan asked the piece of camphor wood:  “Do you mean that I  should leave you here?” Sure enough, the piece of wood would not allow itself to be moved, and the fisherman left it there. People argued about what to do with the piece of wood. A carpenter noted: “The spirit of Yan Xuzi has recently been appearing on the rivers and lakes. Why not carve a likeness of Duke Yan to worship?” The people all approved. They carved the camphor wood into a seated image of Duke Yan approximately one meter high, expanded and rebuilt the small temple, and enshrined Duke Yan as the temple’s principal deity. The original, smaller deity in the temple was moved to sit at the feet of Duke Yan. A similar story is told at the Yanting Duke Yan Temple in the northeast of Jinxiang Guard.26 If we connect this story to regional population changes of the late Yuan and early Ming, we can see that it reflects a stage in the historical development of coastal water-​dwelling populations. In this story, Pucheng was already a walled Battalion. The piece of camphor wood was carved into a likeness of Duke Yan, implying that the water-​dwelling populations came to accept the worship of Duke Yan, which was already an important part of the navy’s belief system. That is, a deity associated with the Guard came to be worshipped by the local water-​dwelling peoples. Today in Puzhuang, the deity in the East Duke Yan Temple is thought to manage agricultural affairs, while the one in the West is responsible for fishing, suggesting that land-​dwelling and water-​dwelling populations shared in and transformed the Duke Yan belief system.27 The relationship between Duke Yan and the water-​dwelling populations is also evident in a festival called raising up [the deity] at dawn (“ba wugeng”) or raising up the Master (“ba laoye”) that used to be held on the fifteenth day of the first month of the lunar year. Two teams of strong men representing the east temple and the west temple each carry a statue of Duke Yan, running along the streets and alleys within the Battalion walls. Women are not permitted to participate in order to avoid offending the deity. The last stage of the ceremony is called “seizing the poles” (qiang gang). Residents within the Battalion walls try to steal the poles that were used to carry Duke Yan’s sedan chair. The fishermen from outside the Battalion who worship Duke Yan pay a big reward to anyone who can successfully seize the poles. The fishermen take the poles back to their homes or to their boats, where they offer sacrifices that will ensure protection on the seas and a bountiful catch.

The construction of Old Man Yang auxiliary temples and the militarization of a local deity Significant numbers of Guard soldiers began deserting in the mid-​fifteenth century. According to incomplete statistics, during the Jiajing period (1521–​ 1567) only about one-​eighth of the original quota of soldiers were actually

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  75 on duty.28 In response, the government adopted recruitment policies aimed at replenishing military strength. They enlisted relatives of Guard officers and soldiers living in Jinxiang as well as local militia “braves.” Many of these “braves” (xiangyong) came from local fishing backgrounds. This is how the local deity Yangfu was introduced into the Guard. A Yangfu Auxiliary Temple (xinggong) was built in the Guard, and it became an important link between the Guard soldiers and the new recruits. Old Man Yangfu is also known as Master Yang and, in certain rituals that survive today, as Marquis Yangfu, Master of Lingyan Cavern. Temples in Wenzhou in which Old Man Yang is enshrined are usually called Yangfu temples. Most Yangfu temples are built in places that were previously known by the geographic term “cavern” (dong). The term dong indicates a settlement in a valley or gorge, and is often used to denote places where the indigenous people of the region lived prior to the establishment of Chinese imperial rule. It is also the term that the Tang gave to the lowest-​level social organization in newly created administrative regions. This suggests that the worship of Old Man Yangfu may be related to the worship of indigenous deities that preceded the incorporation of the region into the empire. Old Man Yangfu, like other indigenous deities of the Jiangnan region, seems to have originated as an anonymous nature deity.29 The Collected Writings on Islands and Seas, compiled by a Ming dynasty scholar from Wenzhou named Jiang Zhun, describes Old Man Yangfu in some detail. One section describes a Yangfu Temple located on Yangfu Mountain on what is now the eastern edge of Wenzhou city. Yangfu Mountain is situated on the bank of the Oujiang River, roughly ten kilometers from the river’s mouth. In the sixth and seventh centuries, the area was still an island, suggesting a close relationship with maritime populations. Jiang Zhun and his father Jiang Luan were widely read scholars of Wenzhou, with a firm grasp of the local area. But even they were not very clear about the origins of Old Man Yangfu. They could only say that Old Man Yangfu was a disciple of Tao Hongjing, a Daoist master who came to Wenzhou in the Southern Dynasty. They believed that Old Man Yangfu had wished to become a disciple of Tao Hongjing. But Tao rejected him because his origins were unknown and he had an evil qi about him. He considered Yangfu someone “between a ghost and an immortal” who “drinks blood in the human world.” If we place Old Man Yangfu in the context of the activities of Celestial Master Daoism during the Southern Dynasty, in particular Daoist efforts to bring local shamanism and indigenous cults under their control, these phrases suggest that Old Man Yangfu was originally an indigenous deity.30 The basis of the Wenzhou residents’ livelihood was the maritime economy, and Old Man Yangfu is inseparable from the sea. Jiang Zhun and others further emphasized the deity’s relationship with fisherman, noting that every year at the end of spring and the beginning of summer, Old Man Yangfu is also referred to as the “Marquis of Dried Xiang” (shaixiang zhi Hou). Xiang is a kind of dried, salted fish. Coastal fishermen spent long periods of time on

76  Zhang Kan the sea. They dried and salted their fish as a means of preserving their catch and preventing it from rotting. Fish could be dried only when the weather cooperated. The fish were sliced open and arranged in rows on a bamboo frame known as a fish-​drying hat, and dried for at least three to four days on each side. The fishing season for yellow croaker extended from the late fourth month to the late fifth month of the lunar calendar every year. This was also the rainy season and the drying fish easily became soaked in the rain. Fishermen and fish merchants all prayed to Old Man Yangfu for protection and favorable weather. Jiang Zhun recorded a story of Old Man Yangfu requiring a blacksmith to forge a “dried fish knife” (xiangdao).31 This small, finely-​crafted and durable tool is an important tool in the fish-​drying process. It is in the shape of a fish, with a curved blade. It is typically about twenty centimeters long, including the handle, and eight centimeters wide. On the sea, it is used to slice open fish, but it can also be used as a kitchen knife. Zhejiang fishermen still commonly use such knives today. Because of the legends surrounding Old Man Yangfu’s function as a protective spirit for fishermen and fish merchants, incense was and continues to be burned for him throughout the Wenzhou area. After coastal residents were recruited into the military in response to the pirate scourge, a connection formed between the cult of Old Man Yangfu and the activities of the imperial army. Before companies formed from local braves and militia were sent into battle, they typically performed sacrifices at Old Man Yangfu temples, praying for his divine protection. In Jinxiang Guard, which served as a command hub for military activities, a Yangfu temple was built just outside the Guard walls. Sacrifices to Old Man Yangfu served as a means to unite the military forces in their campaigns against bandits. During the author’s recent fieldwork in Jinxiang, the Yangfu Temple was still filled with burning incense. It serves as the ritual center for many nearby fishing villages. A 1576 stele is preserved inside.32 The inscription identifies the temple as the Xiaoyuye Auxiliary Temple. The local gazetteer tells us that Xiaoyuye was a naval stockade under Jinxiang Guard, where battleships moored. When nearby beacon towers raised the alarm, the stockade would dispatch boats and soldiers to pursue and capture the invaders. Xiaoyuye did not have its own civilian police station, and soldiers from both the county government and the Guard patrolled the nearby bays and islands together.33 In 1556, the Ming government established a new maritime defense system oriented around Barracks (ying) where troops were permanently stationed. This led to a strengthening of the defensive role of the stockades. Xiaoyuye, as a key strategic point of maritime defense, became an important place for stationing troops.34 The Yangfu Temple was established at this time to support unified military activities. The text of the inscription in the Yangfu Temple was composed by an officer named Mei Kui who was in charge of defenses in the Ningbo and Shaoxing area. It opens with the story of Old Man Yangfu leading the soldiers of the underworld to aid the Ming army in its victory at the beginning of

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  77 the dynasty. The structure of this story is very similar to the story of Duke Yan aiding Zhu Yuanzhang in his victory over Chen Youliang, and it may have been concocted by Mei Kui and others to demonstrate the legitimacy of the Yangfu Temple. In 1552, wokou pirates were very active in the East China Sea. Their frequent raids on coastal communities created a crisis in the Wenzhou region. Military officers like Mei Kui would have been aware that the forces serving under them came from a range of different backgrounds, and that in order to have them fight together in battle, it was necessary to generate feelings of solidarity and common purpose. Popular religion can be a strong force for social mobilization, and the Guard officers who established the Yangfu Temple likely hoped it would build unity among their disparate military forces. After the Xiaoyuye Yangfu Temple was established, military officers held rituals there to fortify the soldiers’ battle spirit before undertaking military action. Today, most of the names inscribed on the stele have been worn away, and only some of the official titles and a few of personal names can be distinguished. Even though it is impossible to recover the names of all the participants in military activities from the Wanli reign (1572–​1620), the surviving information is sufficient to confirm that, beginning in the mid-​ Ming, the government reorganized its defenses around the barracks system, and recruited villagers and fishermen in the military system. Old Man Yangfu and other local deities from coastal regions thus entered the religious system of the Guard. Temples to these deities came to be built within the walls of Guards and Battalions, occupying the prime position in military ritual.

Conclusions Ming Guards were territorial units inhabited by soldiers and were initially distinct and separate from their surrounding regions. But this separation diminished and the boundaries between Guards and the society around them wore away over time. This chapter has demonstrated how the changing religious landscape of the Guard and the surrounding area was an important element in this transformation. Certain deities replaced or were substituted for others; temples and rituals became intertwined with one another. These processes were not chance occurrences, but resulted from changes to the Guard system as it sought to adapt to different historical circumstances. They thus represent the local dynamics of broader historical change. The Guard system was established at the beginning of the Ming in order to achieve military conquest and military control. Its operations, including its ritual activities, were somewhat different from those of the civilian administration. The Banner Temple was initially the most important sacred space for performing military rituals. Rituals at the temple strengthened the Guard’s internal power structure and forged a cultural bond that shaped a collective consciousness among the imperial soldiers. Beginning in the early fifteenth century, as desertion increased and the Guards’ financial situation deteriorated, the system gradually broke down. The Banner Temple was

78  Zhang Kan damaged and collapsed, and was not repaired for many years. Ritual activities at the temple were basically abandoned, and the temple’s symbolic association with imperial orthodoxy must have weakened. The Guard temple and ritual system then underwent a process of adjustment and substitution. The Banner Temple proved unable to satisfy the everyday religious needs of Guard soldiers. The officers of Jinxiang Guard then established the Daoist Green-​girdled Belvedere by manipulating the procedures for registering a temple in the official Register of Sacrifices. Daoism in the Ming was administered locally through a system of Daoist Registries, and this became a means for local sects to gain influence within the Guard. The Daoist priest overseeing the Belvedere was appointed by the Daoist Registry at the Eastern Marchmount temple in Pingyang. This arrangement linked the Green-​girdled Belvedere’s ritual activities to the larger world outside the Guard. It also brought local religion into the Guard community, hastening the localization of the religious life of the Guard. The localization of the Guard religious system was not a simple process, and was propelled by both internal and external factors. The Ming government established multiple Guards in the Wenzhou area in order to strengthen maritime defense. Jinxiang Guard was located at a key strategic position on the coast near the border of Zhejiang and Fujian. It was equipped with naval defenses and ships to patrol the surrounding bays and to guard against maritime unrest. Duke Yan, a water spirit associated with the navy, came to be universally worshipped by the Guard’s soldiers, and each Battalion established a temple to Duke Yan, facilitating the diffusion of the cult. Through the frequent interaction of Guard soldiers and water-​dwelling fishermen, the cult of Duke Yan also gradually entered into the fishermen’s own religious life. Shared belief in Duke Yan provided a common system for Guard soldiers and the water-​dwelling population, paving the way for the integration of these two communities. By adopting the Guard’s orthodox belief in Duke Yan, the water-​based communities found it easier to come ashore and integrate into the Guard system. The transformation of the cult of Duke Yan is an example of a cult originating in the Guard that spread into the surrounding communities, reshaping these communities in the process. But this was only one aspect of the evolution of the Guard temple system. Old Man Yang’s incorporation into the Guard belief system also illustrates how the Guard had to obtain the cooperation of local people in order to develop and maintain its standing in local society. The Guard interacted in various ways with the local population. Beginning in the mid-​Ming, facing rampant desertion and frequent military crises, the government had no choice but to recruit local braves and militia and adopt the barracks system in order to shore up their maritime defenses. Old Man Yang, who probably originated as an indigenous deity, was utilized by Guard officers as a means to integrate imperial soldiers with local braves. Guard officers built the Old Man Yang Temple outside the Jinxiang Guard walls in order to integrate the different kinds of local military units into a single force

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  79 to combat the wokou. Mei Kui and others performed military battle oath ceremonies at the temple, which became a focal point for the integration of the Guard into local society. By using Jinxiang Guard as a case study to analyze the transformation of the Guard temple system and explore how aspects of local society were incorporated into the imperial system, this chapter might be said to run the risk of using the periphery to generalize about the whole. Guards, as military strongholds on the empire’s borders, were key locations where the imperial system became embedded in local society. If we also consider the coastal regions as a frontier of the Ming state, comparable to those along the northeast, northwest, and the Great Wall, the transformation of temples in the Jinxiang Guard is suggestive of more general social transformations in the Ming and Qing. The imperial system was not static, but rather continually adjusted to meet local conditions. The localization of the imperial system was a driving force in the transformation of local society.

Notes 1 Zhao Shiyu, “Weisuo junhu zhidu yu Mingdai Zhongguo shehui –​shehuishi de shijiao” (Garrisons, military households, and Chinese society in the Ming dynasty:  From the perspective of social history). Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban), no.3 (2015), 114–​127. 2 Zhang Tingyu, “Jun li” (Military rites), in Ming shi, (reprint Zhonghua 1974), j. 57, 1436. 3 Zhang Tingyu, “Li si” (Rites, part IV), in Ming shi, j. 50, 1306. 4 Yamamoto Sakura, “Mindai no kitōbyō: chihōshi ni okeru kitōbyō no kōsatsu.” (Military banner temples in the Ming dynasty: Military banner temples as recorded in local gazetteers), Shigaku ronsō, 34 (2004), 58–​74; Guo Hong, “Mingdai de qidao zhi ji: Zhongguo gudai junshixing jisi de gaofeng.” (Sacrifices to the military banner in the Ming: The peak of military sacrificial rites in premodern China), Minsu yanjiu, no. 5 (2013), 90–​96. 5 Wuzhou fuzhi (Wuzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Chongzhen edition), j. 12. 6 Ren Fangbing, Ming-​Qing junli yu junzhong yongyue yanjiu (Military rites and the use of music in the army during the Ming and Qing dynasties) (Zhongyang yinyue xueyuan chubanshe 2014), 162–​163. 7 Wenzhou fuzhi (Wenzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition; reprint Hu Zhusheng, ed., Wenzhou wenxian congshu, vol. 3, Shanghai shehui kexueyuan 2006), 228–​229. 8 Taizong shilu (Veritable records of the Taizong reign), Yongle 15/​6 (1417), in Ming shilu (Veritable records of the Ming) j. 190. 9 Xuanzong shilu (Veritable records of the Xuanzong reign), Xuande 6/​3, (1431) in Ming shilu, j. 77. 10 Yingzong shilu (Veritable records of the Yingzhong reign), Zhengtong 4/​9 (1439), in Ming shilu, j. 59. 11 Yamamoto “Mindai no kitōbyō.” 12 See Xie Duo, “Chongxiu Wenzhou wei zhiji” (On the reconstruction of Wenzhou Guard), in Wenzhou fuzhi (Hongzhi edition), 582–​591.

80  Zhang Kan 13 Rui’an xianzhi (Rui’an county gazetteer) (1555), j. 6. 14 Shen Shixing et al. eds., Wanli DaMing huidian (Statutes of the Great Ming, Wanli edition) (reprint Taiwan wenhai chubanshe 1987), j. 226. 15 Li Yizhong, “Huanlü guan ji” (Record of the Green-​ girdled Belvedere), in Wu Mingzhe ed., Wenzhou lidai beike erji (Historical epigraphy of Wenzhou) (Shanghai shehui kexueyuan 2006), 942. 16 Bamin tongzhi (Gazetteer of the Eight [Prefectures] of Min [Fujian]) (1490; reprint Fujian difangzhi congkan, Fujian renmin chubanshe 1991), 2:649. 17 Xie Shuwei (Hsieh Shu-​Wei), “Song-​Yuan shiqi de Donghuapai tantao:  xipu, shengzhuan yu jiaofa” (The Daoist school of Eastern Florescence in Song and Yuan dynasties: Lineage, hagiography and teaching), Dongwu Zhongwen Xuebao (Soochow Journal of Chinese Studies) 23 (2012), 163–​192. 18 Li Yizhong, “Huanlü guan ji,” 942. 19 Chen Duan, “Zeng dongxu xiansheng daoyu you gan wen” (Expression of appreciation presented to Master Dongxu [Empty Cavern] for his prayers for rain), in Zhenglou Zheng shi shipu (Nanlou Zheng genealogy), reprint Zheng Xiaoxiao and Pan Mengbu eds., Zhe’nan pudie wenxian huibian (Collected literary excerpts from southern Zhejiang genealogies)(Xianggang (Hong Kong) chubanshe 2003), 279–​280. 20 Lu Jian, “Zheng zhenren chongxing huanlü guan ji” (Record of Master Zheng’s restoration of the Green-​girdled Belvedere), in Yang Sihao ed., Cangnan jinshi zhi (Record of Epigraphy in Cangnan) (Zhejiang guji chubanshe 2011), 156. 21 Li Boyu, “Chi jian zou fu huanlü guan beiji” (Stone record of the reconstruction by imperial order of the Green-​girdled Belvedere) in Yang Sihao, ed., Cangnan jinshi zhi, 160. 22 Wu Han, ed., Chaoxian lichao shilu zhong de zhongguo shiliao (Chinese historical sources from the official records of the Korean Joseon dynasty) (Zhonghua 1980), Taejong 6/​7/​19 (1406). 23 Jin Liangxi, “Cang’nan xian Pucheng ‘bawugeng’ xisu –​2002 nian zhengyue yingshen saihui huodong jishi” (The bawugeng ritual in Pucheng, Cangnan County: Record of the activities of the deity procession in the lunar New Year of 2002”), in Xu Hongtu and Kang Bao (Paul Katz) eds., Pingyang xian, Cangnan xian chuantong minsu wenhua yanjiu (Studies of traditional folk customs and cultures in Pingyang and Cangnan Counties) (Minzu chubanshe 2005), 434–​450. 24 Pingyang xianzhi (Pingyang county gazetteer) (1926; reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng), j.12. 25 Liu Zhiwei, “Bianyuan de zhongxin –​‘shatian-​mintian’ geju xia de Shawan shequ.” (Centrality at the margins:  A study of Shawan village in light of the “mintian” [civilian land]–​ “shatian” [reclaimed land] binary spatial structure), in Huang Zongzhi (Philip Huang) ed., Zhongguo xiangcun yanjiu (Shangwu yinshuguan 2003), 33–​63; “Zhujiang kou shuishang ren de lishi renleiuxue” (Historical anthropology of the water-​dwellers at the mouth of the Pearl River), in Suenari Michio, Liu Zhiwei, and Ma Guoqing eds., Renlei xue yu “lishi”:  diyi jie dongya renlei xue luntan baogao ji (Anthropology and “history”: The first forum of East Asian anthropology) (Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2014). 26 Bai Gengsheng ed., Zhongguo minjian gushi quanshu: Zhejiang Cangnan (Complete collection of Chinese popular stories:  Cangnan, Zhejiang volume) (Zhishi chanquan chubanshe 2013), 93. 27 Jin Liangxi, “Cang’nan xian Pucheng ‘bawugeng’ xisu.”

The evolution of temples in Jinxiang  81 28 Wenzhou fuzhi (Wenzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Qianlong edition), j. 8. 29 Hamashima Atsutoshi, “Jinshi Jiangnan haishen Liwang kao” (On the recent history of the Jiangnan maritime deity King Li), in Zhang Yanxian, ed., Zhongguo Haiyang fazhan shi lunwenji (Collected essays on the history of Chinese maritime development) (Zhongyang yanjiuyuan Zhongshan renwen shehui kexue yanjiu suo 1997), 6:217. 30 Chen Yinke, “Tianshidao yu binhai diyu zhi guanxi” (The relationship between Heavenly Master Daoism and coastal areas) in Chen Yinke shixue lunwen xuanji (Selected Historical Essays by Chen Yinke) (Shanghai guji chubanshe 1992), 150–​189. 31 Jiang Zhun, Qihai suotan (Collected writings on islands and seas) (reprint Cai Kejiao ed., Shanghai kexueyuan chubanshe 2002), 204–​205. 32 “Xiaoyuye Yang fu xinggong jibei” (Stone record on the auxiliary temple to Duke Yang at Xiaoyuye), inscription on the outer walls of Xiaoyuye Auxiliary Temple, Jinxiang. The inscription is reproduced in Cangnan jinshi zhi, 161. 33 Wenzhou fuzhi (Hongzhi edition), 474. 34 Hu Zongxian, “Zhejiang shiyi” (On matters in Zhejiang), in Chouhai tubian (Illustrated compendium on maritime affairs) (reprint Zhonghua shuju 2007), j. 5.

5  State and local society in the reform of the garrison system in the Qing Dynasty A case study of Yuzhou Guard Deng Qingping After the creation of the centralized administrative system in the Qin-​Han period, the division of imperial territory into hierarchically ordered administrative regions became the norm for successive Chinese dynasties. In the Ming and Qing, the lowest level units of the formal administrative system were the county (xian) and the subprefecture or department (zhou).1 The lion’s share of research on local governance in the Ming and Qing has therefore treated these two administrative units as the basic units for analysis. For example, both Qu Tongzu’s study of Qing governance and William Skinner’s study of late imperial Chinese cities focus on the role of the county.2 But there was in fact another type of basic level administrative unit besides subprefectures and counties that was found across the empire: the garrison. That garrisons in the Ming and Qing shared some administrative functions in common with subprefectures and counties while also having some distinctive features is well known in the Chinese-​language scholarship. Scholars have coined a number of different terms to characterize the administrative functions of the garrisons, including “garrisons having territorial jurisdiction” (shitu weisuo); “geographic [administrative] units with military characteristics” (junshi xingzhi de dili danwei); “military governance districts” (junshi xingzheng guanqu); and “quasi-​territorial garrisons” (zhun shitu weisuo).3 But despite the importance of the garrison system as a parallel system to the civilian administrative hierarchy, English-​language scholarship has paid little attention to the garrison system and its role in local governance during the Ming and Qing. In the recently published volume on the Northern and Southern Dynasties in the Harvard History of China, Mark Edward Lewis argues that the “geographic redefinition of China” was among the most important developments of the fourth to sixth centuries CE.4 One could argue that this “redefinition” of imperial geography is actually a thread running through the entire series. For example, in the Yuan-​Ming volume, Timothy Brook devotes much attention to the “internal colonialism” of the southwest. In the Qing volume, William T. Rowe explores how Qing expansion also meant a transformation in imperial geography, and the acceptance of this new geography by peoples who are today considered minority nationalities.5 The process of “geographic redefinition” involved territorial expansion, migration, economic integration,

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  83 and interaction between different ethnic groups. During the Ming and Qing, the evolution of the dual administrative system of the military garrisons and the civilian subprefectures and counties played an important role in this process of geographic redefinition. As the chapters in this volume bring to light, the garrison system could also be a driving force behind territorial expansion and the social integration of ethnic groups on the frontier. This chapter deals with the following issues: 1 the relationship between the garrison system and its political practices and community, status, and resources in local society, that is, the ways in which imperial institutions shaped local society; 2 the Qing inheritance of Ming institutions from the perspective of local society and everyday life; 3 the significance of the garrison system for understanding the history of the Ming and Qing empires. This chapter probes these issues through a case study of Yuzhou Guard. Yuzhou Guard is in many ways representative of Ming garrisons on the northern frontier. It is located in present-​day Yuxian County, formerly Yuzhou, in the Zhangjiakou region of Hebei. As a frontier garrison on the Ming’s northern defensive line, Yuzhou Guard served an important military function throughout the Ming dynasty. The author has conducted several fieldwork trips in rural areas of present-​day Yuxian, where many remnants of Ming fortresses survive. I have also collected the genealogies of a large number of lineages descended from Ming military households. Yuzhou Guard was established in 1370. The surrounding territory was at that time divided between civilian and military administrative systems, with Yuzhou Subprefecture under the jurisdiction of Datong Prefecture, Shanxi Province, and Yuzhou Guard under the jurisdiction of Wanquan Regional Military Command. Both subprefecture and Guard were administered from the same walled town; this was common practice during the Ming. Many administrative functions, including land registration and tax systems, household registration, and local schools were duplicated within the two administrative systems for the population under their respective jurisdiction. Following the decline of the garrison system in the mid-​to late Ming, Yuzhou Guard became increasingly “civilianized.” By the time of the Ming-​ Qing transition, active cooperation between the two units in providing local public services and sharing resources indicates that the subprefecture and the Guard had become more or less integrated. But despite this integration, the announcement of a plan to formally disband Yuzhou Guard in early Qing generated opposition from the soldiers and civilians under the Guard, who made official appeals to protest the disbanding of the Guard and its formal integration into the civilian system. Their opposition eventually changed the course of local administrative reforms. What explains the intensity of the local response to what might seem a straightforward administrative

84  Deng Qingping

Map 5.1 Yuzhou and vicinity

reorganization? To what social groups did these activities give voice? What was their motivation? Answering these questions can help us to understand the relationship between the garrison system and its political practice and the everyday life of people in Yuzhou, both those under the jurisdiction of the subprefecture and those in the Guard.

Social unrest in the mid-​and late Ming and the structure of local power Skirmishes and invasions along the northern frontier were frequent in the mid-​Ming, and large swaths of the region were said to have “never enjoyed a single year of peace.” Both official sources and local documents make frequent reference to Mongol attacks during this period. Local society in Yuzhou was shaped by this violent context. At the same time, the Ming garrison system was collapsing. Garrison soldiers neglected their duties, and the problems of military officers treating soldiers as a personal labor force and of military households deserting or avoiding military corvee grew increasingly severe. Because of the natural reproduction of military household members, the population of military households increased dramatically, but the number of registered imperial soldiers decreased due to desertion. As a result, the military effectiveness of garrisons like Yuzhou Guard declined. For example, up until the Jiajing reign (1522–​1566), the ordinary maintenance of the Yuzhou Guard wall and other

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  85 structures was the responsibility of Guard officers. However, after the Jiajing reign, these tasks became the responsibility of the county magistrate.6 During the same period, local gentry elites began to play an increasingly important role in local society. Local society had been badly disrupted at the beginning of the Ming and many earlier cultural traditions were broken. By the mid-​Ming local cultural life in Yuzhou had begun to revive. During the Zhengtong reign (1436–​1449), Yuzhou produced the first of a total of fifteen Ming presented scholars (jinshi), the highest level of the imperial examinations. Of these, eight were registered in the subprefecture and seven in the Guard, with most of them graduating during the mid-​to late Ming, and particularly during the Jiajing and Wanli (1573–​1620) reigns. As the literati community of Yuzhou matured, and as they confronted the inability of imperial soldiers to defend their locality, the gentry became actively involved in local defense. For example, they organized local civilians to repair Guard fortifications. A Community Pact (xiangyue) was written in 1522 by Yin Geng of Yuzhou Guard, with a preface by Hao Ming from Yuzhou Subprefecture.7 This document is a handbook for how to organize local people to build and repair defensive fortifications and various other regulations regarding community self-​defense. Promoted by local gentry like Yin Geng and Hao Ming, a large number of fortresses, including many civilian fortresses, were built at this time. A total of 110 Yuzhou fortresses appear in the Cha-​ha-​er Comprehensive Gazetteer, of which the date of construction is known for sixty-​four. Forty-​ four were built during the Jiajing and Wanli reigns, with the greatest number built during the Jiajing reign.8 Gentry efforts to organize local people to build fortifications changed the patterns of settlement and power structures in the villages. Some powerful surnames invested capital in the construction and management of fortresses. This can be seen from a door plaque preserved in Yanjia (Yan family) village commemorating the construction of a fortress in 1613. It records the names of a large number of fortress managers.9 Analysis of these names shows that beneath the name of the fortress commander Xue Shijin are listed four of his sons and nine of his grandsons. These are followed by a long list of subordinate managerial positions, with the names of the persons who held these posts. Those of the Xue surname are the most numerous. We don’t yet know how these people were selected, but it seems probable that the more powerful surname groups controlled the daily operations of the fortress. Yin Geng described the situation he saw thus: “a single village may have several fortresses; a single fortress may include several families. It has reached the point that powerful martial figures have erected their own walled fortifications, and rich and powerful families have built their own forts.”10 The construction of fortresses not only changed settlement patterns and village administrative structures. It also presented an opportunity and a resource for local powerful surnames to exert control over local society. Following the decline of the garrison system after the mid-​Ming, the military officers of the Guard who had played an important role in the local social

86  Deng Qingping order at the beginning of the Ming were gradually replaced by subprefectural and county officials. The “Two Yu” –​that is, the subprefecture and Guard, though nominally distinct, gradually became an increasingly homogenous spatial unit. When local officials and gentry supported cultural activities and distributed local resources, they further erased the divide between the subprefecture and the Guard. For example, during the early Ming, people registered in the Guard did not attend township communal drinking rituals in the subprefecture. But after the Hongzhi reign (1488–​1505), people from the Guard attended these rituals in the status of honored guests. When local literati created lists of local notables such as the “Five Worthies of Yuzhou,” and the “Two Martyrs of Yuzhou,” they included men registered in both the subprefecture and the Guard.11 This shows that the social integration of the subprefecture and the Guard was a natural process. But as soon as the court actually promoted the formal integration of the two administrative units, it generated strong resistance from the people of the Guard, led by the powerful Li surname. The plan to integrate the subprefecture and the Guard eventually had to be abandoned.

The Li lineage and the dispute over integration of the subprefecture and the Guard during the Ming-​Qing transition The Li were a military household lineage from Yuzhou Guard. Their founding ancestor was a man named Li Rang, who belonged to a Guard military household at the beginning of the Yongle reign (1403–​1424). Li Rang’s original registration was in Xiaoyi County, Shanxi Province. In 1403, he was transferred to the 200-​household squad (xiaoqi) of the middle-​right Battalion of Yuzhou Guard, and he settled in Caijiazhuang (Cai family village).12 The Guard’s “Record of Military Appointments” (wuzhi xuanbu) includes a record of Li Rang and the descendants who replaced him as serving soldiers, and this can be confirmed against the record in the Li genealogy.13 The version of the Li genealogy that we have access to today was compiled in 1775, but according to the preface, the genealogy had been previously compiled multiple times. The first compilation was by Li Zhenzao, probably before 1695. During the Kangxi (1662–​1722) and Yongzheng (1723–​ 1735) reigns, it was revised twice by Li Zhenzao’s sons Li Xuanheng and Li Xusheng, respectively. The family’s ancestral hall was also built during the Kangxi reign. The Li ancestral hall is still preserved in Caijiazhuang today. The Li genealogical chart shows that it was primarily Li Yunhua (1608–​ 1692) and his descendants who were responsible for the development of the lineage as an organization. They were descended from the fifth generation ancestor Li Feng. According to the genealogy, beginning with this branch, the ancestral residence and graves were all relocated to a different village. According to the preface, Li Rang’s grave had a headstone on which were recorded the dates of his birth and death and his original place of registration. The dates of birth and death of his descendants who inherited active military

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  87 service are recorded in the genealogy, while those details are not recorded for his other descendants. This suggests that when Li Zhenzao first compiled the genealogy, he probably consulted the “Record of Military Appointments” as well as the gravestones. The narrative structure of the Li genealogy gives the impression that the Li lineage was oriented around a military household registration and was actually constructed as a social organization through the efforts of Li Yunhua and his descendants. They had already become wealthy by the beginning of the Qing, together with the descendants of a military household of the same surname from a neighboring village. Li Yunhua was the key figure in the Li lineage. He built up the family at the end of the Ming and then was drawn into the upheaval of local society during the dynastic transition. From the genealogy, it appears that his father, Li Huaquan, was a village elder (xiangqi) of local renown. By the late Ming, the Li family had accumulated considerable land and property. At the end of the Ming, Li Yunhua and Li Tubo, who had inherited the family’s serving soldier status, came into conflict with local bandits from a nearby region. Later, Li Yunhua (and perhaps also Li Tubo) supported Shanxi Governor Zhu Shichang during the suppression of a large-​scale rebellion in the Datong region in the early Qing, providing resources and supplying the army, and working together to defeat the rebels. At the same time, while the region was still in turmoil, they contributed funds for the construction of fortifications for their own village, for the Li ancestral hall, as well as for neighboring towns and villages.14 After the unrest of the early Qing was resolved, Li Yunhua became involved in various local public activities, including building schools, organizing literati societies, and donating grain for famine relief. He had a close relationship with Wei Xiangshu, a famous early Qing official from Yuzhou. By the early Qing, the Li had become a powerful lineage with considerable influence in the locality. It was they who led the resistance against the integration of the subprefecture and the Guard. In response to tension between officials from the two administrative units, the Governor of Shanxi requested an administrative reorganization in which the Guard would be incorporated into the subprefecture. Li Yunhua led the people of the Guard in protest, making an official appeal to obtain an imperial edict in support of their position, and eventually the plans for incorporation were shelved. Li Yunhua’s son Li Zhenzao was also involved in the dispute over the incorporation of the subprefecture and the Guard. The dispute embroiled many parties, but the Li finally succeeded in ensuring that the subprefecture and the Guard would remain separate.15 Why did the Li surname and the people of Yuzhou Guard oppose the integration of the subprefecture and the Guard? The evidence suggests three reasons: 1 The appropriation of land by the Eight Banners in the capital region at the beginning of the Qing had led to conflict over garrison land property rights.

88  Deng Qingping In the early Qing, the court appropriated large tracts of land near the capital region in order to settle Manchus from beyond the Great Wall. Some garrison land was directly appropriated by the Banners, and some was used to compensate civilian landholders whose land was appropriated. Yuzhou Guard’s military colony lands were situated in the region where this appropriation occurred. More than 1,200 qing of land was seized in places including Huairou, Shunyi, and Yizhou.16 The appropriation policy stated: “All land belonging to disbanded garrisons should revert to the state.” The appropriation disrupted the property regime of the Yuzhou colony lands and gave rise to all sorts of land disputes, some of which can be found in the early Qing archives. A surviving genealogy from the Hebei region includes records relating to one such dispute.17 If the Guard had been incorporated into the subprefecture, it would have been disbanded. The Guard land would then have been confiscated and used to compensate civilian landowners whose land had been appropriated. It makes perfect sense, then, that the people of the Guard were opposed to its incorporation into the subprefecture, and that military household lineages like the Li, who by the mid-​to late Ming had already accumulated considerable land holdings of colony lands, would strongly oppose the reorganization. 2 The incorporation of the Guard into the subprefecture would have required people who had previously evaded civilian lijia registration, or who were registered as military households and thus did not provide civilian corvee, to register under the lijia system, and bear the taxation and corvee burden they had previously avoided. In his discussion of border defense in the mid-​sixteenth century, Yin Geng of Yuzhou Guard expressed strong dissatisfaction with the state of the imperial army. As he saw it, descendants of the “ancestral soldiers” (zujun) of the early Ming had multiplied after several generations, but only one adult male in what were now sometimes sprawling households could serve as an active-​duty solder at any one time. The vast majority of males in these households were supernumeraries (yuding). So long as the active-​duty soldier was in place, these supernumeraries had no military service obligations. They were not entered into the lijia household registers nor did they bear the corvee burden of civilian households registered with subprefectures and counties.18 Disbanding the Guard and incorporating it into Yuzhou Subprefecture, and revising the household registers, would inevitably have an adverse effect on the interests of those families and individuals who had obtained such advantages though their military household status. 3 Datong Prefecture, which administered Yuzhou Subprefecture, and Xuanfu Command, which administered Yuzhou Guard, had different taxation regimes, and these differences persisted after the fall of the Ming.

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  89

Map 5.2 Yuzhou and Xuanfu

In 1661 when the Qing court increased the budget for military expenses, it was proposed that the quotas for tax paid in silver and grain by Datong and Xuanfu be increased by equal amounts to meet the new requirements. As part of this proposal, it was suggested that “each garrison should report their cultivated land. Any land that had gone untaxed during the Ming should now be taxed.”19 According to the report of the Minister for Revenue A-​si-​ha, since the late Ming a surtax levy had already been in place in Datong but not on garrisons in Xuanfu. The people of Xuanfu immediately appealed, unwilling to have their taxes increased by the same rate as the subprefectures and counties under Datong Prefecture.20 Were the subprefecture and garrison to be integrated, tax increases in the subprefecture would also have been applied to the Guard. This must have been a grave concern for the people registered under the Guard. In summary, a series of policies implemented in the region in the early Qing meant that the disbanding of Yuzhou Guard would have adversely affected various rights and privileges that the people of the Guard had accrued through their military household status since the Ming. This was especially true for those powerful military household lineages who had already become local magnates by the late Ming. Because of this, they became actively involved in the dispute over the administrative reorganization. Ultimately, the incorporation did not proceed, but the affair did not end there. The difficult process of garrison reform had just begun.

90  Deng Qingping

Converting the Guard to a county and the disputes over the integration of the subprefecture and the Guard during the early Qing In 1693, Yuzhou Guard was converted to Yuxian County. The surviving historical sources suggest that this process was relatively smooth, which seems to indicate that what the people of the Guard opposed was its integration with the subprefecture, not administration reorganization in general. At this point, the two original parallel systems in the Yuzhou region, the civilian administrative system and the military system, became part of a single civilian administrative system, consisting of two civilian administrative units, a subprefecture and a county. Local officials worked hard to demarcate administrative boundaries and the administrative authority of officials in the subprefecture and county respectively. However, military and civilian populations and the land they occupied and cultivated had not previously conformed to clear administrative boundaries, and the sharing of common resources that had developed between the subprefecture and the Guard over more than a century left numerous problems to be resolved. After Yuzhou Guard was converted to Yuxian County, demarcating the administrative boundaries between the new county and Yuzhou Subprefecture became an important priority. The problem of boundaries was closely linked to the delimitation of the administrative powers of the two magistrates. The Yuxian county gazetteer, the supplement to the Yuzhou subprefecture gazetteer, and the Xuanhua prefecture gazetteer, all compiled during the eighteenth century, include detailed descriptions of the boundaries between Yuzhou Subprefecture and Yuxian County. These descriptions include areas that “belong to both the subprefecture and the county.” One gazetteer compiler lamented that “it is impossible to differentiate the land of the subprefecture and the county, but we are required to do so.”21 By the 1720s, the problem of adjusting administrative regions and the confusion brought about by the dissolution of the garrisons at the beginning of the Qing had drawn the attention of the imperial court. In 1725, the Yongzheng emperor ordered high-​ranking officials in the localities to survey boundaries and clearly demarcate administrative borders. In 1726, the governor-​ general of Zhili, Li Fu, received an edict instructing him to go to Yuzhou and survey the boundary between Yuzhou Subprefecture and Yuxian County. Li Fu reported that the boundaries were unclear and that the two populations were interspersed, making administration very difficult. During Li Fu’s tour of inspection imperial students from the county organized a collective protest, with more than one hundred people blocking his path and prostrating themselves before him, petitioning him not to incorporate the county into the subprefecture. Li Fu explained that he was only there to do a survey, not to integrate the two districts, and the petitioners dispersed. This affair originated in an episode where bandits had appeared on the outskirts of Yuzhou Subprefecture. Subprefect Tang Linxiang tried to assign

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  91 responsibility for the matter to Yuxian County, and the subprefect and the county magistrate blamed one other. After higher-​ranked officials investigated the case, the subprefect tried to cover up his failure. He took advantage of an imperial edict ordering the demarcation of the border with the neighboring province to request that the subprefecture and the county be integrated.22 As Li Fu saw it, the main reason that the proposal to incorporate the subprefecture and the county was so vehemently resisted by the imperial students of Yuxian County was the dissatisfaction of the local literati and general populace with changes to tax and corvee policies and adjustments to the quota for imperial students. According to Li Fu’s report, since the beginning of the Qing, corvee and grain tax in Yuzhou Subprefecture had been converted to silver while Yuxian County, following the precedent of the Guard, paid their tax in rice and beans. The people of Yuxian County preferred to pay their tax in unconverted raw goods, and they worried that incorporation into Yuzhou Subprefecture would mean that their tax would have to be paid in silver. Even if their tax was still to be paid in kind, the taxpayers of Yuxian County paid their taxes to Zhangjiakou, Wanquan, and other nearby places. If they were incorporated into Yuzhou Subprefecture, they would come under the administration of Shanxi Province, and would have to pay their taxes to the Datong Right Garrison, Shahukou, or such places, with a return trip of more than two thousand li.23 In other words, under the dual administrative system of the subprefecture and the garrison, civilian land tax and military colony grain quotas had always been collected in two different ways. These two different models of tax collection had been maintained into the early Qing. If the subprefecture and the county were to be integrated, Yuxian County would be administered by Shanxi, and the method of tax collection and the point at which it would be collected would all change. These changes were unacceptable to the people of Yuxian County. The key to the student quota question was, as Li Fu wrote, that “as the number of registered households expands, student quotas decrease.” In 1725, the court had adjusted the quota of students who could be admitted to prefectural schools. In Yuzhou Subprefecture, which was under the administration of Shanxi Province, the subprefectural school was ranked as a “mid-​sized” school, and the quota of students that the school could admit was fifteen. Yuxian County, however, was under the administration of Zhili. Since it was in the capital region, its school was ranked as a “large school,” with a quota of eighteen students.24 If the subprefecture and the county were integrated, and Yuxian County were transferred to the administration of Shanxi, the student quota for Yuxian County would be lowered. At the same time, the subprefectural school and the county school might have been combined, which would have meant a reduction in total numbers to a quota of twenty, and the loss of the county’s independent student quota. Taking these concerns into account, Li Fu recommended against the integration of Yuxian County and Yuzhou Subprefecture. He recommended instead that the best way to resolve the administrative problems caused by the

92  Deng Qingping two units being administered by different higher-​level units, namely Xuanhua Prefecture in Zhili for Yuxian County and Datong Prefecture in Shanxi for Yuzhou Subprefecture, was to transfer Yuzhou Subprefecture to the administration of Xuanhua Prefecture. In 1728, administration of Yuzhou Subprefecture was indeed transferred to Xuanhua. All the administrative programs such as tax quotas, transportation and storage, household and land registration, schools, postal stations, and corvee were to be clearly recorded by the governor of Shanxi, Jue-​luo-​shi-​lin, and handed over to the governor-​ general of Zhili.25 We can see that this administrative adjustment in 1728  “to clarify the borders” was intended to resolve the numerous problems that remained after the Guard was converted to a county in 1693. These reforms demarcated the border where the two provinces met and the subprefecture and the county were interlocked. At the same time, they brought both the subprefecture and the county under the administration of Xuanhua Prefecture in Zhili in the hope of smoothing out administrative operations. The Qing rulers had always considered Zhili as the capital region, and had granted it favorable tax and corvee policies and preferential treatment in the imperial examinations. Thus the transfer of Yuzhou Subprefecture to Zhili not only represented an administrative adjustment, but also involved an adjustment to various local interests. The subprefecture would now enjoy the preferential tax policies afforded to the subprefectures and counties of Zhili, and subsidies for public rituals would also be distributed at the higher rate afforded Zhili prefectures, subprefectures, and counties. The number of pupils admitted to the county school would be set in accordance with the precedent for large subprefectures and counties in Zhili, which, at eighteen, was higher than the original quota of fifteen.

Cultural activities in Yuxian County and the eventual integration of the subprefecture and the county Bringing Yuzhou Subprefecture under the administration of Zhili solved the problem of the subprefecture and county being administered by two different provinces. But it didn’t solve the various administrative problems caused by interlocking boundaries and interspersed populations, including the issue of shared resources that had been developing since the Ming. This presented a significant challenge; serious conflicts arose over the allocation of various kinds of local resources, particularly cultural resources, between Yuzhou Subprefecture and Yuxian County.26 Local officials and literati in Yuxian County sought to build local cultural traditions and shape and express a distinct Yuxian County local identity through activities such as compiling the Yuxian county gazetteer, selecting and celebrating the “Eight Scenic Sights of Yuxian County,” building a temple to the City God of Yuxian County, and contesting the rights to conduct sacrifice at the Confucius Temple with Yuzhou Subprefecture.

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  93 From its establishment in the Ming right through to the early Qing, Yuzhou Guard had never had a gazetteer. Records concerning its household registers, land, scenery, historical sights, and prominent people were all appended to the Yuzhou subprefecture gazetteer. Even fifty years after the county had been established, it still had no gazetteer, which was a source of discontent for county elites. In 1736, the county magistrate Wang Yuyuan funded and organized the compilation of the county’s first gazetteer, which was completed and printed 1739. According to the records of the one of the main compilers, Li Shunchen, many people from Yuxian County contributed funds to assist with the compilation.27 The gazetteer’s preface asserts that “Yu has had a gazetteer since the time of County Magistrate Wang. It could also be said that Yu has had a county since the time of County Magistrate Wang.”28 We can see that the compilation of the Yuxian county gazetteer was symbolically important to the people of the locality. The “Eight Scenic Sights of Yuxian County” in the Yuxian county gazetteer was modeled after the example of the “Ten Scenic Sights of Yuzhou Subprefecture” in Ming and Qing subprefecture gazetteers.29 The county gazetteer also included “Poems on the Eight Scenic Sights of Yuxian County” composed by County Magistrate Wang Yuyuan and the local worthy Li Shunchen, which celebrated these sights in verse. The “Eight Scenic Sights of Yuxian County” were selected by local people. The product of a cooperative effort by the county magistrate and local literati, the “Eight Scenic Sights” appeared after Yuzhou Guard was converted into a county and its boundaries clearly demarcated. Shrines and temples are an important type of local cultural resource. In the Ming, most of the shrines and temples within the walls of the fort were shared between the Guard and the subprefecture. After the Guard was converted to a county at the beginning of the Qing, sharing the temples between the subprefecture and the county became a problem, and there were disputes over who could perform sacrifices at some of them. As a result, some new local shrines with administrative symbolic meaning came to be built. For example, Yuxian County built its own temple to the City God. The City God is the protective spirit for different levels of administrative units, but Yuzhou Guard had never established a City God temple during the Ming dynasty. After the Guard was converted to a county, successive county magistrates organized the construction of a temple to the City God.30 Yuzhou Guard did not have its own garrison school, and most exam candidates were affiliated with the subprefectural school. As the Yuxian county gazetteer put it, “in the construction of temples and schools, the subprefecture and the garrison combined as one.”31 The Confucius Temple was originally “jointly constructed by the people of the subprefecture and the Guard,” and when the sacrificial ceremonies were held in the spring and autumn, they were jointly performed by the subprefecture and the Guard officials without any disputes.32 After the Guard was converted to a county, a new county school was established, but no new Confucius temple was

94  Deng Qingping built, so the county students still sacrificed together with the subprefecture students. However, they experienced discrimination from the people of the subprefecture, and students registered with the county were not permitted to enter the temple to perform sacrifice. In response, the Yuxian County magistrate and the students registered with the county filed an appeal to retain these rights, and ultimately their right to use the Confucius Temple and perform the sacrifices together with the subprefecture was upheld. These developments demonstrate that after the Guard was converted to a county, local officials and literati worked to build an administrative system and a cultural tradition independent from the subprefecture. But Yuxian County did not survive as an independent administrative region for long. In 1757, the governor-​ general of Zhili, Fang Guancheng, submitted a memorial in which he noted that Yuzhou Subprefecture, now under the authority of Xuanhua Prefecture, Zhili, and Yuxian County were administered from the same walled fort, and that their territory and population were interlocked and interspersed. As a result, both tax collection and arrests in legal cases required the cooperation of both the subprefecture and the county, making basic administration very complex. Fang Guancheng recommended that Yuxian County be disbanded and incorporated into Yuzhou Subprefecture, and that the villages, civilian households, and land and head taxes all be administered by the Yuzhou Subprefecture.33 The Board of Personnel concurred, and ordered that his suggestions be carried out. The incorporation of the two administrative units was carried out by the local government with the support of the imperial court in order to address administrative problems and disputes over the allocation of resources. But the incorporation could ultimately be completed without encountering the strong opposition it had faced during the Yongzheng reign only because popular demands to protect the interests of the people of Yuxian County were met. First, the student quota, which was what the gentry of Yuxian County cared about most strongly, was protected. Yuxian County originally had a quota in local and provincial examinations of eighteen civil candidates, fifteen martial candidates, and twenty stipend students. Every two years, exceptional county students had the opportunity to be selected as tribute students [gongsheng]. After Yuxian County was incorporated into the subprefecture, Fang Guancheng recommended that the students originally registered under Yuxian County be reregistered, and that quotas for advancement and stipends be dealt with in accordance with previous practice. This was all clearly laid out in school documents. Martial students of Yuzhou County were also to be reregistered and enjoy the same opportunities as they had prior to the reorganization.34 Second, the two systems of tax collection that developed under the Ming were maintained even after the county was incorporated into the subprefecture. Households originally registered in the subprefecture continued to pay taxes in silver, while the households of the former county, like Yuzhou Guard before it, paid in kind. These two systems existed in parallel right up until the

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  95 Republican era, when it was recorded that “the fifteen li of the subprefecture pay their taxes in silver,” while “the eight li of the county pay in grain.”35

Conclusion The case of Yuzhou Guard illustrates clearly the impact of the Ming dynasty garrison system on local society. Because Yuzhou Guard was situated on the northern frontier, its military position was extremely important, so large numbers of military households and their families were settled there and given responsibility to hold the defensive line. As a result, a clear distinction formed between the military and military households on one hand and civilian residents on the other. During the mid-​Ming, amid frequent incursions by Mongols and unrest in local society, some powerful military households accrued control over rural society through activities like building fortresses, providing soldiers, participating in battles, and supporting refugees. At the beginning of the Qing, the imperial court wished to disband Yuzhou Guard. This would have had detrimental effects on the military colony landholdings, tax and corvee obligations, access to the imperial examinations and other local resources of the people of the garrison. Powerful local families who had risen since the mid-​Ming led a campaign of resistance to the proposed reform, and ultimately, Yuzhou Guard was maintained as an independent administrative unit, Yuxian County. In order to emphasize Yuxian County’s independence, local officials and gentry from Yuxian County sought to develop a distinctive local identity through a series of cultural projects, including compiling a county gazetteer. When Yuxian County was finally combined with Yuzhou Subprefecture, differences in tax collection and treatment in the imperial examination were preserved to protect the interests of these communities, and the idea that there were “two Yu” persisted through to the Republican era. The case of Yuzhou Guard also reminds us of the importance of examining the transition from the Ming to the Qing from the perspective of local society and everyday life. Scholars have long been concerned with the Ming-​ Qing transition. Whether they have emphasized continuity from the Ming to the Qing, or, like New Qing Historians, the uniqueness of Qing, the question of how the Qing dealt with its Ming inheritance has been a key question. Lynn Struve argues that the Qing’s inheritance from the Ming included the Cabinet; Six Boards; the administrative system of provinces, prefectures, subprefectures, and counties of the Chinese interior; the southern frontier regions; the eastern vassal states, and foreign affairs.36 The garrison system is also an important part of this inheritance. From the perspective of Qing imperial administrators, garrisons that were not responsible for transporting tribute grain should have been incorporated into the civilian administrative system as quickly as possible to reduce administrative inefficiencies and simplify the local social order.37 But from the perspective of local society, the many facets of the garrison system, including household registration, land, tax and corvee, culture and education, formed a system that was different

96  Deng Qingping from the civilian system of subprefectures and counties, producing distinct new communities with different social activities, relations, and interests. The political practices of the garrison had gradually become a part of the everyday life of local people. Not only did their registration in the garrison bring concrete benefits, it also shaped a local identity that was closely connected to notions of belonging to a particular administrative unit. These local interests and the local identity of belonging shaped local attitudes toward reform of the garrisons in the early Qing. The Qing’s institutional inheritance from the Ming included not only the central and regional administrative systems in the traditional sense but also the myriad local social structures formed through institutional practices and community activities and interactions. Understanding the perspective of local society and the activities of communities in specific localities is therefore vital to understanding the Qing reconstruction of the imperial order.

Notes 1 [In both Ming and Qing, the zhou was an administrative unit typically intermediating between prefectures and a number of counties, and in some cases between provinces and counties. Because it occupied a slightly different position in the territorial administrative structure of the two dynasties, it is conventionally translated differently, as “subprefecture” in the Ming and “department” in the Qing. Yuzhou in the Qing remained directly subordinate to a prefecture, and therefore still functionally equivalent to a subprefecture. So, to avoid confusion, we translate zhou consistently as “subprefecture” here, both for Ming and Qing. trans.] 2 T’ung-​tsu Ch’ü, Local government in China under the Ch’ing (Harvard 1962); G.  William Skinner, “Introduction:  Urban development in imperial China” in G. William Skinner, ed., The city in late imperial China (Stanford 1977). 3 Tan Qixiang, “Shi Mingdai dusi weisuo zhidu” (On the system of military commissions and garrisons in Ming), Yugong 3.10 (1935), reprinted in Tan Qixiang, Changshui ji (Renmin chubanshe 1987), vol. 1, 152; Gu Cheng, “Ming qianqi gengdi shu xintan” (A new study into statistics on early Ming cultivated acreage), Zhongguo shehui kexue, no.  4 (1986), 193–​213; Zhou Zhenhe, Zhongguo difang xingzheng zhidushi (Institutional history of China’s local administration) (Shanghai renmin chubanshe 2005), 354–​355; Guo Hong and Yu Cuiyan, “Mingdai dusi weisuo zhidu yu junguanxing zhengqu” (The Ming dynasty military commission garrison system and military governance districts), Junshi lishi yanjiu, no. 4 (2004), 84. 4 Mark Edward Lewis, China between empires: The Northern and Southern dynasties (Harvard 2009), 2. 5 Timothy Brook, The troubled empire:  China in the Yuan and Ming dynasties (Harvard 2009), 29; William Rowe, China’s last empire: The great Qing (Harvard 2009),  73–​81. 6 Yuzhou zhi (Yuzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1877; reprint Chengwen chubanshe, 1989), 6:78. 7 Yin Geng, Xiangyue (Community pact) (reprint Congshu jicheng chubian, Zhonghua shuju 1985), 29. 8 Chahaer sheng tongzhi (Cha-​ha-​er province general gazetteer) (reprint Zhongguo bianjiang congshu, Wenhai chubanshe 1966), j. 14, 1085–​1101.

Reform of the garrison system in the Qing  97 9 “Yanjiazhai xinxiu kaimen yizuo beiji” (Stele recording the construction of a gate in Yanjia fortress) (1613), inscription located on the western side of the southern fortress gate, Yanjiazhai village, Yongquanzhuang Township, Yuxian County, Hebei. 10 Yin Geng, Xiangyue, 3. 11 The “Five Worthies of Yuzhou” were five local literati who achieved success in the imperial examinations from the sixteenth through the early seventeenth centuries, of which three belonged to the Guard and two to the subprefecture. The “Two Martyrs of Yuzhou” were two chaste women, one each from the garrison and the subprefecture. 12 Lishi jiapu (Li surname genealogy), 1775, collection of the Family History Center, Salt Lake City, Utah, no. 652, vol. 2. 13 “Shu fuqianhu shi shishou baihu Li Rang” (Record of Li Rang, provisional deputy battalion commander and company commander commander), “Wuzhi xuanbu  –​Yuzhou wei” (Register of military appointments, Yuzhou Guard), in Zhongguo Mingchao dang’an zonghui (General collection of Ming dynasty archives) (Guangxi shifan daxue chubanshe 2001), vol. 70, 451–​452. 14 Lishi jiapu, j. 4. 15 Lishi jiapu, j. 7. 16 Yuxian Zhi (Yuxian county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition; reprint Xuesheng shuju 1969), j. 14, 210–​211. 17 Ceke (Cheke), “Hubu shangshu Cheke ti Zhili Yongping wei quanbu tudi yu Luanzhou shesu shiben” (Minister for Revenue Ceke’s memorial concerning transferring land from Yongping Guard, Zhili, to Luanzhou), Shunzhi 10/​4/​2 (1653), Qingdai dang’an shiliao congbian, (Zhonghua shuju 1979), series 4, 94–​100; Yizhou Chenshi zongpu (Chen surname of Yizhou genealogy) (Jiaqing edition), National Library of China. 18 Yin Geng, Sai yu (On fortresses) (reprint Congshu jicheng, vol. 3227, Shangwu 1936),  21–​23. 19 Asha (A-​si-​ha), “Hubu Shangshu Asiha ti ge weisuo reng an dimu zhengshou lianxiang shiben” (Minister for Revenue Asha’s memorial concerning continuing the practice of levying the surtax on garrisons according to registered acreage to support military expenses), Shunzhi 18/​11/​20 (1662), in Qingdai dang’an shiliao congbian (Zhonghua shuju 1978), series 4, 28. 20 Asha (A-​si-​ha), “Hubu Shangshu Asiha ti Xuanzhen lianxiang ying yu Datong yiyang zhao yinliang eshu jiapai shiben” (Minister for Revenue Asha’s memorial that the levy for military rations on Xuanzhen should be levied in silver and grain in the same way as Datong), Shunzhi 18/​12/​6 (1662), in Qingdai dang’an shiliao congbian (Zhonghua shuju 1978), series 4, 33–​34. 21 Xuanhua fuzhi (Xuanhua prefectural gazetteer) (1744), vol. 2, 26–​27. 22 Li Fu, “Yifu Shanxi zongdu lun Yuzhou Yuxian dijie wen” (Reply to the governor-​ general of Shanxi on delineating the boundary between Yuzhou Subprefecture and Yuxian County) in Mutang biegao (Supplementary draft from the hall of solemnity) (reprint Xuxiu siku quanshu, vol. 1422, Shanghai guji 1995), 619–​622. 23 Ibid., 620. 24 Shizong Xian huangdi shilu (Veritable records of the Yongzheng reign), Yongzheng 3/​4 (1725) in Qing shilu, j. 30, 447, 450. 25 Yuzhou zhi, 3:46. 26 On the conflicts caused by the allocation of resources between Yuzhou Subprefecture and Yuxian County, see Deng Qingping, “Weisuo zhidu bianqian

98  Deng Qingping yu jiceng shehui de ziyuan peizhi –​yi Ming-​Qing Yuzhou wei zhongxin de kaocha” (The transformation of the garrison system and the allocation of resources at the local level –​a study of Ming-​Qing Yuzhou), Qiushi xuekan, no. 6 (2007), 150–​155. 27 Li Shunchen was a descendant of the Li lineage of Yuzhou Guard mentioned earlier. He was the grandson of Li Yunhua, who was active in the dispute between the subprefecture and the Guard during the late Ming and early Qing. Li Shunchen, “Yuxian shijiao Wang fumu chuangzuan zhishu beiji” (Inscription commemorating Yuxian County Magistrate Wang compiling the gazetteer), in Dungutang nigu zawen (Assorted writings in imitation of antiquity from the hall of esteeming antiquity) (reprint Qingdaishi wenji huibian, Shanghai guji chubanshe 2009) 2:20–​21. 28 Yuxian zhi, “Xu” (preface), 45. 29 Ibid., j. 1, 83–​96. 30 Li Shunchen, “Chuangjian Yuxian chenghuang miao beiji” (Inscription recording the construction of a temple to the City God in Yuxian County), in Dungutang nigu zawen, 2:29–​30. 31 Yuxian zhi, j. 10, 161. 32 Ibid., j. 30, 581. 33 Fang Guancheng, “Fang Guancheng tiqing caitai Yuxian yi que shi gaixian cunzhuang minhu ji jingzheng diding qianliang gui Yuzhou guanxia dengshi tiben” (Fang Guancheng’s memorial concerning the elimination of Yuxian County and the transfer of the civilian households of the villages of the county, as well as the head and land tax obligations, to the administration of Yuzhou Subprefecture, and other matters) (1757), First Historical Archives, Beijing, 02-​01-​03-​05328-​019. 34 Ibid. 35 Zhang Daochun, “Chahaer sheng tianfu yanjiu” (Studies on Cha-​ ha-​ er taxation), in Xiao Zheng et al. eds., Minguo ershi niandai Zhongguo dalu tudi wenti ziliao (Materials on the land question on the Chinese mainland during the 1930s) (Chengwen chubanshe 1977), 1159–​1160. The “fifteen li” of Yuzhou Subprefecture were apportioned under the Ming lijia system, continuing to the late Qing and the Republican era. By contrast, the “eight li” were the eight Battalions of the Ming Yuzhou Guard. When the garrison was converted to a county, they were converted to the “eight li.” 36 Lynn Struve, ed., The Qing formation in world-​historical time (Harvard University Asia Center 2004), 6–​7. 37 David Robinson points out that one of the chief causes of banditry and rebellion in the capital region during the mid-​Ming was the density of garrisons in the region and the problems of administration bifurcated between the military and civilian systems. Bandits, eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven: Rebellion and the economy of violence in mid-​Ming China (University of Hawai’i 2001), 27–​68.

6  Where are the Western Aborigines? Ningfan Guard and the transformation of local society in southwestern Sichuan in Ming and Qing Long Sheng How did territorially vast and ethnically diverse imperial formations with huge populations maintain their rule? Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper invoke a “politics of difference,” characterized by the use of middlemen agents, flexible political approaches, and a distinctive imperial imagination to explain the stability and longevity of polities as varied as the Roman, Chinese, Byzantine, and Ottoman Empires.1 They link the stability and endurance of the Ming and Qing Empires specifically to their highly developed bureaucratic system, differentiated policies for different ethnic groups, pluralist religious policies, integrated economy, and patterns of frontier expansion.2 The garrison and military household system was another important element in the long-​term stability of imperial rule in the Ming and Qing that has largely gone unnoticed by scholars. To explore the significance of the garrison and military household system to the Ming-​Qing state, this chapter introductions Ningfan Guard in Sichuan and discusses its relationship with local society over time. Ningfan Guard is located on the site of present-​day Mianning County in Sichuan. Ningfan was situated in a long, narrow river valley formed from long-​term erosion caused by the Anning River. The plains on either side of the river valley are today dotted with Han villages with ancestral halls, temples, and other typical Han architectural features. According to local villagers, at some time in the past these areas were home to an indigenous people called the Xifan (“Western Aborigines”) in Chinese sources and communities of Han people first appeared only after the garrison was established in the early Ming. Historical memories of the Xifan have been passed down in the oral tradition of local Han people up to the present day. The origin stories of some local Han lineages hint at their connections to the indigenous peoples. For example, according to local folklore, the village of Wenjiatun (“Wen family colony”) was formerly the home of an indigenous group surnamed Wen. At the beginning of the Ming, a Han surnamed Deng commanded troops stationed at Wenjiatun and married a local aboriginal woman with the surname Yu. Because Deng’s descendants were born of a “barbarian (man) mother and a Han father,” the nearby Han call them “big-​eared barbarians” behind their backs.3

100  Long Sheng The cults worshiped by Han in Mianning today also bear the imprint of the Xifan. Cults to a “family deity” (jia shen) and to white stones are very typical in Mianning today. According to my field investigation, before 1949 most Han houses in the Mianning valley region were two-​story structures. On the second story, villagers hung a painted image of a god they called the family deity. Each lineage had its own family deity. For example, the Deng of Wenjiatun worshipped the “Red-​haired Duke” (hongmao guogong), and the Deng of Pusadu (“Bodhisattva Ford”) the “White-​tasseled General” (baiying jiangjun). The Wang family deity was the “Garrison Commander” (zong bing) and the Zhou worshipped the bodhisattva Guanyin. Family members placed a white stone in front of the painting of the family deity in each home. Local Han believe that the family deity protects the health of the whole family, old and young, ensuring their safe travels, and the well-​being of their livestock. But if sacrifices are neglected, then the family deity may bring illness (including madness) or disaster. When this happens, the family must sacrifice to the family deity and the white stone in order to be released from their wrath. According to the Deng of Wenjiatun, their family deity, the Red-​haired Duke, also known as the Seven Snake General (qishe dajiang), was originally the family deity of the ancestral matriarch, the Xifan woman surnamed Yu. The  descendants of the Deng continued to sacrifice to the deity after she entered their family.4 This story hints at a link between the family deities currently worshipped by Han and those originally worshipped by the indigenous Xifan. Ethnographic sources corroborate this point. During the Ming and Qing, Xifan lived in large numbers across the mountain regions in the western part of present-​day Mianning. After 1949, these indigenous groups were generally categorized as Tibetan (Zangzu). Like the Han in Mianning today, they worship family deities and white stones. The Tibetans in Lianhe Township in Mianning also live in two-​story homes, and place an image of the family deity on the upper floor.5 They also revere white stones, and when a family member becomes ill, it is especially important to sacrifice to the white stone.6 The Tibetans of Miaoding and Lawu villages, in Mianning’s He’ai Township, also worship white stones on the second floor of their houses, believing that the white stone is a deity that protects their family. It can ward off evil, protect family harmony, and ensure that livestock flourish.7 This suggests that the worship of deities in villages in the Mianning river valley region whose inhabitants are now identified as Han retain certain elements that are strongly associated with an earlier Xifan culture. After Ningfan Guard was established in the early Ming, the structure of society in the Anning River valley underwent a major transformation from one comprised of people known as Xifan to one comprised exclusively of Han. Today the Xifan exist only in people’s memory. How did the garrison integrate and incorporate the Xifan into state rule? How did the garrison military household framework shape local society over the long term, creating a stable frontier zone, and contributing to the political stability that was

Where are the Western Aborigines?  101

Map 6.1 The Mianning region

so important to imperial rule? To answer these questions, we need sources more detailed than the official or elite records that have been used by previous scholars. I  have conducted fieldwork in the region over several years, collecting genealogies, stele inscriptions, contracts, and local archival sources, in the hope of answering these questions. These sources reveal the transformation of garrison and local society in Ming and Qing.

Garrison, household registration, and Xifan-​Han relations People known to the Han Chinese as Xifan were already living in the territory that is present-​day Mianning in the Yuan dynasty. At that time, the area was

102  Long Sheng called Suzhou, and it was administered by the Yunnan Branch Secretariat, with local chieftains appointed as officials to govern the population.8 In the first month of 1382, the Ming imperial army conquered Yunnan, and Suzhou surrendered.9 In order to stabilize the local order, the Ming dynasty continued to use local chieftains as native officials (tuguan) to rule Suzhou. For the next several years, the region was peaceful, suggesting that the governing strategy employed during this time was more or less effective. In hope of developing the tea-​horse trade, in 1387 Ming officials were despatched to negotiate the surrender of Xifan to the west and north of Suzhou. A system of native chieftaincies (tusi) was established the following year.10 Concerned about instability in the region, and especially fearing that the Xifan in Suzhou might unite in resistance, later that year the Ming court assembled a Han army from Nanjing and sent it to Suzhou to establish Suzhou Guard.11 This apparently aroused the resentment of Pawuta, a native official in Suzhou. In 1392, Yuelutiemuer, a commander in Jianchang Guard, to the south of Suzhou, led a rebellion by the native officials of the Anning River basin against the Ming.12 The Ming seized the opportunity presented by the suppression of the rebellion to eliminate the native officials of Suzhou, and bring the area under the direct control of Suzhou Guard. In 1394, the name of the Guard was changed to Ningfan (Pacify the Aborigines). The Ming established four more Guards along the Anning River, under the administration of the Sichuan Circuit Military Commission (Sichuan xingdusi).13 Establishing these garrisons brought local indigenous peoples, previously administered indirectly through native chieftaincies and native officials, directly under state control. The Xifan of Ningfan were divided into two groups. From each Xifan household, one adult male was conscripted and registered as a one-​man military “household,” on the principle that every household should provide one soldier. These men became progenitors of garrison military households under the local Han imperial army command. As the Veritable Records of Ming Taizu record:  “The actual number of households should be clarified. From each household, one adult male is to be conscripted into military registration, and placed under the command of the old [i.e., existing Han] soldiers.”14 Placing Han officers in command of Xifan military households created a pattern of Xifan and Han military households living together in the same settlement. The remaining Xifan (i.e., the families of the conscripted men) were registered as civilian households. According to the records, the Xifan of Ningfan Guard were registered in four li (approximately 440 households).15 They were responsible for providing various kinds of corvee services to Ningfan Guard. These Xifan civilian households lived in their own settlements, close by the Xifan and Han mixed settlements. Thus Xifan families that had originally lived as a single household were now divided among two different kinds of household registration. One member of the family was registered as the patriarch of a military household

Where are the Western Aborigines?  103

Map 6.2 Distribution of garrisons of the Sichuan Regional Military Commission in Ming

and the others members of the same family were registered as a civilian household. It is easy to understand the motivation behind this kind of household registration system. The family members who were registered as soldiers lived together with Han military households, who kept them under surveillance. They were like hostages for the good behavior of the rest of their family, who would therefore be less likely to lightly take the decision to rebel. If they rebelled, the family member in the army would be guilty by association. The consequence of these measures –​“one household, two registrations” (yihu erji) and “soldiers serving as hostages” (qianjun zuozhi) –​backed by the formidable

104  Long Sheng military force of the Ming, was that the indigenous Xifan, who had originally been under the administration of native officials, were absorbed into the garrison system. It is this system, and the resulting relationship between indigenes and Han military households, that distinguishes Ningfan from garrisons in the empire’s north and southeast. Garrisons in the coastal regions of the southeast were mostly established inside or nearby existing prefectures and counties. At least in the initial period after they were established, there were clear distinctions between society outside the garrison walls and life within, and between the military and civilian (and saltern) households who were registered under the two different systems.16 In the north, garrisons were established primarily to defend against the peoples beyond the Great Wall. So the divide between the groups on the inside and outside of the Great Wall was also very strict.17 But in Sichuan, the establishment of garrisons like Ningfan meant that Han military households and Xifan native soldiers lived together, and the close relationship resulting from this arrangement led to the integration of indigenous peoples with Han military households. The origin stories of intermarriage between Xifan and Han that circulate in Han society in Mianning today were formed and transmitted against this kind of social background.

Private soldiers, family servants, and Han surnames In the early Ming the absorption of the Xifan into the garrison system was the result of the use of force. From the mid-​Ming, as the empire’s military strength declined and new policies were implemented, the interaction and integration between the Xifan and Han of Ningfan Guard became more complex. By the mid-​Ming, the Sichuan Circuit Regional Military Commission’s military power had declined significantly. According to the records of a Sichuan official named Deng Gui, who served during the Wanli reign (1573–​ 1620), nearly sixty thousand imperial troops had been stationed in the region in the early Ming, but only five thousand remained in his own time.18 Cao Xuequan, who also served as an official in Sichuan during the Wanli reign, wrote that ninety-​two of the original military colonies of Ningfan had been abandoned. For many miles not a hearth fire could be seen, nor a single chicken or dog heard.19 Even if this description may be exaggerated, the phenomenon of garrison imperial troops deserting and disappearing was real. The result was a massive decline in the garrison’s military strength, and the appearance of huge swaths of abandoned, fallow garrison colony fields. Rebellions and uprisings around the Sichuan Circuit Regional Military Command became increasingly common. In response to military decline and widespread rebellions, beginning in the mid-​Ming garrison officers in Sichuan increasingly recruited private military personnel, known as “family soldiers” (jiading). Private soldiers were recruited from among the ranks of garrison soldiers, through recruitment of civilians, and from surrendered indigenous people.20 Because they were

Where are the Western Aborigines?  105 subject to strict selection and training, they tended to be good fighters. They became an important component of the garrisons’ military forces during the mid-​and late Ming. Tan Lun, an official who served in Sichuan during the Jiajing reign, wrote that recruiting private soldiers was very common in the garrisons around Ningfan. Officers at the top of the garrison hierarchy all the way down to common soldiers at the bottom all recruited multiple private soldiers. He mentions two of them by name: Shi Li and Shi Liang, private soldiers recruited by Ningfan Guard commander Shi Pu.21 Ningfan Guard officers recruited private soldiers not only to strengthen military capacity but also to cultivate military colony lands. Being put to work by their officers was a common reason why soldiers deserted. Their officers then often took the opportunity presented by desertion to seize abandoned fields and become local magnates. By the time of Zheng Guofu, the fifth generation descendant to hold the position of hereditary commander of Jianchang Guard Middle Battalion, the family’s land holdings had become enormous, and extended to the borders of territory belonging to the native officials.22 Land appropriated by the military officers provided the economic basis for recruiting private soldiers. Because of high levels of desertion by Han soldiers, the officials of Ningfan and other garrisons often looked to the indigeneous people to recruit as private soldiers to replace the deserters. For example, in the Wanli era, Zhang Su, a commander of Yanjing Guard, and Battalion Commander Zhang Yu recruited inhabitants of four Mosuo villages as their private soldiers (during the ethnic classification process after 1949 the Mosuo came to be classified as part of the Naxi ethnic group).23 According to custom, private soldiers took on their master’s surname. Thus the Mosuo retainers of these two officers adopted the Zhang surname. The relationship between private soldiers and their masters was one of co-​dependence or interdependence. The responsibilities of private soldiers included following their masters into battle, protecting their masters and serving their daily needs. Masters in turn often treated their private soldiers well. Relations between these private soldiers and the masters could be close. Some private soldiers were even adopted by their masters.24 Thus from the mid-​ Ming, many Xifan and other indigenous peoples around Ningfan Guard took on Han surnames and integrated into the local Han community as a consequence of serving as the private soldiers of garrison military officials. The recruitment of indigenes as family retainers (jiapu) by garrison officials also contributed to their social integration. This development was a consequence of the reform of garrison schools in the mid-​Ming. In order to educate the young sons of military households and “pacify the borders and transform the people” (anbian huamin), special garrison schools were established in Ningfan, Jianchang, and other garrisons in the early Ming.25 Students admitted to the garrison school had the status of Government Students. They participated in the imperial examinations and if they distinguished themselves there could receive official appointments. But civilian students at prefectural and county schools generally performed better on the examinations, which

106  Long Sheng meant that the sons and younger brothers of the imperial army soldiers had relatively few opportunities for advancement. So by the mid-​fifteenth century, the families of military households in garrisons like Ningfan had mostly lost interest in the garrison schools.26 Many schools were abandoned. The tendency of people in the region to prioritize the martial over the scholarly was extremely clear.27 Beginning in the late fifteenth century the court implemented a series of reforms to the garrison schools. Students from garrison schools could now be appointed to the National University to further their studies, and could also directly receive official appointments even without passing the examinations.28 Garrison military households now saw the garrison schools in a new light. The number of “sons and younger brothers” of military households of garrisons in the Sichuan Circuit Military Commission who became government students at the garrison schools increased. For example, among the descendants of Jiangchang Garrison Middle Battalion Commander Zheng Guofu, fifteen were government students at the garrison school.29 Some sons of military households achieved official careers through these schools. For example, Hu Quanli of Ningfan Guard entered the National University through this route and went on to serve as the magistrate of Taiyuan County.30 Xu Qing, Shen En, and Ma Zhongliang from Jiangchang Guard enjoyed similar careers. The reform of the garrison schools created a group of garrison government students with low-​level scholarly achievements. This status provided them an opportunity to seize advantages in local society. For example, they found ways to embezzle soldiers’ grain rations, appropriated the land of soldiers who had deserted, and recruited indigenes as retainers. According to the records of an official serving during the Wanli reign, this kind of behavior had very negative consequences for Ningfan.31 Another official mentioned that many military households from Ningfan, Jianchang, and other garrisons took in indigenes as family retainers.32 Family retainers, like private soldiers, usually took the surname of their masters. This tradition persisted among the Xifan in the mountainous parts of Mianning until 1949: “whoever’s slave (wazi) you are, you take your master’s surname as your own surname.”33 Whether they were private soldiers or family retainers, local indigenes took on a Han surname and formed close bonds with their master. This led to the further integration of the Xifan and the local Han.

Surveying military colony fields, compiling genealogies, and status transformation As a result of the registration in the early Ming of “native” soldiers who lived together with Han military households, and the recruitment of indigenes by military officers and government students as private soldiers and family retainers in the mid-​to late Ming, the ethnic and social composition of villages in the Ningfan Guard river valley region became increasingly heterogeneous. The population came to include both Han military households and Xifan

Where are the Western Aborigines?  107 indigenes that had taken Han surnames. In general this makes it impossible to specify precisely whether any part of this population was Xifan or Han. We can only say in general terms that in villages that are today considered Han there are many descendants of people who were once considered Xifan. Pusadu village can serve as an illustrative example. Pusadu (“Bodhisattva Ford”) is today a Han village located approximately two kilometers northeast of the Mianning county seat. The western edge of the village is close to the Anning River. Not far to the north along either side of the river are continuous, high, mountain ranges which form a natural mountain pass. Beyond the pass lies what, during the Ming, was the territory of the “raw” aborigines (shengfan). Travelers moving south from the mountains passed through Pusadu before reaching Ningfan Guard fortress. According to villagers from Pusadu, their village was originally an earthen fortress to which military officers surnamed Zhou, Wang, and Deng had been posted to defend the pass against the “raw” aborigines. The earthen fortress disappeared long ago, although parts of the foundations are faintly visible. On the slopes of the hill behind the village are the graves of the Zhou, Wang, and Deng. Among them is the grave of Wang Guan, the Wang family ancestor who first settled in the region.34 According to Ming archives listing the officials of the Ningfan Guard and a tomb inscription composed in 1442, Wang Guan was originally from Xiangfu County in Henan. He and his elder brother Bao were the sons of Wang En. In the early years of Ming, En was appointed Company commander of Jinwu Right Guard for meritorious service. Later Wang Bao succeeded to Wang En’s position. He also served in Pu’an Guard in Guizhou and in Xuzhou Prefecture in Sichuan. In 1390 Wang Bao arrived at Jianchang Guard in Sichuan to serve as a Battalion commander, and not long afterwards, he was further promoted to assistant commander of the Suzhou Guard for pacifying the local uprisings. But he was wounded in the line of duty, and while he was convalescing, Wang Guan temporarily replaced him as assistant commander. By 1406, Wang Bao had recovered from his injuries, and resumed his original position. After this, Wang family members Wang Fu, Wang Yu, Wang Shou, and Wang Tai successively inherited the post of assistant commander of Ningfan Guard.35 Pusadu was an important strategic military base. The imperial troops stationed there, led by the hereditary Han officers surnamed Wang, had the important responsibility of protecting the Guard from attack. Therefore, when villagers today call Pusadu a Han village, it is not without foundation. But after the developments described above, including the changes to the registration system in the early Ming and the phenomena of military officials and government students recruiting indigenes as private soldiers and family retainers, by the late Ming, this village had also become home to many Xifan, to the point that the Sichuan Survey of Native Barbarians (Sichuan tu yi kao), a text compiled during the Wanli reign, classified Pusadu as a Xifan village.36 When we conduct interviews in the village today, villagers insist that it is a Han village, and that all the villagers are Han, not Xifan. How did Pusadu

108  Long Sheng transform from a mixed-​residence village to one whose residents identify simply as Han? This transformation did not occur only recently. As we will see below, at least as early as the late Qing, the Xifan who had integrated into this village took the opportunity to redefine their own status. This was closely connected to the compilation of genealogies by Han lineages in Mianning, a process that unfolded around disputes over property. In 1728, Ningfan Guard was converted to Mianning County. Even though some individual households like the Lu had already compiled genealogies, most lineages began to compile genealogies only in the mid-​eighteenth century.37 The reason for this has to do with a land survey that was implemented in Sichuan during the Yongzheng reign (1723–​1735). Many of the Mianning lineages who survived the wars of the Ming-​Qing transition had already become powerful in the Ming, and controlled large amounts of colony lands. In the Qing, they converted this land into lineage collective property. For example, Hu Quanli, who served as the magistrate of Taiyuan County in the Ming belonged to the Hu family of Hujiapu (“Hu family fortress”). During the Kangxi reign (1661–​1722), the Hu claimed ownership over more than one hundred mu of colony fields left over from the Ming. They used this property to establish a charitable school, where several low-​ranking intellectuals and officials were educated. However, this land had never been registered for tax with the local authorities. When the Yongzheng land survey was conducted, the land was hastily sold off by different members of the Hu lineage. This led to numerous disputes within the lineage. To this end, Hu Jinru, the lineage head during the middle of the Qianlong reign (1736–1795), began compiling the “Hu Surname Genealogy” in an attempt to restore order.38 Compiling a genealogy naturally requires tracing the origins of ancestors, but the people of Ningfan had almost no written records. Even as early as the Ming, the commanders of Ningfan Guard surnamed Li had been unable to compile a complete genealogy. They could only pass down a family tree that presented a simple record of the names and generations of their ancestors since the beginning of the Ming. The Li did not have any more detailed record of their origins.39 There were also few Ming dynasty grave inscriptions that could be consulted. Many lineages in Mianning and neighboring Xichang County (formerly Jianchang Guard) lacked gravestones for the first few generations that had settled in the region (or did not even know where the graves were located). So even the names and genealogical sequence of the ancestors were often unknown, let alone where their ancestors migrated from and why. For example, the founding ancestor of the Liu family of Maojiatun (“Mao family settlement”) was said to be Liu Yuan, who in the early years of the Hongwu reign (1368–​ 1398) led troops of Jianchang Guard. But when the Liu genealogy was first compiled in 1745, the editor, Liu Songwei, wrote that because there were no gravestone records, the family did not even know the location of Liu Yuan’s grave. Moreover, the second, third, and fourth generation ancestors did not have gravestones either, so it was impossible to tell which grave belonged to whom, or who was descended from who.40

Where are the Western Aborigines?  109 The collective memory of garrison military households became an important basis through which the lineages of Mianning and Xichang traced the origins of their ancestors. The Yuelutiemuer Uprising of the early Ming had had a deep impact on the region. Because many of the military households called up to establish Ningfan and Jiangchang Guards after the rebellion was suppressed came originally from Nanjing, and because there is a place in Nanjing known as “Qingshi Qiao” (Greenstone Bridge), when lineages from Mianning and Xichang were compiling genealogies, they often claimed that their own ancestors were Han from “Greenstone Bridge, such-​ and-​ such county, such-​ and-​ such prefecture, Nanjing.” The character for “Qiao” (“bridge”) resembles the character for “Ban” (“placard”), and so “Greenstone Bridge” was often written incorrectly as “Greenstone Placard.”41 It was against this background of a rising tide of genealogy compilation that Deng Qiyu, a descendant of the Deng of Pusadu, compiled the Deng genealogy in 1760. He identified his first ancestor in the region as Deng Bao, and his place of origin as “Qingshi Ban (Greenstone Placard), Xinghua County, Yingtian Prefecture, Nanjing.”42 We have no way of knowing whether this statement is accurate, but that is not really important. What matters is that this assertion had consequences for the descendants of Xifan who had been integrated into the Deng lineage. Even if the villagers of Pusadu today insist that they are the descendants of Han, with no relation to the Xifan, this does not reflect the situation during the Ming and Qing. Some traces of this process could still be seen in the Qing. For example, beginning in the tenth generation, the Deng of Pusadu incorporated generational characters into their names. All of the members of a single generation shared a common character as the first of the two characters making up their personal names. The characters were chosen in sequence from a ten-​character poetic couplet that expressed the collective goal of literacy and enlightenment for the descendants of the lineage. Descendants with the generational character “zhi,” the first in the sequence, appear frequently in local archives in the late Kangxi reign.43 By the Xianfeng reign (1850–​1861), there are already members of the family whose names included the character “qi,” the fifth in the sequence, in the archives. Deng Qifeng was a member of this fifth generation. He was also a descendant of Xifan who had become identified as Han. We know this because of evidence from legal documents. In 1858, Wang Zhaochun borrowed twenty taels of silver from Deng Qifeng, transferring thirteen plots of rice paddy fields as collateral and paying interest annually. In 1861, Wang Zhaochun returned ten taels of the silver to Deng Qifeng, and hoped to make a conditional sale (dang) of fourteen of plots of paddy field to cover his remaining debts. But Deng Qifeng refused to draw up the contract for the transfer. Worried that Deng Qifeng might sell off property that he thought still belonged to him, Wang Zhaochun then sought to make a final sale to Deng Qifeng in order to meet his obligations and cover the remaining debt. Deng Qifeng still would not agree. Both parties went to the yamen to file

110  Long Sheng a lawsuit.44 The case files from this lawsuit include a plaint written by Deng Qifeng, who was a low-​level examination graduate and was able to write legal texts. The opening and closing passages request “support [from the magistrate] in the complaint against the Fan barbarian (fanyi) Deng Qifeng over losses suffered in relation to a conditional sale” and “the complaint against fanyi Deng Qifeng, filed on the fourth day of the eleventh month of 1861.”45 Mianning County yamen archives from the Qing frequently use the terms “Fan barbarian” (fanyi) and “Luo barbarian” (luoyi) to distinguish between members of the Xifan and Luoluo groups. The appearance of the term in the case materials tells us that Deng Qifan was a Xifan who had adopted the Deng surname. According to an 1858 document, he had a son called Deng Wenxing.46 This name includes the character “wen,” the next character in the sequence of generational names in the Deng genealogy, which confirms that Deng Qifeng and his son had adopted the naming patterns of the Deng lineage. The Deng genealogy compiled during the Qianlong reign only lists the names of the lineage members in the eleventh generation, with the generational character “qi.”47 Therefore, we have no way of knowing whether the ancestors of Deng Qifeng and Deng Wenxing were incorporated into the genealogy. From the fact that he referred to himself as a fan, it is possible that Qifeng’s ancestors were not. But when the genealogy was next revised in 1891, Deng Qifeng and Deng Wenxing were included.48 This indicates that by this time they had come to be considered descendants of the founding Han ancestor, Deng Bao, the man from “Greenstone Placard, Nanjing.” This case illustrates that by the late Qing the compilation of genealogies by Han lineages in Mianning served as a kind of cultural resource by which the descendants of Xifan who had been incorporated into Han lineages could demonstrate their own ethnic status. The conditions for Mianning river valley region’s “monocultural” Han-​dominated social structure had been created.

The garrison military households’ role in shaping frontier society and the significance of the Ming-​Qing state What factors contribute to the stability and longevity of imperial rule? The answer may not be the same for every empire. For the Chinese empire during the Ming-​Qing period, the role played by garrison military households was an important factor. Previous scholarship on the garrisons mostly emphasizes their importance to the Ming’s military victories, and typically considers only the Ming period. But a dynasty’s longevity depends not on violence alone. One must also consider the strategies adopted by the state to govern society. Recently scholars have paid increasing attention to the significance of the garrison military household system on local society. Zhao Shiyu has argued that the influence of the garrison military household system on frontier and interior society was not limited to the Ming dynasty, but cast its shadow into the Qing and beyond.49 This inspires us to consider how garrisons and the military household system shaped local society, drawing these households into

Where are the Western Aborigines?  111 the pluralist structure of the Ming-​Qing state. In a study of the Dong family, indigenous people from Tengchong, Yunnan, Zhao analyzes the impact of Ming garrison officer status on the transformation of the status and identity of indigenous peoples in the Qing, arguing that this process was essential to the stability of the southwest frontier.50 Wu Tao investigates how “raw Yao” (sheng Yao) in Hunan became “civilized Yao” (shu Yao) and ultimately “Yao subjects” (min Yao) during the Ming and Qing, focusing on the establishment and evolution of military colony taxation and corvee.51 The work of these two scholars demonstrates the long-​term impact of the garrison and military household system on the formation of frontier society. As the Ningfan case shows, this pattern was widespread during the Ming-​ Qing period. At the beginning of the Ming, Ningfan Guard registered Xifan indigenes as military households or civilian households, living together or interspersed with Han military households. This system emphasized “common governance of soldiers and civilians” (junmin gongzhi) and “using Han to transform/​civilize barbarians” (yihan huayi). It differed from the garrisons in the southeast coastal regions and in the north along the Great Wall, which strictly separated soldiers and civilians. The system in the Ningfan Guard promoted the integration of local indigenes and Han. During the mid-​Ming, following the decline of military force and the implementation of education reforms, many local Xifan became the private soldiers or retainers of Han officials and soldiers. These private soldiers and household servants adopted the surname of their Han masters, and, in this way, moved a step closer to integration with the Han. At the beginning of the Qing, Ningfan Guard and the military household system were disbanded, but the impact of the garrison system on local society did not die out. It continued to be evident in the descendants of the Han officers and military households, who managed the colony military fields left behind from the Ming dynasty. After the land survey of the Yongzheng period, there were frequent disputes over this property, which was managed in common by the lineage. Compiling genealogies arose as a method to consolidate a common lineage sentiment. To make up for the paucity of written materials, the descendants of Han garrison military households often drew on collective memory to help them trace the origins of their ancestors who settled in the region. During this process, those descendants of Xifan who had first become private soldiers or household servants of Han were written into the genealogies. They came to have the status of descendants of the Han who had contributed to the expansion of the empire’s frontiers during the Ming. This transformation strengthened the sense of identification of frontier populations with the state, consolidating the state’s control over the frontier, and thus contributed to the stability of the empire.

Notes 1 Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, Empires in world history: Power and the politics of difference (Princeton 2010), 11–​17.

112  Long Sheng 2 Ibid., 199–​218. 3 Interview with Deng Bangke of Wenjiatun, at Xichang, Liangshan Yi Autonomous Prefecture, Sichuan, (August 2, 2012). 4 Interview with Deng Zongzeng of Wenjiatun, at Mianning, Liangshan Yi Autonomous Prefecture, Sichuan (August 3, 2012). 5 Wu Ga, “Mianningxian Lianhe gongshe Zangzu de zongjiao” (Religious beliefs of Tibetans in Lianhe Commune, Mianning County), in Liujiang liuyu minzu zonghe kexue kaocha baogao zhiyi: Yalong jiang xiayou diaocha baogao (Comprehensive scientific report on the ethnic minorities of Liujiang river valley region:  Lower Yalong river) (Zhongguo Xinan minzu yanjiu xuehui 1983), 46. 6 He Yaohua, “Mianningxian Lianhe gongshe Zangzu shehui lishi diaocha” (A historical investigation of Tibetan society in Lianhe Commune, Mianning County), in ibid., 22. 7 Chen Mingfang et  al., “Mianning xian He’ai gongshe Miaoding diqu Zangzu shehui lishi diaocha” (Historical investigation of Tibetan society in Miaoding District, He’ai Commune, Mianning County), in ibid., 94. 8 Liu Yingli, DaYuan hunyi fangyu shenglan (Unified almanac of administrative geography of the great Yuan) (ca. 1303; reprint Sichuan daxue chubanshe 2003), 461. 9 Taizu shilu (Veritable Records of the Taizu reign), Hongwu 15/​2 (1382), in Ming shilu (Veritable Records of the Ming), j. 143. 10 Ibid., Hongwu 21/​1 (1388), j. 188. 11 Ibid., Hongwu 21/​1 (1388), j. 194. 12 Long Sheng, “Mingchu ‘Yuelutiemuer zhiluan’ yuanyin tanxi” (An analysis of the causes of the Yuelutiemuer uprising in the early Ming), Shixue jikan, no.  5 (2016),  42–​48. 13 Taizu shilu, Hongwu 27/​9 (1394), in Ming shilu, j. 234. 14 Ibid., Hongwu 25/​6 (1392), j. 218. 15 Tan Xisi, Sichuan tuyi kao (The local aborigines of Sichuan) (Ming; reprint Siku quanshu cunmu congshu, vol. 255, Qilu shushe 1996), j. 3, 470. 16 Yang Peina, “Mingdai Chaozhou Dachengsuo zhi yanbian yu difang shehui bianqian guanxi chutan” (An exploratory study of the evolution of Dachengsuo, Chaozhou, and changing local social relations in the Ming dynasty), in Huang Ting, ed., Chaoxue yanjiu, no. 13, (Shantou daxue chubanshe 2006), 25–​66. 17 Guo Hong and Yu Cuiyan, “Mingdai dusiweisuo zhidu yu junguanxing zhengqu” (The Ming dynasty military commission garrison system and military governance districts), Junshi lishi yanjiu, no. 4 (2004), 78–​87. 18 Sichuan tongzhi (General gazetteer of Sichuan) (Yongzheng edition, reprint Wenyuange siku quanshu, vol. 560, Taiwan shangwu 1986), j. 18(b), 62. 19 Cao Xuequan, Shuzhong guangji (Extensive account of Sichuan) (Ming; reprint Shanghai guji chubanshe 1983), j. 34. 20 Zhao Zhongnan, “Lun Mingdai jundui zhong jiading de tedian yu diwei” (On the status and characteristics of family soldiers in the Ming army), Shehui kexue zhanxian, no. 3 (1988), 144–​149. 21 Tan Lun, “Qinhuo ji’e quzei chaxu gongci yili renxin shu” (Memorial on improving morale by allocating honors to those who capture evil bandits), in Tan Xiangmin zouyi (Collected memorials of Tan Lun) (Ming; Airusheng Zhongguo jiben guji ku), j. 4. 22 “Zheng Guofu muzhiming” (Tomb inscription for Zheng Guofu) (1623), in Sichuan wenwu guanli ju ed, Sichuan wenwuzhi (Bashu shushe 2005), 391.

Where are the Western Aborigines?  113 23 Qian Huan, “Xun’an Sichuan jiancha yushi chen Qian Jin tiwei juhe wuzhi guanyuan shi” (In the matter of promoting Sichuan Censor Qian to military rank), in AnShu shucao (Notes on the administration of Sichuan) (Ming; ms.), j. 8. 24 Zhao Zhongnan, “Lun Mingdai jundui zhong jiading de tedian yu diwei.” 25 Cai Jialin, Mingdai de weixue jiaoyu (Garrison school education in the Ming dynasty) (Mingshi yanjiu xiaozu 2002), 80–​81. 26 See “Wude jiangjun Yanjingwei zhong zuoqian husuo zhengqianhu Tao Gong muzhiming” (Tomb inscription for General Tao); “Gu yiren Liushi muzhiming” (Tomb inscription for née Liu); “Gu mingwei jiangjun zhihui Wanggong muzhiming,” (Tomb inscription for General Wang), in Liangshan Yizu zizhizhou bowuguang and Liangshan Yizu zizhizhou wenwu guanli suo ed., Liangshan lishi beike zhuping (Historic inscriptions from Liangshan with annotation and commentary) (Wenwu chubanshe 2011), 38–​40; 41–​42; 43–​45. 27 Li Xian, “Chongxiu Jianchang ruxue wenmiao ji” (Record of the reconstruction of the Confucian school and temple of Jianchang) (Ming), in Sichuan wenwuzhi, 381. 28 Cai Jialin, Mingdai de weixue jiaoyu, 129–​130. 29 “Zheng Guofu muzhiming” (Tomb inscription for Zheng Guofu), in Sichuan wenwuzhi, 391. 30 Chongxiu Taiyuan zhi (Taiyuan gazetteer, revised) (1731), j. 7. 31 Cai Xianchen, “Yunnan Zuobuzhengshi fawu Caigong muzhiming,” (Tomb inscription for Gentleman Cai, Yunnan Administrative Commissioner) (Ming) in Cai Xianchen, ed., Qingbai Tanggao (Ming; reprint Xiamen daxue chubanshe 2012), vol, 2, j. 14, 718. 32 Sichuan tongzhi, j. 18(b), 62. 33 Yang Guangdian, “Liangshanzhou Mianningxian Luningqu Zangzu diaocha biji,” (Notes on an investigation into the Tibetans of Luning District, Mianning County, Liangshan Prefecture), in Li Shaoming and Liu Junbo, eds., Ersu Zangzu yanjiu (Research on the Tibetans of Ersu) (Minzu chubanshe 2007), 200. 34 “Wang Guan mubei” (Tomb inscription of Wang Guan) (1849). Wang Guan’s tomb is located in Pusadu village, Mianning County. 35 See “Wuzhi xuanbu–​ Ningfan wei” (Military appointments register–​Ningfan Guard), in Zhongguo Mingchao dang’an zonghui (General collection of Ming dynasty archives) (Guangxi shifan daxue chubanshe 2001), vol. 58, 12–​ 13; “Gu Mingwei jiangjun zhihui Wanggong muzhiming” in Liangshan lishi beike zhuping,  43–​45. 36 Tan Xisi, “Mianshan Lugu deng suoyiguan bao tushuo” (Commentary on the map of Mianshan, Lugu, and other Battalions and postal stations and stockades) (Ming) in Sichuan tuyi kao, j. 3, 480. 37 Lushi zupu (Lu surname genealogy) (1704), manuscript, preserved by family members in Mianning. 38 For further details on the Hu lineage, see Long Sheng, “Ming-​qing Sichuan junhu de fazhan yu zongzu jian’gou: yi Mianning hujiapu hushi wei ge’an” (The development of military households and their lineage construction in Ming and Qing Sichuan), Lishi renleixue xuekan 13.2 (2015), 1–​37. 39 “Sichuan Chengdu si Ningfanwei yigu shixi zhihuishi Li Cheng’en zongtu” (Genealogical chart of Commander Li Cheng’en of Ningfan Guard, Chengdu, Sichuan) (Wanli period), by Li Yingchun, manuscript, preserved by the Li family in Mianning.

114  Long Sheng 40 Liushi zupu (Liu surname genealogy) (Republican period), manuscript, preserved by the Liu family in Xichang. 41 Long Sheng, “Difang lishi mailuo zhong de tunpu xushi jiqi yanbian: yi Sichuan Mianning Pusadu wei li” (The evolution of Tunpu narratives in local history: The case of Pusadu village in Mianning County), Minsu yanjiu, no. 5 (2014), 81–​91. 42 Dengshi jiapu (Deng surname genealogy) (1891), held by lineage members in Mianning. 43 For example, Deng Zhipan, Deng Zhixiang, Deng Zhifang all have the same generational character “zhi” in their names. For further details, see Mianning county archives,  1–​22. 44 Mianning county archives, 276-​23. 45 Mianning county archives, 276-​30. 46 Mianning county archives, 283-​42. 47 Dengshi jiapu, 1891. 48 Ibid. 49 Zhao Shiyu, “Weisuo junhu zhidu yu Mingdai Zhongguo shehui:  shehuishi de shijiao” (Garrison military household system and Chinese society in the Ming dynasty: From the perspective of social history), Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehuikexue ban), no. 3 (2015), 114–​127. 50 Zhao Shiyu, “Shenfen bianhua, rentong yu diguo bianjiang tuozhan:  Yunnan tengchong Dongshi zupu chaoben zhaji” (Status change, identification and expansion of the imperial border:  A note on the manuscript of the genealogy of the Dong family of Tengchong, Yunnan), Xibei minzu yanjiu, no. 1 (2013), 67–​76. 51 Wu Tao, “Xiansuo liangxiang baona:  Hunan Yongming xian ‘sida minYao’ de shengcun celue” (Tax reporting and payment to county and garrison administrators: The survival strategies of the “four major branches of civilian Yao people” in Yongming County, Hunan), Lishi yanjiu, no. 5 (2014), 61–​78.

7  The Green Shoots Crop Protection Associations of Taozhou, Gansu Ming identities/​Qing histories Que Yue

Introduction In a 1505 memorial, Shaanxi Investigating Censor Li Ji complained about soldiers and civilians from other provinces congregating in the vicinity of Taozhou Guard, in what is today the Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Region of Gansu. Taozhou adjoined the territory of indigenous people that Li Ji labelled Fan (aboriginals or indigenes).1 The subjects of Li’s complaint were said to be hiring local Chinese to serve as guides and translators, entering deep into the territory of the indigenes to buy horses. The behavior of the local military officers was even more outrageous. They permitted or even encouraged their own family members to collaborate with these outsiders, serving as their interpreters and translators. The Fan were intimidated by these officers’ relatives and were easily bullied into trading horses and cattle with them. Most abhorrent to Li was that these officers’ relatives clearly knew that trade with the Fan was illegal and punishable by military exile. But they did not seem to care. They teased each other saying: Even people who commit no crime get sentenced to military exile for no reason. If we [who actually do] engage in this kind of [illegal] business, are caught and sentenced to military exile, would that really be such a big deal?2 Li’s memorial provides us with a local official’s perspective on sixteenth-​ century frontier trade. This private trade should be understand in relation to three Ming dynasty institutions. The first was the garrison system, the military system implemented by the Ming court across the entire empire. The second was the “tea and horse” trade that had emerged in the northwest in the eleventh century. It was institutionalized in the Ming to ensure the supply of good horses to the imperial court. What Li Ji was really complaining about was the private trade that took place on the margins of the official tea and horse market. This private trade involved a chain of interests that grew out of the social interaction of garrison military officers and local Fan. The officers of Taozhou Guard were not only traders who conducted the official tea and

116  Que Yue horse exchange with the Fan, but also the inspectors charged with regulating the private trade. The tea that they seized could be confiscated, but it could also be sold off privately. The private tea trade was a short-​cut to personal enrichment for military officers of Taozhou Guard, and at the same time, brought them into close social relationships with the Fan. The third system relevant to understanding the private tea trade was the native official (tuguan) system, whereby native Fan officials were conferred titles by the Ming court, placed under the authority of Taozhou Guard, and given responsibility for guarding mountain passes and providing horses to the garrison. Trade complicated the nominally hierarchical relations between the Guard and the local indigenes and their rulers. The tea and horse trade in the context of the garrison system brought several very different groups of people –​the officers of the Guard, soldiers and civilians, local Han residents and Fan –​into contact with one another. The phenomenon of officers’ family members, relying on the support of their powerful relatives in the Guard, collaborating with outside merchants and local Chinese to pursue trade with the indigenes became the normal state of affairs in Taozhou society. The Ming court’s initial purpose in establishing Taozhou Guard had been to suppress the Fan and obtain horses. Little could they have imagined that within a century the officers of Taozhou Guard would develop into a new social force situated between the imperial government and the Fan, exercising its own power in local society. This kind of power structure deeply influenced the historical evolution of Taozhou in the Qing, and the self-​identity of different groups in local society. After the Ming-​Qing transition, the Qing imperial court retained some Ming policies in order to maintain local government operations and in the interest of social stability. In Taozhou the tea and horse trade between Han and Fan continued as before.3 As long as native officials submitted to and supported Qing rule, they were permitted to inherit their original positions in the trade system.4 The Guard was a different story. As the empire-​wide garrison system from the Ming was dissolved, formerly hereditary positions such as brigade vice commander and other Guard officer positions were converted to appointed positions.5 The garrisons also underwent an internal process of “civilianization” in which former garrison territory was transferred to civilian administration and eventually converted into territory under prefectures and counties.6 From an institutional perspective this meant the dissolution of the garrison system. But by reading genealogies, stele inscriptions, contracts, and other private documents, we can see that the garrison actually had a sort of afterlife. In the Qing, a new social organization emerged whose cohesiveness was actually based on former Ming military status. The Green Shoots Association (qingmiao hui) was a mutual aid society that was responsible for crop protection in the Qing. Its internal organization and ritual practices were clearly derived from the old garrison system. It was divided into sixteen branch associations. The association members conducted regular communal rituals to

Ming identities/Qing histories  117 worship the Dragon Spirit (longshen). The history of one of the branches, the Old Fort branch, illustrates how the Green Shoots Association grew into a powerful organization in local society by taking on responsibility for adjudicating land disputes between Han and Fan and by protecting its own land rights and interests. My historical examination of the Taozhou Green Shoots Association seeks to examine new processes of social identity formation that unfolded even as social status was changing. This chapter thus explores the issue of the historical processes connected to the Qing inheritance of Ming institutions. It describes grassroots social structures that derived from Ming systems but that became socially significant only in the Qing.

Social change sparked by the dissolution of the Guard and its conversion into a subprefecture In 1748, Taozhou Guard was formally dissolved and converted into a subprefecture (ting).7 Taozhou Guard had already been downsized in 1655, when three of its Battalions were eliminated, leaving only the Center and Right Battalions, headquartered near the New and Old Fort of Taozhou respectively.8 The history of the Taozhou Green Shoots Association unfolded in these two areas. It is a story of how Han military households who were at risk of losing their distinctive status as members of the imperial army tried to protect their interests, cement their social standing, and successfully navigate a social crisis brought about by political change. Boundary stones recording the outcomes of disputes between Han and Fan over pastures and hills can be used to reveal the changing status of the descendants of Han military households in Taozhou. The earliest known disputes between Han and Fan occurred in the late seventeenth century. In 1697, a boundary stele was erected at Liuqi, approximately six li from New Taozhou Fort.9 This stone is the earliest material evidence of the changing relationship between Han and Fan in early Qing. The inscription narrates the course of a lawsuit between the descendants of Liuqi military households and a native chieftaincy over control of land. The Liuqi side had produced “written proof ” of their rights to certain “grassy hills” in the form of a statement that their ancestors had managed these lands since the Ming. “They paid an annual tax of one dou in grain for their holdings of these lands.” They won the lawsuit, and in the aftermath the boundary of their lands and those of the people of the chieftaincy was clarified. The stele refers to the Zan native chieftaincy (Zan tusi), named for the first hereditary indigenous official of Taozhou who submitted to the Ming court in 1378.10 The appearance of this term on this seventeenth-​century border stele suggests that the process of dismantling the Guard and establishing the subprefecture had created new social tensions that called into question the existing relationships between different social and ethnic groups in the area. To resolve the dispute between Han and Fan over the hills, the early Qing officials in Taozhou decided that the territory that had formerly been cultivated

118  Que Yue by the Ming military colony households should serve as the boundary between the two groups. Precise boundaries were demarcated on the basis of existing contractual documents. Boundary steles were erected to prevent further escalation of conflict. In 1743 two new boundary steles were erected near the New Fort, further delineating the boundary between Han and Fan. The first stated: The Taozhou Office of Fan Affairs has investigated and determined that [the places called] Luobu Gouzhai, Daqiang, and Kuangzhuang are the boundary with the territory of the Liluo, tribes under the Zan and Yang native chieftaincies [i.e. the chieftaincies under the hereditary control of the Zan and Yang surnames]. The stele had been erected to confirm the boundary between Han and Fan on the same spot where an old stele had once stood.11 The inscription mentions the ancestor of the Yang native chieftaincy, Xiede, who had led his people in submitting to the Ming court in 1404. In the early fifteenth century, Xiede’s fifth generation descendant Wangxiu, who had inherited the title of native chieftain, was invited to court for an audience with the emperor, who bestowed upon him the surname Yang.12 This is why local people called this line of native officials the “Yang native chieftains.” The second stele, also dated 1743, describes how a Taozhou official named Huang Ling had demarcated the boundary between Han and Fan territory at another location.13 All of this evidence suggests that by the eighteenth century lands that had long ago been opened up for cultivation by Ming military colonists now required additional state protection. This must have been a product of changes to local society caused by the disbanding of the garrison system. One of the ways by which the descendants of Taozhou military colony soldiers forged a local identity and cemented their power was by compiling genealogies. The case of the Jin Genealogy is representative.14 The edition of the genealogy that I have examined dates from 2003. According to the postscript, the genealogy consisted originally of two volumes. The second volume was confiscated and disappeared during the Cultural Revolution, but fortunately the first volume has survived. When descendants of the Jin surname began to recompile the genealogy in 2000, they included numerous prefaces from the first volume of the old genealogy. From these prefaces, we learn that the genealogy was first compiled in 1721 and revised in 1742. The local scholarly elite saw the revision of the genealogy as a momentous occasion. The genealogy includes five postscripts by learned members of the Taozhou Guard community. The first of these movingly describes how local scholars came to contribute to the genealogy in the eighteenth century. One early autumn day, a group of scholars who were passionate about Taozhou local history squeezed into a local school to read together. They read from Zhu Xi’s Outline and Details of the Comprehensive Mirror of History as well as from the Ming History. As they were discussing the achievements of Jin Chaoxing as recorded in the Ming History, the editor of the genealogy, Jin Dianshi, who

Ming identities/Qing histories  119 was also the leader of the Taozhou Community Compact (xiangyue), asked the group what book they were reading.15 On learning that it was the Ming History he said: Jin Chaoxing, on whom the Ming Emperor bestowed the title Marquis Xuande, was the founding ancestor of my lineage. Now I have the ambition to compile a genealogy, but I  regret that there is no one who can write a preface. My brother and I know we are unworthy of this. Would you gentlemen compose some words as a preface? When the scholars heard these words, they cheered in approval and agreed to Jin Dianshi’s request. Clearly, the compilation of the Jin Surname Genealogy served to strengthen ties between the descendants of Taozhou soldiers and the local scholarly elite.

Community formation and land disputes In 1755, a third stele was erected in the City God temple of the New Fort.16 The stele uses the term “Seven Associations of the Walled [Fort] and Settlements” (chengxiang qihui). This refers to seven associations that were formed in seven communities around the fortress, oriented around the new City God temple.17 By the eighteenth century, settlements on military colony land that had originally belonged to the Guard had become civilian villages. The names of these villages are recorded in the Kangxi (1661–​1722) and Qianlong (1735–​1796) editions of the Taozhou Guard gazetteer, arranged into four circuits named for the cardinal directions.18 The membership of the Seven Associations comprised those residents of these villages whose ancestors were Ming military households under the Taozhou Guard Middle Battalion. The stele originated in a dispute over pasturage. The purpose of erecting the stele was to assert the Seven Associations’ ownership of hills surrounding the New Fort. The Seven Associations was a functional community rooted in former military household status, formed for the purpose of maintaining control over lands that had originally been opened up for cultivation by Ming colony soldiers. A key piece of information revealed by the stele is that even after the formal dissolution of Taozhou Guard, the functional community of the Seven Associations, which had developed out of the former military units, continued to serve to strengthen the unity of the Han Chinese living in the area. The specific language used in the stele evidences the close relationship between the Seven Associations and the former Guard. For example, the leaders of each branch association were called “superintendents” (tiling). This was a title formerly given to low-​ranking officials of the Herd Office (dianmusuo), with responsibility for collecting fodder for the imperial herds.19 It seems likely that the Associations used this term precisely because it referred to a minor Ming office. No one would bother going to great lengths

120  Que Yue to determine the real meaning of the term. Adopting this title was an attempt by the Seven Associations to invoke the past, to support their assertion that they were merely continuing the Herd Office superintendent’s management of local pastures. It served to emphasize the source of the Associations’ authority over these territories. The stele inscription reads: “From the ancient past to the present, through the generations, all [these lands] have been pasturage for the people of the Seven Associations.” Several terms in the inscription provide further evidence that the Seven Associations consisted of the descendants of Ming military households. “Rear Battalion” refers to the another of the Battalions of Taozhou Guard which had been dissolved in 1655. The term had gradually transformed from a military unit into a purely geographic term. “Land certificate” (youtie) refers to a certificate issued by the Ming government to different types of households confirming ownership of newly cultivated land.20 “Military service certificate” (jundan) was a certificate of military recruitment issued by the Ming court, which was issued to and preserved by the family member who had been recruited into the army.21 According to the stele, during the Ming dynasty, the hills, pastures, and forests of Taozhou Guard had been managed by the superintendent. When the garrison system was abolished in the early Qing, the rights to these pastures became unclear. But the descendants of the Ming imperial soldiers continued to rely on them for their livelihood. During the Qianlong reign, when outsiders encroached on the lands, the Seven Associations brought out their Ming dynasty “land certificates” and “military service certificates” to show that the grassy hills and pastures had historically been the property of the members of the “Seven Fortress and Township Associations,” and thereby force the outsiders to withdraw. The authors of the inscription must have realized that relying on historical precedent to legitimize their rights and interests was anachronistic and perhaps unreliable. They also invoked the Dragon Spirit as a further legitimizing tool. The inscription explains that the Seven Associations’ pastures all belonged to the Dragon Spirit. Since these land resources belonged to the spirit, they naturally fell under the authority of the community who worshipped the spirit, namely the Seven Associations. Worship of the Dragon Spirit thus served to enhance the social cohesion of the Seven Associations, and this in turn was linked to their shared material interests.

Han-​Fan disputes and community formation The central issue in the disputes between the local Han and the Fan was ownership of the nearby pastureland. The Seven Associations used institutions derived from the former Guard system and their worship of the Dragon Spirit both to assert their rights of ownership and also to configure the group’s internal organization. The case of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association provides another example of this practice, and its implications for community

Ming identities/Qing histories  121 formation and solidarity. Old Taozhou Fort was about thirty-​five kilometers west of the New Fort, and was the site of the tea and horse market between Han and Fan. Qing contracts from the Old Taozhou Fort Green Shoots Association record how the Association dealt with disputes between the Han and the Fan, actively participated in public affairs, and was eventually recognized by the Qing government. Like the Seven Associations, in the Qing the Old Fort Green Shoots Association was a reconstruction of a social organization that had previously existed under Taozhou Guard. The use of the term “clerk” (xiaoban) in these contracts further reveals how elements of the Ming Guard system were reconfigured by local actors in the Qing.22 In the Ming military system the clerk had been a very low-​level official position.23 In the organizational structure of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association the clerk was responsible for collecting grain and fees, and for performing miscellaneous services during Association rituals. The use of this term was clearly an inheritance from the Ming military system. The Old Fort Green Shoots Association worshipped Dragon Spirits that they called the “Grandfathers of the Five Kingdoms” (wuguo laoye), five founding kings to whom the Hongwu Emperor (r. 1368–​1398) ordered sacrifices at the beginning of the Ming.24 By the eighteenth century this sacrifice already had a four-​hundred-​year tradition. Few people could recall the individual names of the “Grandfathers of the Five Kingdoms,” but the title had been passed down intact. Contractual records indicate that the Old Fort Green Shoots Association was also comprised of descendants of the Ming Taozhou military households. They asserted their rights of ownership over the land through a ritual known as “patrolling the mountains (to prevent) trampling of the young shoots” (xunshan caiqing), held annually on behalf of the Grandfathers during the fifth month of the lunar calendar. The route of the ritual was known as the “spirit road” (shenlu); it followed a path from the former headquarters of the Right Battalion of the Ming Guard to the various fortifications in the surrounding area. I have not found any direct evidence of a link between the Seven Associations and the Green Shoots Association. But it is striking that both organizations shared a common belief in the Dragon Spirit; that their activities shared the common purpose of asserting control of lands that had once belonged to Ming military colony households; and that both used terms for their leadership that were drawn from Ming institutions. I therefore hypothesize that the Old Fort Association was broadly similar to the Seven Associations in terms of its operations, organizational goals, and implications for identity. To fully understand the development of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association it is necessary to consider how the social status of the descendants of Taozhou military officers changed over time. The Guangxu (1875–​1908) edition of the Taozhou subprefecture gazetteer includes the names of thirty Guard commanders, thirty-​ seven Battalion commanders and forty-​ eight Company commanders from Taozhou Guard in the Ming. Many of their

122  Que Yue descendants remained at the Guard (or subprefecture) yamen, serving as translators or yamen runners. They would enter deep into the Fan territories to press for the collection of grain taxes.25 Thus the descendants of Ming officers continued to hold grassroots social power during the Qing. The power of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association rested on this residual “official” power. Victory in disputes with the Fan must have heightened the association’s prestige at the grassroots level. Two contracts from 1782 and 1783 record disputes between the Green Shoots Association and Balongchuan Tibetans over the spirit road.26 The Fan of Balongchuan repeatedly cut off access to the spirit road during the Green Shoots Association’s ritual processions. They fought with members of the Association who had turned out for the ceremony. Had the Association lost the dispute over the spirit road to the Fan, they would have been unable to conduct the ritual, and this would have undermined their claim to own the lands and fields along the route. The Old Fort Green Shoots Association therefore invited the village compact head (xiangyue) and security group head (baozhang) to a meeting with the chief of the Balongchuan Fan. They made the case to all assembled that the spirit road of the ritual was an “ancient precedent” and that the Fan must agree to their use of the spirit road to inspect their lands. With the support of the village compact head and the security group head, the Old Fort Green Shoots Association vanquished the Balongchuan Fan, and this incident did not recur. The mutual aid activities of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association came to be perceived as a kind of public service, which further expanded the organization’s influence in local society. An 1837 edict from the local government required that when hail was forecast, each village compact head, security group head, and Green Shoots Association head should organize their members to sound gongs, beat drums, strike bells, light fireworks and cannons, in order to drive away the black clouds in the sky above the old fortress, and protect the crops from the hail.27 This work of driving away hail to protect crops had long been undertaken by the Old Fort Green Shoots Association, but the role was now given official government recognition. The key to the transformation of Old Fort Green Shoots Association into a formal social organization was official recognition of the Dragon Spirit by the Qing government. Two documents from 1845 mark the final phase of this transformation. In the fifth month of that year, clerks in the local yamen wrote to the heads of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association requiring them to report on the origins of the Dragon Spirits of each place. They would then transmit this information to the Judicial Commissioner for inclusion in the official Register of Sacrifices. The historical background of the dissolution of Taozhou Guard helps us understand why granting official recognition to the deities was important. The Green Shoots Associations were becoming increasingly powerful, and local authorities wished to coopt this power to manage grassroots society. Local authorities adopted the strategy of granting official titles to the Association’s patron deities in a bid to win over and control the groups. The titles were granted on the basis of the Dragon Spirits’

Ming identities/Qing histories  123 origins and the record of the miracles they had performed. In the following month, the Old Fort Green Shoots Association received a formal document proclaiming that the government authorized sacrifice to their Dragon Spirits. The local authorities wrote a sacrificial text for use in Dragon Spirit worship that was attached to the end of the document. These measures effectively turned the Old Fort Green Shoots Association into a formal, officially recognized social organization, thereby creating a powerful intermediary for Taozhou Subprefecture in managing the communities under its jurisdiction. Another notification from later in the same year explains that two village compact heads from the old city who had resisted handing over the grain tax had been removed from office. The local authorities now required that the “learned people, elders, and heads of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association should nominate two or three new village compact heads to obediently carry out their duties.” This notice suggests the degree to which the local authorities had become dependent on the Old Fort Green Shoots Association for collecting taxes, appointing informal leadership, and other tasks.

Hui rebellion and local power organization In 1863 an uprising by Hui Muslims swept the northwest. Taozhou was not spared. In Qing times the Hui of Taozhou mostly lived concentrated around the Old Fort. According to the Taozhou subprefecture gazetteer, though Han and Hui lived interspersed in the area, Hui made up the majority. They were mostly merchants, but each family also did some farming.28 Even though this source was written at the beginning of the twentieth century, the description applies to a much earlier time. Based on the date of establishment of their first mosque the history of the Old Fort’s Hui population can be traced back to the Ming.29 For the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the history of the Hui of Old Taozhou Fort becomes clearer. The Old Fort’s Upper Mosque was renovated in the Kangxi reign, and a minaret was added to the Lower Mosque during the Qianlong reign.30 These sources indicate that the Hui population of the Old Fort continued to grow; the two mosques had to be expanded to accommodate growing numbers of worshippers. In 1790 Hui elite built a free community school to educate the youth of their community. They rented out rooms and shops to generate revenue to maintain the daily operations of the school. In 1810 a dormitory was added, and the school was expanded.31 The Hui uprising in Taozhou lasted for four years. During this time, rebels clashed repeatedly with the Taozhou local militia and Green Standard troops. The Old Fort was well fortified, and did not fall to the rebels. One important reason for this was that the Taozhou Brigade vice commander’s headquarters was in the Old Fort, and his Green Standard imperial troops were supported by the Old Fort Green Shoots Association. Four contracts involving mortgaging of houses and property from 1864 to 1865 and preserved by the Old Fort Green Shoots Association show that amidst the chaos, the Association recovered houses and fields that had been abandoned by those fleeing the

124  Que Yue disaster, collected rent to pay tax, and thus effectively supported the financing of the Green Standard troops. At the same time, this approach stabilized the situation in the area around the Old Fort, allowing the people of the surrounding area to continue economic production, and reducing the social and economic damage arising from the uprising. Between 1867 and 1871, Taozhou Subprefecture found itself in a predicament. It had no regularly appointed officials. But local society in Taozhou had its own rules by which normalcy was maintained. An 1867 document preserved by the Old Fort Green Shoots Association indicates that during this period of time, the Association took on political functions managing grassroots society in Taozhou. It was integral to keeping the peace in local society and resolving disputes between civilians. According to the document, Taozhou Green Standard Brigade Vice Commander Ding Yong’an delegated the task of maintaining order to the Association.32 A property owner surnamed Wei who had fled in 1863 returned in 1867 to discover that clothing and other articles in his home had been stolen by thieves, and that the previous tenants, surnamed Yang and Niu, had disappeared. He lodged a complaint with the Old Fort Green Shoots Association. The Association tracked down half the stolen goods for the proprietor and found the two tenants, Yang and Niu. The Association held that the two tenants had not taken proper care of the proprietor’s property, and thus bore a certain responsibility, but leaving the homes they rented during the uprising to escape disaster was forgivable under the circumstances. The two tenants were therefore required to sacrifice a sheep to the Dragon Spirit as a punishment. Contracts from 1879 to 1910 indicate another development after the uprising:  the Association recovered temple properties that had been abandoned, gone fallow, or been destroyed in the Old Fort and its surrounding area, and in the process of reviving commerce and trade, they took over control and management of this property. By contributing to the recovery of the Taozhou local economy, the Old Fort Green Shoots Association became an increasingly powerful actor in local society. This is demonstrated in a contract from 1898, which pertains to a land dispute between a Hui with the surname Min and a Balongchuan Fan. Despite the earlier history of enmity, by 1854 the Fan of Balongchuan had formed their own Balong Society that would eventually become a branch of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association. In 1898, Min began on his own authority to reclaim and cultivate land on the shore of a lake in the Balongchuan territory. When the Balongchuan Fan discovered this, they petitioned the Old Fort Green Shoots Association to complain to the local authorities. Min asked a middleman to go to the Association to mediate. Min proposed that if the Balongchuan Fan would drop their case he would accept the punishment imposed by the Association of offering sacrifices of oil, incense, and clothing to the Dragon Spirit. The account of the dispute indicates that the Balong chuan Society was subservient to the Old Fort Green Shoots Association. Clearly the Association was now in control of local society in the Old Fort, home to Han, Hui, and Fan.

Ming identities/Qing histories  125

Conclusion Previous scholarship on the institutional relationship between Ming and Qing has generally taken the system as it appears on paper to explain how the Qing dynasty inherited or followed the Ming system, implementing reforms or improvements as required. This kind of research subtly accepts or reinforces the proposition that the Manchu rulers realized the importance of Han culture and sought broadly to absorb it. Western scholars generally label this position “the Sinicization argument.” Han-​centrism is the inevitable consequence of this approach. On the other hand, if we simply emphasize the special Manchu nature of the Qing rulers, stressing those Manchu elements that were not Sinicized, then we are simply substituting a kind of “Manchu-​ centrism” for “Han-​centrism.” Historical research that is biased toward any one cultural perspective will fail to fully understand Manchu-​Han relations under Qing rule or interactions in a culturally pluralist society. The local documents discovered in Taozhou, including genealogies, stele inscriptions, and contracts, make it possible to transcend these positions. They lead to an understanding of the history of imperial rule in the northwest from the perspective of local people, and present local people’s perspectives and methods of understanding and responding to the social changes brought about by the Qing conquest. They make it possible for the researcher to use local people’s descriptions and analysis of social change as the evidence for their historical judgment. What kind of empire was the Qing? Obviously, we cannot understand Qing rule by ignoring the discursive context created in the Ming. The Taozhou case shows that only if we understand the deep influence of the Ming garrison system on this region and its people can we understand the social interactions and social conflicts between the Han, the Fan and the Hui, and why the Green Shoots Association became a powerful support for the Qing government in managing local society. Local documents bring historians into a specific regional historical setting. They allow historians to seek the logical relationship between the production of local documents and the attitudes and behavior expressed by specific groups of people when they face social change. Official documents alone cannot provide this grasp of regional history. By reading and analyzing these local documents, what the researcher seeks is a sense of tradition, that is, the rules that are acknowledged in a regional society, and the origins of those rules. The Taozhou Green Shoots Association adopted elements of the Ming system in the structure of its organization and its ritual activities. By resolving disputes between Han and Fan and Hui and Fan as well as by participating in and managing local public affairs, the methods and activities of the Taozhou Green Shoots Association evolved into rules respected by Han, Fan, and Hui alike. This ultimately became the local expression of Qing rule. During this historical process, the Qing court tacitly acknowledged the existence of a social system established on the foundations of the previous Ming military system, and, moreover, allowed this social system to continue

126  Que Yue to serve and influence local society, forming a unique local identity that ultimately made possible the stable development of the northwest region.

Notes 1 [Groups labelled as Fan in Ming-​Qing in this region were mostly classified in the modern period as Tibetan peoples –​trans.] 2 Yang Yiqing, Yang Yiqing ji (Collected writings of Yang Yiqing), Tang Jingshen and Xie Yujie eds., (Zhonghua shuju 2001), j. 3, 80–​81. 3 Shizu Zhang huangdi shilu (Veritable records of the Shunzhi reign), Shunzhi 2/​4 (1645) in Qing shilu (Zhonghua shuju 1985), j. 15, 3: 137. 4 Taozhou tingzhi (Taozhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1907), j. 16. 5 Shizu Zhang huangdi shilu, Shunzhi 3/​10 (1646) in Qing shilu, j. 28, 3: 238. 6 Gu Cheng, “Weisuo zhidu zai Qingdai de biange” (Changes in the garrison system during the Qing period), Beijing shifan daxue xuebao:  shehui kexue ban no.  2 (1988),  15–​22. 7 Zhao Erxun et al., Qing shigao (Draft history of the Qing) (1927; reprint Xuxiu siku quanshu, vols. 295–​300, Shanghai guji chubanshe 1995), j. 64, 2113. 8 Shizu Zhang huangdi shilu, Shunzhi 12/​3 (1655) in Qing shilu, j. 90, 3: 707. A typical Guard in the Ming consisted of five Battalions: Center, Right, Left, Front, and Rear. The New Fort where Taozhou Guard was headquartered was constructed in 1379. A stele entitled “Zhu Taocheng gongjun beiji” (Commemorative stele on the Taozhou wall) is located in the City God temple of the New Fort. The Old Fort was first constructed in the Six Dynasties period. 9 This boundary stele is currently located in Liuqi village, Xincheng Township, Lintan County, Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Region, Gansu. For further information on the inscription, see Zhang Junli, ed., Lintan jinshi wenchao (Record of inscriptions on metal and stone from Lintan) (Gansu wenhua chubanshe 2011), 53. 10 Taozhou tingzhi, j. 16. 11 The stele is currently located in Liluogou village, Shimen, Lintan County. See Zhang Junli, ed., Lintan jinshi wenchao 65. 12 Taozhou tingzhi, j.  16; see Konchog jigmé wangpo  (Jiumei’angbo),  Zhuoni ban “Danzhu’er” dazang jing xumu  (Calogue of the Co-​ne edition of the Tanjur canon), trans. Yang Shihong (Gansu minzu chubanshe 1995), 202–​207. 13 This stele is no longer extant; it used to be located in Sunjiamo village, Yangyong Township, Lintan County. The text is preserved in Zhang Junli, ed., Lintan jinshi wenchao, 65. 14 Jinshi zupu (Jin surname genealogy), held by Jin Biao in Duanyanggou village, Lintan County. The original manuscript was transcribed by the author in October 2006. 15 Jin Chaoxing was a Ming dynasty military officer who followed his superior Mu Ying to Taozhou and quelled a rebellion by local indigenous people (see Taizu shilu (Veritable records of the Taizu reign), Hongwu 12/​9 (1379), in Ming shilu (Veritable Records of the Ming), j. 126, 2014). He established the Taozhou Guard New Fort. See “Zhu Taocheng gongjun beiji” (Commemorative stele on the Taozhou wall), inscription in the City God temple of the New Fort; Taozhou tingzhi, j. 3 16 This stele is currently located in the City God temple in Xincheng, Lintan County. The text is also in Zhang Junli, ed., Lintan jinshi wenchao,  70–​71.

Ming identities/Qing histories  127 17 Zhang Tingyu et  al., Ming shi (Ming history) (reprint Zhonghua shuju 1974), j. 90, 2193. 18 Taozhou weizhi (Taozhou Guard gazetteer), 1687. 19 Shen Shixing and Zhao Yongxian et al., eds., Wanli DaMing huidian (Statutes of the Great Ming, Wanli edition) (reprint Xuxiu siku quanshu, vol. 789, Shanghai guji chubanshe 1995), j. 29, 537. 20 Ibid., j. 17, 291. 21 Ibid., j. 155, 622. 22 The term “clerk” appears in contracts dated 1782, 1783, and 1784, in the archives of the Taozhou Old Fort Green Shoots Association. The Association was revived in the 1980s and resumed responsibility for local religious activities. Its former headquarters is now the People’s Cultural Palace of Taozhou. The contracts and other documents used in this chapter were preserved by a former head of the Old Fort Green Shoots Association and are now held in the People’s Cultural Palace. On the revival of the organization, see Que Yue, Di’er zhong zhixu –​Ming-​Qing yilai de Taozhou Qingmiao hui yanjiu (A second type of order –​the Green Shoots Association of Taozhou in Ming-​ Qing) (Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan 2016), 240–​286. 23 Shizong shilu (Veritable records of the Shizong reign), Zhengde 16/​4 (1521), in Ming shilu, j. 1, 35–​36. 24 Taizu shilu (Veritable records of the Taizu reign), Hongwu 3/​11 (1370), in Ming shilu, j. 58, 1126–​1129. 25 Taozhou tingzhi, j. 16. 26 The terms “Balongchuan” and “Balongzhuang” in these contracts correspond to the term “Balongchi” in the Taozhou subprefectural gazetteer. The gazetteer refers to the region as “Balongchi: Located five li to the northwest of Old Taozhou Fort.” See Taozhou tingzhi, j. 2. 27 Edict (1837), archives of the Taozhou Old Fort Green Shoots Association, now held at the People’s Cultural Palace of Taozhou. 28 Taozhou tingzhi, j. 2. 29 Ibid., j. 3. 30 Ibid., j. 3. 31 Ibid., j. 8. 32 Ibid., j. 10.

8  The “civilianization” of military colonies and the reorganization of military households Ningxi Battalion and the reconstruction of rural order in south China in the eighteenth century Xie Shi For many years my colleagues and I  have been trying to develop new approaches to field research that can enable us to integrate the insights of historical anthropology and historical geography. During a study of settlements in China’s Nanling Mountains in Hunan, we were surprised to find physical remnants of many military garrison structures dating from the Ming-​Qing period. The residents of these communities recalled for us local military traditions as if they were new. It became evident to us that the garrison and military colony systems implemented in this region by the Ming and Qing empires have had a significant impact on local society, and that this historical impact persists to the present day. I see my research task to be the investigation of the historical relationship between the garrison system and local society from the perspective of historical anthropology. Because the implementation of the garrison and colony systems led to changes in social relations and relations between people and land, placing texts, memories, and settlement patterns into a meaningful historical narrative requires that we transcend the limits of a simple institutional framework approach to the Ming-​Qing transition and move toward a more holistic analysis that considers the relationships among communities, status, resources, and institutions. Garrisons and military colonies were part of the larger military system of the Ming and Qing. But the importance of gaining an overall sense of the history of the system should not lead us to neglect its regional variations. Zhao Shiyu has previously described the origins of the Ming’s bifurcated administrative system, comprising the civilian prefecture and county system on the one hand and the military garrison system on the other, from the perspective of local social history. He raises an important question: Given that the garrison system began to crumble in the mid-​Ming, with military households deserting in large numbers, why was the system never eliminated but instead continually patched up and prolonged, and why was its influence so long-​lasting? Zhao agrees with Yue Chih-​chia and other scholars that we must explain the longevity of the system as a whole in terms of specific institutional elements

The “civilianization” of military colonies  129 such as the grain tribute system and the household registration and land management systems. These institutional elements made fundamental reform of the overall system impossible. Just as institutional imperatives supported the system from above, private interests and incentives shaped ordinary people’s willingness to accept their status as members of military households, and therefore bolstered the system from below.1 As Zhao writes, The system of garrisons and military households in the hinterland never underwent a process of rapid collapse. Military households were criticized for evading their registration and corvee obligations, leading to a crisis in military supply and financing. But this alone cannot explain why military households continued to remain in the system.2 This line of analysis represents an advance over a more linear mode of institutional history, prompting us to examine the system’s longevity and its social functions in specific regional contexts. Numerous scholars have noted that garrisons were not a purely military system but also served as a system of territorial administration. The military colony fields that were intended to support the soldiers of the garrison were a key element of this territorial administrative system.3 Unfortunately few Ming and Qing central records or local documents record the specific locations of garrison colony fields in any detail. Even many Ming writers openly admitted that they were unclear about the location of the colony fields of a given garrison. When I  first began working in the Nanling mountain region, I had the naive idea that because of the special privileges enjoyed by the garrisons, colony lands would tend to be more productive and of higher quality. In the hills and mountains of southern China, where high-​quality land was relatively scarce, competition over this resource would have been inevitable. Communities must have developed methods that enabled them to maintain their rights to land and other resources. During fieldwork in Lanshan County, Hunan, we discovered a rare text, the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer (Ningxi suo zhi). This gazetteer was compiled in the late Qing, and its preface was included in the Republican-​era county gazetteer.4 In nearby villages, we also collected genealogies and other relevant private documents, mostly from the late Qing. The compilation and transmission of these documents themselves give us a sense of the lasting impact of the garrison system in this region. This chapter uses the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer and the villages of southern Lanshan County as a point of departure for an investigation into the influence of the garrison and military colony system on settlement patterns in rural south China.

Land and household registration in the history of the garrison system The Nanling Mountains are traditionally seen as the dividing line between the Yangtze and the Pearl River watersheds. Anthropologists have labelled this vast range of mountains an “ethnic corridor” (minzu zoulang) through which

130  Xie Shi

Map 8.1 Distribution of villages in Lanshan

multiple ethnic groups have moved in multiple directions.5 The region today is home to many different ethnic groups, who speak different languages and are distinguished by a range of cultural markers. We went to the Nanling Mountains to study how Ming and Qing institutions developed in this unique region. During our work, I stumbled upon the region’s garrison history more or less by accident. In the mountain settlements that I  visited, I  saw the remains of garrison and fortress walls, some perfectly preserved, with many residents still living within them. Some of the communities living in these sites were known as Han, others as Yao, and still others as Hakka. The region clearly has a long history of using Chinese characters, and we found many different types of documents in these settlements. Some were documents from Yao villages, while others were genealogies that declared that their owners’

The “civilianization” of military colonies  131 ancestors were descendants of military officers stationed at local garrisons during the Ming. The story of the institutional origins of the Ming garrison system and its transformation over the course of the Ming is relatively straightforward. Large numbers of Guards were established across the empire, and these garrisons were home to armies of hereditary military households. Below the level of the Guard were thousand-​ household Battalions and hundred-​ household Companies. At the peak of the system there were 493 Guards located across the empire. When the system was established at the beginning of the Ming, a system of garrison military colonies was also established. Each agricultural colony soldier was allotted between 20 and 100 mu of land to cultivate, on which they paid a certain amount of tax, but they were not liable to provide corvee labor like civilian households. Later, kinsmen who accompanied the serving soldiers to the garrison were allowed to replace soldiers in cultivating the colony fields. Ming law originally stipulated that military colony fields could not be bought, sold, or transferred, and as soon as a soldier deserted or was transferred, the colony fields were to be returned to the colony authorities for re-​allocation. However, from the mid-​Ming, soldiers began deserting the garrisons in droves, and many colony fields were rented out, mortgaged, or appropriated by local magnates, resulting in non-​military household communities taking control of colony fields and claiming the exemption from corvee. In order to prevent colony fields from being abandoned and lying fallow, local authorities tacitly accepted such changes, and did their best to collect taxes from whoever took over the colony fields. In the late Wanli period (1572–​ 1620), Right Minister of Rites Li Tengfang, a native of Xiangtan, Hunan, raised the problem of Chaling Garrison’s colony fields being mortgaged. According to Li the trade in colony fields was like “flowing water.”6 Scholars such as Wang Yuquan have pointed out that the “civilianization” of military colonies was particularly pronounced in southern Hunan.7 This is to say that, by the sixteenth century, even if many of these colony fields were still under the control of households that were registered with military status, the colony fields themselves were no longer managed under the provisions of the military system, but had effectively been converted to land that was no different from ordinary civilian lands. I first arrived in Lanshan County in spring 2012 to conduct a fieldwork survey. In the early Ming, southern Hunan had a total of four Guards and ten Battalions, one of which was Ningxi Battalion in modern Lanshan County. This Battalion was established in 1396, with two Barracks (ying) under its jurisdiction. The mountains surrounding Ningxi Battalion are home to many Yao, and today much of the area is administered by Yao Autonomous Townships. The seat of the present-​ day Lanshan County government is within the walls of the former Ningxi Battalion. We learned from our interviews that the Ruan, Li, Zhu, Huang, and Gu are among the more populous surnames living within the walls.

132  Xie Shi We paid a visit to the Ruan surname ancestral hall, first built in the 1790s. On a wall inside the hall is a “Granary Inscription” dated 1888. The inscription declares that an ancestor of the Ruan surname was posted to Ningxi Battalion together with soldiers of seven other surnames: Zhang, Han, Wu, Liang, Yang, Sun, Ding, Wan, and Zhao. Together, they formed nine Colony Battalions (tuntian suo).8 A  Colony Battalion was the term for the area of colony fields under cultivation by a Battalion in the Ming system. It also often became the name for the community formed by the soldiers assigned to that territory. Some colony Battalions were named after the surname of the commanding officer. By the late Ming, the Colony Battalions of Ningxi Battalion were mostly in the hands of the Ruan and the other seven surnames, who formed an organization known as the “Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions.” We next visited a member of the Li surname, another of the eight surnames. Our host was similarly hospitable, and showed us a new genealogy that had been revised in 2000. The genealogy included prefaces to older editions, the earliest composed by eleventh generation ancestor Li Si in 1696. The text of the preface mentions that Si’s ancestor had been registered as a military household in 1368, the first year of the Hongwu reign, and was transferred from Zhaoqing, Guangdong, to the Jiangnan region. Later, he was transferred again to Ningxi Battalion to quell an uprising and to cultivate the Battalion’s colony fields.9 Elders of both the Ruan and the Li surnames claim that they were descended from military officers of the Ming Ningxi Battalion, and that each of the Battalion’s eight major surnames had its own genealogy. Doing research in rural southern China one often hears narratives of this sort. However, what came as something of a surprise was that elders from the lineages descended from these major surnames, now residing in different villages around the former Battalion, also claimed that in the past the eight major surnames had a book that they called a “shared genealogy” (gongtong de zupu) that included all of their surnames. According to an elder from the Ruan surname, one copy was preserved by a member of the Gu surname, who lived in a place called Dahebian north of the Battalion walls. I had never heard of eight households sharing a common genealogy, so we drove towards Dahebian with the elder of the Ruan surname. After about half an hour, we arrived at Dahebian village, and walked up the mountain to find Mr. Gu. Mr. Gu produced a bag of documents. When the bag was opened, we were all left speechless. Inside were two incomplete Gu surname genealogies dated 1807 and 1927 and a dozen contracts from the late Qing and Republican eras. There were also five volumes of a book entitled Ningxi Battalion gazetteer, compiled in 1903 by Ruan Jingtao of Lanshan. The elder who had brought us there said excitedly that this was their “shared genealogy.” The “Military Institutions” section of the gazetteer is particularly interesting. On the cover under the title is written: The Eight households: Ruan, Li, Zhu, Huang, Li, Pan, Gu, Zhou

The “civilianization” of military colonies  133 The Nine Battalions:  Zhang, Han, Wu, Liang, Yang, Sun, Ding, Wan, Zhao This text allows us to connect the gazetteer to the Granary Inscription in the Ruan ancestral hall. Various texts in the volume with titles such as “Nine Colony Battalions,” “Registrations of the Nine Battalions,” “Agreement concerning the establishment of a civilian household registration,” “Agreement on the lijia alliance,” “Agreement for corvee rotation,” and “Agreement of the ten pai of Xiyu” allow us to draw the outline history of Ningxi’s Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions, and recognize that it is the story of a community organization that formed as these military households converted to civilian registration. I mentioned above that after the transformation of the garrison colony system in the mid-​and late Ming, much colony land came to be controlled by different groups of people who were not necessarily garrison soldiers and who held a range of household registration statuses. These groups faced a new problem when the Qing replaced the Ming. With the dissolution of the Ming garrison system and the establishment of the new Qing military system, the garrison military household status that they had effectively held no longer offered them protection for their land holdings, so they faced the urgent problem of how to secure their rights to former military colony land. The local government implemented various concrete measures to register former Ming colony lands for tax purposes, and to transform the people who occupied these lands into lawful Qing subjects. In Hunan, these policies can largely be traced to the mid-​1650s, and the term of Hong Chengchou as local director-​general of military affairs and quartermaster. Hong believed that the problems of the military colonies were mostly caused by corruption and extortion by officials and soldiers, which made control over newly reclaimed land insecure. He ordered civilian officials to travel to the local communities to solicit the compliance of the people, and offered partial tax exemptions for three years on newly reclaimed or newly reported land. Hong’s policy required that lineage members provide mutual guarantees of compliance and stressed the principle of progressive increase of tax obligations as military colony fields were converted to civilian lands. Hong’s efforts had a deep impact on subsequent land reclamation programs.10 In 1656, the second year of Hong’s term, 313, 323 mu of land was reclaimed in Hunan, which suggests positive results of his efforts.11 But the good times did not last. During the late Shunzhi (1644–​1661) and early Kangxi (1661–​1722) reigns, reports of fake and misleading land reclamation in Hunan began to appear, and many prefectures and counties in southern Hunan were unable to collect taxes effectively.12 From 1674 to 1681, the Qing court engaged in a seesaw battle with the rebel army of Wu Sangui. When Wu was finally defeated and the imperial soldiers returned victorious, temporary military finance regimes that had been put in place in Linwu, Lanshan, and Jiahe Counties of Hengzhou

134  Xie Shi Prefecture were lifted, and these jurisdictions faced the complicated task of reorganizing taxation and household registration.13 In 1689, the Hunan provincial government ordered that tax revenues from former military colony fields be transferred to civilian jurisdictions. But the household registration of the former Ming military households remained unsettled. Three years later, Hunan promulgated a policy known as the “allied li and affiliated jia” (lianli pengjia) policy, whereby civilians were permitted to claim or to affiliate themselves with the household registration of soldiers who had died or deserted. As a result, members of military households that had been registered under the Nine Colony Battalions of Ningxi Battalion applied together to form an “affiliated jia,” registering as the tenth jia of Xiyu li, Lanshan County, under the name Xing Ningyi (“Arousing Unity”). This meant that they now acquired civilian registration. Under this registration, the eight surnames took it in turns to name a “household head” (hushou) who would be responsible for their tax and corvee obligations. This detail is crucial if we wish to fully understand the origins of the so-​called Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions. When I first uncovered this story during my fieldwork and read through the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer –​the text the villagers call their “shared genealogy” –​ I  could not help but worry that the text might have been compiled only very recently and was therefore unreliable about more distant events. But in the Taxia Temple inside the Lanshan County walls, on the old, mottled steles from the Ming and Qing inscribed with the very same names of people from the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions that we had seen in the contracts and genealogies, we see the name Xing Ningyi listed prominently among the donors on a late Kangxi stele. The name Xing Ningyi also appears in a table of registered households in the Kangxi Lanshan county gazetteer.14 This confirms that the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer is an accurate reflection of this period of history. As the Qing dynasty progressively established control over territory during the period of conquest, local governments and local society often struck a tacit agreement. The military households that possessed colony land were reregistered as civilian households, and the land that they cultivated was converted to civilian land. Those in possession of the fields were thus able to maintain their resource advantage, while the government stabilized its control over the locality. Only after this tacit agreement was reached did the government and local society secure the stability of the local order in the Nanling Mountains. The transformation of the garrison colony system and the registration system played an important role in this process. Fieldwork and local documents including genealogies, contracts, and steles allow us to reframe the history of imperial expansion and control.

The common trajectory of tax and corvee reform in early Qing southern China The Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions of Ningxi Battalion was a household registration unit formed contractually after 1696. It used a kind

The “civilianization” of military colonies  135 of pseudo-​lineage structure to maintain itself and to reinforce its legal status and its rights to the former Ming colony land (as well as other land it had appropriated). This case of enduring social status, social memory, and social organization –​formed even after the Ming system had already collapsed –​ illustrates the profound influence of the garrison colony system on Chinese society. The Eight Households were still being described as colony households (tunhu) as late as the Republican-​era gazetteer. Let us now turn from Hunan to Fujian and Guangdong on the empire’s southeast coast. Several scholars have discussed the tax and corvee reforms in this region during the mid-​to late Kangxi era and the transformation in social structure that resulted. One of these important reforms was known as “allocating tax responsibilities to patrilines” (lianghu guizong).15 It connected the lineage system and tax-​liable households as a way of assessing lijia tax and corvee services. Zheng Zhenman and Chen Zhiping have studied the policy as it was implemented by the governor-​general of Fujian and Zhejiang, Xing Yongchao, around 1689. Their work provides useful background for our examination of the Ningxi Battalion’s “allied li and affiliated jia” reforms from 1692. Aside from the roughly proximate timing of similar reforms, Xing Yongchao had served as governor of Hunan immediately prior to his serving as governor-​general of Fujian and Zhejiang. Xing Yongchao was a Han bannerman of the Yellow-​ bordered Banner. He was recommended for promotion to high office in 1674 during the suppression of the rebellion of Wu Sangui. While serving in Hunan, Xing Yongchao encountered severe difficulties in conducting a land survey. He eventually submitted a memorial requesting approval for an amnesty for local magnates who voluntarily disclosed the illegal seizure and reclamation of land. He remained concerned with the land survey in Hunan even after he became governor-​general of Fujian and Zhejiang, As early as the Shunzhi reign, Hong Chengchou had argued that without a proper land survey the recovery of former colony fields would be doomed to failure. During his own attempt at a land survey, Xing Yongchao discovered that the structure of rural land control could not easily be rectified. So he took a relatively gentle approach to land reform that did not radically disturb the status quo. After his transfer to Fujian and Zhejiang, he faced a similar situation. The policies that he had implemented in Hunan had succeeded because they were broadly acceptable to local society. The subsequent reform of tax and corvee in Hunan was carried out in accordance with his original blueprint. These events shed light on the implementation of tax reform at local level during the Kangxi reign. Both the 1888 Granary Stele in the Ruan ancestral hall and the Li Surname Genealogy show that, regardless of whether or not the eight households were in fact originally military households that had been allotted colony land at the beginning of the Ming when Ningxi Battalion was first established, transfers of military household or colony land later became extremely common.16 After the Li surname settled in Ningxi, they established sacrificial fields (to support common lineage property like an ancestral hall) at a place called Juntun cun

136  Xie Shi (Military Colony Village) . In the tax registration system these lands may well have been formally registered as land that was liable for taxation under the colony system (tunliang), which would have meant they were exempt from corvee. The families who controlled the military colonies also began to acquire civilian fields in the area. For example, the civilian fields of the Li surname were nominally registered under the name of a certain Li Changzheng (the Li is homophonous with, but written with a different character from, their surname). The household register in the Lanshan county gazetteer tells us that this registration was nominally located some distance away. Because of the separation between the actual physical residence of the household, the physical location of the land and the nominal registration, owners of this sort of property would have found it easy to evade corvee levies. In late Ming and early Qing, the expenses of frequent warfare led to frequent tax increases. This was especially true in the early Qing. After the garrison system was disbanded, anyone who did not have a formal household registration specifying precisely their tax obligations would have found the tax burdens very onerous, both for military colony land and land that had been nominally registered under another household’s registration. The “Allied lijia agreement” in the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer describes how, in order to protect their land privileges, obtain household registration, and ensure their male descendants had the right to attend imperial schools and participate in the examinations, the various households of Ningxi repeatedly changed their registration. Thirty-​six households that were initially registered in other jurisdictions collectively registered under six household registrations in Ningxi. Later a seventh registration was added. Eventually the Pan family joined the alliance, becoming the eighth household, and the “eight allied household jia” was born.17 After forming an allied lijia registration, each household sought to demonstrate its military origins by compiling a genealogy, seeking to secure their rights to the property they had inherited. The establishment of sacrificial fields was used as a further means to protect their claims to these properties.18 The Ruan surname claimed Tianping Mountain, the site of a lineage graveyard, as their “ancestral mountain.”19 The agricultural land on the mountain was mostly farmed by tenant households, with Ruan Jingtao himself supervising their work. A mountain plot where the ancestral remains of the Liu surname were buried “was located on a mountain ploughed by Yao.” While we cannot know exactly how this came about, we can speculate that such mountain plots had originally belonged to the Yao and later had been appropriated by powerful surnames like the Liu and Ruan as they expanded their influence into the mountains.20 Now, by asserting that these lands consisted of gravesites and estates to support ancestral sacrifice, early Qing lineages sought to legitimize their control of these lands and reduce the likelihood that they would be confiscated. The early Qing household registration records of the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions include several agreements for how to deal

The “civilianization” of military colonies  137 with former Ming colony fields. The Ningxi Battalion gazetteer describes an entity called the colony association (tunhui) that was central to stipulating and enforcing these regulations.21 Strict rules governed admission to the association and the administration of the colony register (tunce) that it maintained. The Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions used the register to record their agricultural holdings. A section of the register entitled “Account of Xing Ningyi,” was an important document for delimiting the status of the households in the agreement. It named the membership of the colony association, the lawful property-​holding entity comprising the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions, and the colony fields that each family occupied and cultivated. Over time, as the households originally party to the agreement divided, and lands belonging to other former colony households were added, new complications arose. It was common for false names to be used and for property transfers to become confused, so it became even more important for the colony association to maintain clear accounts of land ownership. Traditional terms such as “colony fields” (tuntian) and “Guard officers” (weiguan) were used by the association in the course of its operations. It established an ever-​normal granary and other collective organizations to maintain internal stability. The structure of the Ningxi Battalion gazetteer itself can help us better understand the reasons why it was compiled. The gazetteer’s biographical section lists successive generations of candidates in the imperial examinations. The compiler has arranged these names into a chart resembling a family tree, seeking to give the impression that Ningxi Battalion, like a lineage, produced successive generations of examination candidates. This helps explain why the elder from the county seat described the gazetteer as a “shared genealogy.”

Contractual colony households (hetong tunhu) and land reclamation Not far from Lanshan County in the Lingnan Mountains is Yizhang County. Like Lanshan, several settlements in Yizhang including Huangshabao grew out of Ming military garrisons and colonies. We conducted several surveys and collection trips in Huangshabao prior to our fieldwork in Lanshan. Among the materials we collected there was a Republican era Cai surname genealogy from Baocheng village, which records the achievements of lineage member Cai Yunxian. Cai Yunxian was active in the area in the early nineteenth century. He joined with other surname groups and entered the Ningxi Nine Colony Battalions organization. He expanded his property holdings by purchasing former colony fields. Cai Yunxian died during the time of the Taiping Rebellion. His descendants poured his estate into local literati organizations such as the Western Literati Association associated with the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions as well as the Shao County charitable school.22 Cai Yunxian’s achievements help us understand several points.

138  Xie Shi First, taking advantage of the opportunities presented to them during the Kangxi reign, the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions used their colony association, established in stages through a household registration agreement, to absorb vast swaths of colony fields and their purchasers into the association. Second, the association was affected by the ravages of the wars around the Taiping Rebellion. In its aftermath, the association used its financial strength to participate in local reconstruction efforts, further raising its social status and social capital. Third, the individuals or lineage organizations that entered into the household registration agreement or colony association were replaced over time and over generations, but because the organization continued to be reconstituted, and new properties continued to be linked to the association, the traditions associated with the Nine Colony Battalions continued to be transmitted. Although there were disparities of power and property between the different communities and settlements that made up the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions, by the late Qing and early Republican era, they had found a modus vivendi to collectively administer former colony lands. Cultural practices like the compilation of genealogies, the c­ onstruction of ancestral halls, and performance of ancestral sacrifice have ensured that these historical memories have been transmitted up to the present. In the mid-​nineteenth century, Hunan faced the ravages of war and famine. By forming local militia, literati associations, and other organizations, the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions came to play an important role in local society.23 The Eight Households maintained a stable alliance over the course of the Qing. They used joint-​stock operations to increase their financial power. The organization is described in the 1933 printed edition of the Lanshan county Gazetteer. Material in the gazetteer suggests that villages related to the organization were distributed south of the Ningxi Battalion fortress, along a river basin running north to south. The gazetteer also indicates that this region is one of the more densely populated in the southern part of Lanshan County.24 The main reason for establishing garrisons in the Nanling Mountains at the beginning of the Ming had been to defend against rebellions by the various ethnic groups who lived in the mountain regions. After the Ming was established, the local authorities began to offer amnesty to the Yao, providing land for them to cultivate. As a result, Yao people began to migrate to the mountain regions of southern Hunan. During this process, the Yao came to be divided into “mountain Yao” (gaoshan Yao), “mountain pass” Yao (guoshan Yao), and “lowland Yao” (pingdi Yao). The 1933 county gazetteer describes territory known as “Old Yao lands” (jiu Yao di) scattered across the mountains and river valleys of southern Lanshan.25 In the mid-​sixteenth century, land disputes flared up between Yao and the military and civilian households in the area around Daqiao Fort. Yao from across the county under the leadership of Zhao Chaosheng attacked

The “civilianization” of military colonies  139 the local government. The Hunan government dispatched Ningxi Battalion Commander Zhang Shi’en to defeat the Yao forces. Zhang appointed two local men from Daqiao to trap and kill Zhao Chaosheng, and in the battle that followed, the Yao were defeated. The two local leaders were subsequently appointed to the hereditary positions of “Official for Pacifying the Yao” (fu Yao guan). Their descendants would govern these regions for the next three hundred years under both Ming and Qing dynasties. The 1933 county gazetteer also describes territory known as “New Yao lands.” This term refers to territory under the control of these hereditary Officials for Pacifying the Yao after the sixteenth century. If we compare the distribution of the Old Yao lands and New Yao lands, we find that the Yao gradually retreated from the lowlands of the Shunshui River valley and became more concentrated in the higher mountain regions to the east and west. The Shunshui River valley is precisely where the military colonies discussed in the previous section were established. Conflict between military households, civilian households, and Yao in the sixteenth century had its origins in the expansion of military colonies and the reorganization of communities wrought by the fifteenth-​century transformation of the garrison colony system. The battle of Daqiao Fort and the establishment of territorial control by the Officials for Pacifying the Yao created the conditions for the expansion of military colonies. From the mid-​sixteenth century to the late seventeenth century, families who controlled the military colonies, as well as others who falsely claimed land under the name of military colonies, continuously expanded their settlements and land along the Shunshui River valley to the south of Lanshan. In 2014, during my fieldwork in Lanshan, I visited the village called Juntun cun (Military Colony Village). This village is comprised of three main residential settlements, home to the Zhao, Li, and Xie lineages. According to interviews and the three surnames’ genealogies, we can produce a rough timeline of settlement in Juntun after the eighteenth century. The Li surname was one of the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions, and they occupied land in the Shunshui basin relatively early. Ancestors of the Zhao surname migrated to Juntun village in the middle of the nineteenth century, and became tenants of the Li family. They developed a close relationship with the Li family, and gained the right to settle in Juntun and to enter the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions alliance.26 The ancestors of the Xie surname were apparently very poor. They moved to Juntun only around the beginning of the twentieth century and were dependent on the Li family. They later obtained the consent of the Li family to establish a settlement at a place on the mountain ridge on the western side of Juntun known as Forbidden Mountain Peak (Jinshantou).27 The term “Forbidden Mountain” strongly suggests a boundary, and indeed, a Yao settlement lies just on the other side of the mountain ridge. In interviews, the Li family strongly emphasized their ancestors’ meritorious military service during the Ming and Qing, while the Zhao and Xie families acknowledged that their ancestors had been Yao. In

140  Xie Shi

Map 8.2 Old and New Yao Lands

other words, the settlement history of this village is a history of ethnic transformation shaped by the lingering influence of Ming military institutions The case of Juntun illustrates that as the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions organization developed, the inheritors of the military colonies, the Yao, and the residents of the mountains and the plains found themselves in more frequent contact. The migration stories presented above also remind us that the settlement patterns of the Nanling Mountains were not fixed; the distinction between the New and Old Yao lands reflects the historical trend of colony lands expanding in the lowland valleys and the Yao

The “civilianization” of military colonies  141 resettling higher in the mountains. Social and economic interactions necessarily produced a mixed settlement pattern. The Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions created a new and enduring social organization. As their property holdings expanded, they attracted other surnames and social groups, forming a network of inter-​dependent settlements.

Qing military colony reform and its political and social significance In light of the historical account provided above, we are now in a position to explain the history of the military colonies of the Nanling Mountains region in the context of dynastic transition, tax and corvee reform, and social restructuring taking place in the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries across southern China. Governor Xing Yongchao’s Hunan land survey and Fujian household registration policy provides a larger regional perspective from which to consider the policy of “allocating tax responsibilities to the patriline” on the southeast coast. This policy was neither a simple, uniform rule nor the driver of purely formalistic lineage alliances. In the Nanling Mountains, the establishment of military colony household registration arrangements had a complex relationship with the dissolution of the Ming garrison system, the treatment of colony fields, and the formation of composite lijia households. Zheng Zhenman’s examination of the policy of “allocating tax responsibilities to the patriline” discusses a 1701 case in which the residents of Dongshan combined their household registrations and created a fictive patriline. The residents of Dongshan were mainly the descendants of military households from the Ming Tongshan Battalion. After the coastal evacuation of the early Qing, the garrison was disbanded and military registration was cancelled. In 1701, lijia household registration was implemented in the locality. Because the descendants of military households had no lineages to which they could revert, they combined to establish a common household registration, which became known as the “Guan Yongmao” household and included several different surnames. Zheng Zhenman argues that this kind of household registration that combined several different surnames reflects the fact that the lijia organization at that time was completely dominated by lineages. This was the inevitable consequence of “allocating tax responsibilities to the patriline.”28 At Ningxi Battalion the combined household registration of the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions suggests a similar model, but one that occurred slightly earlier than the case described by Zheng Zhenman. The Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions should be understood in the context of the adjustments to the overall system in Hunan during the early Qing. The process of surveying fallow fields, reviving the colonies, and reporting reclaimed land in Hunan that unfolded during the early Qing was in a sense a truncated version of reforms to the military colony system implemented during the Ming. The authorities finally implemented relatively conservative and gentle reform measures. Newly reported reclaimed land was taxed on a gradually increasing scale. The Rebellion of the Three

142  Xie Shi Feudatories disrupted these reforms. The Kangxi emperor implemented systemic reforms disbanding the colonies and converting them to counties, registering households, counting adult males, and establishing corvee as part of an effort to revive the colonies and reclaim more land. Ming military colony households and those who had attached themselves to registered households without acquiring their own registration now found themselves needing a registration of their own. The regulations for allied lijia point to the difficulty in resolving these kinds of land and household registration challenges. The implementation of the policy of “allocating tax responsibilities to the patriline” largely conformed to the social structure and land usage practices of the late Ming. The Xing Ningyi household registration that was formed under the allied household system, like the Guan Yongmao household of Dongshan, was an attempt to resolve the urgent problem of how former military colony households should engage with the Qing state. In his inquiry into the evolution of the meaning of the term “hu” (household), Liu Zhiwei points out that as household registration (huji) became a kind of tax register, the term “hu” itself ceased to be a social entity resembling a “household,” but rather became a registration unit for a certain tax account or tax quota.29 The people who were allocated to or made use of a common tax account inevitably formed a kind of formal interest group. This helps us understand the trajectory of the Eight Households of the Nine Colony Battalions association and the means by which they combined under a household registration agreement. The settlement in the Nanling Mountains that today is still called Juntun (Military Colony) Village is not in fact a direct remnant of an early Ming military colony, but rather the product of the social restructuring resulting from the Qing household registration reforms. The organization of the household registration agreement largely conformed to the actual relations between people and the land in the military colonies after the disorder of the mid-​to late Ming. In concrete terms, this meant that while the allocation of corvee labor obligations was determined by the household head, the basic structure of the household registration of the former military colonists from the late Ming was preserved. Trans-​regional comparative research shows that, by the yardstick of dynastic imperial history, the military colony system and related reforms followed similar patterns of social change across different regions. By placing these changes in temporal and spatial context, we learn the following. First, just as it was sending troops to pacify the various corners of the empire, the Qing court and local authorities were also progressively implementing reforms that were intended to rationalize local governance. Second, this study reveals the survival strategies of specific communities under specific geographic and historical conditions. The remnants of the garrison system were reconstructed as a new local power structure in which local elites deployed the collective memory of their Ming antecedents to secure property and status. This transformation in local organizations and

The “civilianization” of military colonies  143 local power also transformed the structure of human habitation and settlement. Patterns of settlement actually reflect the long-​term presence of the imperial state.

Notes 1 Yu Zhijia, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi –​yi Ming-​Qing Jiangxi diqu wei zhongxin de yanjiu. (Garrisons, military households, and military service in Jiangxi in the Ming-​ Qing periods) (Beijing daxue 2010); Yu Zhijia, “Cong ‘Xunci’ kan Mingmo Zhi, Yu, Jin jiaojie diqu de weisuo junhu yu junmin cisong” (Military households and military-​civilian litigation in the adjoining regions of Hebei, Henan, and Shanxi in late Ming as represented in the Xunci), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 75.4 (2004), 745–​795; Yu Zhijia, “Quanya xiangzhi –​yi Ming-​Qing shidai de Tongguan wei weili” (Interlocking governmental jurisdiction in Ming-​ Qing: the case of Tongguan Guard), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 80.1 (2009), 77–​135. 2 Zhao Shiyu. “Weisuo junhu zhidu yu Mingdai Zhongguo shehui –​shehuishi de shijiao” (Garrisons, military households, and Chinese society in the Ming: from the perspective of social history), Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban), no. 3 (2015), 114–​127. 3 Gu Cheng, “Weisuo zhidu zai Qingdai de biange” (Changes to the garrison system in the Qing), Beijing shifan daxue xue bao (shehui kexue ban), no. 2 (1998), 15–​22. 4 Zhao Shiyu, “ ‘BuQing buMing’ yu ‘WuMing buQing’ –​Ming-​Qing yidai de quyu shehuishi jieshi” (“Neither Qing nor Ming” and “No Qing without Ming”: a local social history interpretation of the Ming-​Qing transition), Xueshu yuekan, no. 7 (2010), 130–​140. 5 [The concept of the ethnic corridor was first proposed by the eminent Chinese anthropologist Fei Xiaotong –​trans.] 6 Li Tengfang, “Jue junliang yi” (Proposal to eliminate military rations [tax]), in Li Gongbao Xiangzhou xiansheng ji (reprint Siku quanshu cunmu congshu, vol. 173, Qilu shushe chubanshe 1997), 96. 7 Wang Yuquan, Mingdai de juntun (Military colonies in the Ming) (Zhonghua shuju 1965), 290–​342. 8 “Canggu beiji” (Granary inscription), 1888, inscription located in the Ruan surname ancestral hall, Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. 9 Henanjun Lishi zongpu (Li surname of Henan genealogy), revised edition, 2000, 1–​3, held by members of the Li surname in Suocheng Township, Lanshan County. 10 Hukou rending tiben (Memorials on population registers), Hubu (Board of Revenue Archives) (Qing), transcriptions held by the Institute of Economics, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS), 36a-​38b; Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefecture gazetteer) (Daoguang edition, reprint Huxiang wenku, Yuelu shushe 2008), j. 17, 1107. 11 Hubu chaodang:  di ding tiben (Memorials on land and population), Board of Revenue Archives (Qing), transcriptions held by the Institute of Economics, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS), vol. 3, 151a–​152a, 12 Hengzhou fuzhi (Hengzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Beijing tushu guan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 36, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1998), j. 5, 208–​211.

144  Xie Shi 13 Guiyang zhili zhouzhi (Guiyang prefectural gazetteer) (reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng, vol. 32, Jiangsu guji chubanshe 2003), j. 4, 56–​58. 14 Lanshan xianzhi (Lanshan county gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Gugong zhenben congkan, vol. 156, Hainan chubanshe 2001), j. 4, 49–​53. 15 Liu Zhiwei, “Qingdai Guangdong diqu tujia zhi zhong de zonghu yu zihu.” (Households in the tujia system of Guangdong in Qing), Zhongguo shehui jingjishi yanjiu, no. 2 (1991), 36–​42; Zheng Zhenman, Ming-​Qing Fujian de jiazu zuzhi yu shehui bianqian (Lineage organization and social change in Fujian in Ming-​Qing) (Hunan jiaoyu chubanshe 1992), 151–​199; Chen Zhiping, “Qingchu Fujian dadang zhi yi kao lue” (On the great levy in early Qing Fujian), in Minjian wenshu yu Ming-​Qing fuyi shi yanjiu (Huangshan shushe 2004), 211; Liu Yonghua and Zheng Rong, “Qingdai Zhongguo dongnan diqu de lianghu guizong –​laizi Minnan de lizheng” (The policy of allocating tax registration to the patriline in southeastern China in Qing: an example from southern Fujian), Zhongguo jingjishi yanjiu, no. 4 (2008),  81–​87. 16 “Canggu beiji”; Henanjun Lishi zongpu (Li of Henan genealogy) (2000), 7, held by members of the Li surname in Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. 17 “Jiusuo jiguan” (Registration of the nine Battalions), in Ruan Jingtao, Ningxi suozhi (Ningxi Battalion gazetteer) (1894) ms., held by members of the Gu surname in Dahebian village, Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. 18 Henanjun Lishi zongpu, 7; Ruanshi zupu (Ruan surname genealogy) (1894), held by members of the Ruan surname in Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. 19 “Daqi gong you Tianping shan ji” (Record of Daqi’s travel to Mt. Taiping), in Ruanshi zupu (Ruan surname genealogy). 20 Ibid. 21 Ningxi suozhi 22 “Yunxian gong shilu” (Biography of Mr. Yunxian), in Shixiu Caishi zupu (Cai surname genealogy, 10th edition) (1944), j.2, 48a–​b, held in Baocheng village, Huangsha Township, Yizhang County, Hunan. 23 For further details, see Ningxi suozhi 24 Lanshan xian tuzhi (Lanshan county illustrated gazetteer) (Republican edition; reprint Zhongguo fangzhi congshu; Huazhong difang, vol. 110, Chengwen chubanshe 1970), 723–​766. 25 Ibid., 862–​867. 26 “Jiguan hukou” (Registration), in Tianshuijun Zhaoshi zupu (Zhao of Tianshui genealogy) (1937), held by lineage members in Juntun, Lanshan, Hunan. 27 “Disan jie chongxiu zong pu xu” (Preface to the third edition of the genealogy) (2005) in Chenliujun Xieshi zupu (Xie surname of Chenliu genealogy), 6–​7. 28 Zheng Zhenman, Ming-​Qing Fujian de jiazu zuzhi yu shehui bianqian, 190–​194. 29 Liu Zhiwei, Zai guojia yu shehui zhi jian –​Ming-​Qing Guangdong lijia fuyi zhidu yanjiu. (Between state and society: taxation, corvee labor, and the village community system in Guangdong in Ming-​Qing) (Zhongshan daxue chubanshe 1997), 257–​259.

9  Military lineages and the Qing tribute grain system The “Xie/​Chen/​Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard, Jiangxi Rao Weixin

Introduction: Tribute grain military households and imperial governance This article considers the Qing tribute grain system from the perspective of the military households and lineages on whom the actual operation of the system relied. By situating the tribute grain system in the context of larger themes in Qing governance it seeks to contribute to a better understanding of the social mechanisms that underlay imperial rule in China. The term “tribute grain system” refers to the set of mechanisms or institutions through which tax grain was collected in the provinces and transported to the imperial capital. The importance of the tribute grain system to the Qing state is already well established in the historical literature. The food supply and hence the social stability of the capital region, and thus the governance of the entire empire, hinged on the timely delivery of the tribute grain. The tribute grain system was thus a core institution of the Qing. For this reason many historians have used the tribute grain system as a window onto the history of Qing governance; some even link the fate of the tribute grain system to the fate of the dynasty. Most previous scholarship on the tribute grain system relies primarily on official government sources.1 As a result, this work tends to focus on government institutions, and on high-​ level administration and management. The consensus view has been that while the system may appear to have been comprehensively organized, it was ultimately brought down by structural weaknesses, bureaucratic disorganization and inefficiency, and official corruption. This became particularly evident, the conventional narrative continues, in the first half of the nineteenth century, when corruption in the tribute grain system not only led to a crisis in the system itself but also portended the larger crisis of Qing governance, and the decline and eventual collapse of the dynasty itself. Although this approach certainly has its strengths, it cannot fully explain how the tribute grain system was able to function over a period of more than two hundred years, from the beginning of the Qing to the mid-​nineteenth

146  Rao Weixin century (in fact, even after the transportation of tribute grain via inland waterways was replaced by sea transport in the nineteenth century, the tribute grain system continued to function). As Philip Kuhn has pointed out, the stability of the traditional Chinese political system had deep roots in its social institutions.2 If the tribute grain system was a purely state institution with no foundation in society, how could it have endured for almost the entire length of Qing rule? How was the tribute grain system anchored in society? Though the transportation of tribute grain was managed by high-​level officials and government organs, it was actually carried out by tens of thousands of “tribute grain soldiers” (caojun), who were stationed in garrisons and organized into thousands of tribute grain “barges” (chuan). These made up the basic level of the system. The tribute grain soldiers were dispatched from lineages designated as hereditary tribute-​grain military households. There were more than sixty thousand of them, organized into over six thousand tribute grain barges that transported grain across the empire. They transported approximately four million bushels of grain annually from the tribute grain-​supplying provinces (mainly Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Anhui, Jiangxi, Hunan, and Hubei in the south, and secondarily the provinces of Henan and Shandong in the north) to the capital region and other strategic regions of the empire. The actual operation of the Qing tribute grain system depended on these lineages designated as hereditary tribute grain households and the tribute grain soldiers that they dispatched generation after generation. Previous research has paid little attention to these people. What sort of people were they? What was their relationship with the hereditary tribute grain soldiers of the preceding Ming dynasty? What role did they play in the Qing system? I investigate these questions below using local sources collected through fieldwork and a case study of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Garrison, Jiangxi.

The “Xie-​Chen-​Liao  Barge” Several years ago during fieldwork in Ruilin Township, Ruijin County, Jiangxi, a resident gave me a mid-​nineteenth century document entitled Principles of Tribute Grain Service (Caowu zeyao) that had been preserved by his lineage. Its author, a man named Xie Shijin, did not actually belong to the Xie lineage of Ruilin. Rather, he was a member of another Xie lineage living several hundred kilometers away –​the Luobei Xie of Xunwu County (formerly Changning). To be even more precise, Xie Shijin belonged to a branch of the Luobei Xie lineage that had migrated to Tanxi, Wanzai County, in northwest Jiangxi. Both the Ruilin Xie and the Luobei Xie lineages had been registered as tribute grain households in Qing. In 1812 Xie Shijin was dispatched to the Jiangxi capital of Nanchang to transport tribute grain to the capital region. Starting in that year, he made the round trip journey between Nanchang and Tongzhou, near Beijing, annually.

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  147 He made ten consecutive journeys captaining a barge transporting grain north, and did not return permanently to his hometown until after the final return journey in 1823. The Principles of Tribute Grain Service is a manual for tribute grain transportation that he compiled based on his own ten years’ experience and after consulting other similar privately prepared manuals. The manual records how his lineage came to hold the status of a tribute grain military household and the details of the other tribute grain military lineages who served on the same barge. It explains the entire process of conducting the journey; the rules to be followed and risks to be avoided; how to clear inspection at the various customs collection points along the route; the public and private expenditures required; and even the different types of dangers one might encounter on the waterways. Summarizing Xie’s personal experience of undertaking the tribute grain journey multiple times, the manual presents information not seen in official tribute grain documents. Xie Shijin compiled and printed this document and distributed it among his lineage in the hope that it would provide a guide for later generations of his lineage who would also have to undertake the tribute grain journey. How did the Ruilin Xie lineage come to possess this manual? What was the relationship between the Ruilin Xie and the Luobei Xie (including the Wanzai Tanxi branch)? According to the text, in the nineteenth century both lineages were tribute grain military households under Huichang Battalion in Jiangxi. They belonged to a single tribute grain barge –​the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge.” Because of the frequent interactions and close relationship between the two lineages due to their shared fiscal obligation, it is not surprising that the Ruilin Xie should come to possess a copy of the manual written by a member of the Luobei Xie. Besides the two Xie lineages, the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” included eight other lineages that were registered as tribute grain military households –​the Chenfang Chen of Shicheng County; the Gusong Liao of Shicheng County; the Shuixi Huang of Yudu County; the Chen of Yudu County (their specific place of residence is unclear); the Xijiang Xiao and Xijiang He of Huichang County, and the Sun and Qiu of Liangsanba, Huichang County. Conventional wisdom holds that in the Ming tribute-​grain soldiers from each garrison were initially drawn from military households based in that garrison or in its supporting colonies, and that this basically continued into the Qing. But the ten military household lineages of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” did not come from a single garrison. Their places of origins were broadly dispersed across southern Jiangxi, including Changning, Ruijin, Yudu, Shicheng, and Huichang. Moreover apart from Liangsanba in Huichang County, home to the Sun and Qiu, which during the Ming and Qing was a military colony under Huichang Battalion, the places where the other eight lineages resided were neither military garrisons nor military colonies.3 Perhaps even more surprisingly, according to their genealogies, some of these lineages were not even military households under Huichang Battalion at all. This challenges the standard understanding of the composition of Ming-​Qing

148  Rao Weixin garrison-​based tribute grain soldiers. What was their registration status? How did they come together to form a tribute grain barge under the authority of Huichang Battalion? To answer these questions, we need to begin from the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” itself.

The reorganization of the tribute grain barge system in the early Qing and the restructuring of the tribute grain soldiers Scholars generally hold that the tribute grain system in the Qing largely continued the Ming system.4 In fact the Qing made considerable adjustments to both the organization of the tribute grain barges and the recruitment of the tribute grain soldiers. The origins of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” of Huichang Battalion can be traced to these transformations of the overall tribute grain system after the Ming-​Qing transition and the specific changes of the garrison system in southern Jiangxi. The Gannan region lies in southern Jiangxi, on the upper reaches of the Ganjiang River, bordering Fujian, Guangdong, and Hunan. In the Qing it comprised two prefectures, Ganzhou and Nan’an. It was a typical mountainous peripheral region, where government control was relatively weak. From the early Ming, refugees from the surrounding provinces who had settled in the region were often blamed for local unrest. In order to defend against these “mountain bandits,” the early Ming court established four military bases in the region. Known colloquially as “one Guard and three Battalions” these bases were Ganzhou Guard (established in the Ganzhou prefectural seat); Xinfeng Battalion (in Xinfeng County); Huichang Battalion (in Huichang County); and Nan’an Battalion (in Nan’an Prefecture). Within the military administrative system, Xinfeng, Huichang, and Nan’an Battalions were all units under provincial-​level military command, relatively independent from Ganzhou Guard. After the establishment of “one Guard and three Battalions,” agricultural colonies were established in neighboring counties to secure provisions for them. Some soldiers from each garrison were assigned to cultivate these colonies to provide rations for the troops who remained behind in the garrisons. The troops of Ganzhou Guard and Xinfeng, Huichang, and Nan’an Battalions can be roughly divided into two types according to their main responsibilities: drill/​defense troops who were stationed in the garrison or at other strategic centers and had military responsibilities, and colony soldiers who were sent to the agricultural colonies and required to farm the land there.5 Beginning in 1415, some garrisons in Jiangxi also became responsible for certain aspects of tribute grain transport. By the late fifteenth century they had been given full responsibility for the task of transporting tribute grain for the entire journey from Jiangxi all the way to the capital.6 Ganzhou Guard was one such garrison; a portion of its soldiers were reclassified as “tribute grain soldiers.” Xinfeng, Huichang, and Nan’an Battalions were not assigned

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  149 tribute grain responsibilities. So the troops in these three units continued to be divided into two categories: drill/​defense and colony troops. In the Ming, Ganzhou Guard was responsible for providing sixty tribute grain barges. Each barge was captained by a banner head (qijia) and manned by ten garrison soldiers, for a total of six hundred and sixty men. These men formed the Ganzhou Guard tribute grain guild (bang). Every year, guild members led by one garrison commander and five lower-​ranked officers would make their way to the piers at the provincial capital of Nanchang, load the grain tax that had been previously stored in granaries there, and transport it to Beijing and Tongzhou.7 The costs of the system, including barge construction, the daily expenditures of the soldiers on the journey and other expenses, were in general to be met from surcharges such as wastage fees that were levied on ordinary taxpaying households.8 But these surcharges were often insufficient to meet actual expenses. To address the shortfall the Ming implemented a system known as “relying on the military colonies to support tribute grain transportation” (jitun qiyun). Revenue from the agricultural colonies was used to subsidize the expenses of the tribute grain soldiers along their journey. Since the tribute grain soldiers were recruited from the ranks of the garrison’s colony soldiers, the two sub-​systems were closely connected, and the situation in the colonies could have a direct impact on the operations of tribute grain transportation. Ganzhou Guard’s agricultural colonies were mostly located in Ganxian, Xingguo, and Yudu Counties. The colony troops in each agricultural colony typically consisted of a colony head and a certain number of soldiers. Each colony soldier was responsible for cultivating approximately 30 mu of colony fields. A portion of the annual harvest was retained for personal consumption; the remainder was handed over to the garrison at a set quota per mu of colony fields cultivated. The military households in the colony who undertook the task of transporting tribute grain (and were therefore called tribute grain soldiers) were required to dispatch one member, called the “active service soldier” (zhengjun), to transport the tribute grain. The remaining adult males in the household (called “supernumeraries” (yuding/​junyu) were responsible for cultivating the colony fields and submitting the necessary portion of the harvest to the garrison. So tribute grain soldier households bore a relatively heavier fiscal burden compared to ordinary colony households. Their problems were compounded by the corruption of colony officials, clerks, and local magnates, who illicitly encroached or sold off colony fields, forcing some colony households into impossible financial straits. Indebted due to their inability to fulfill their colony grain payments and facing real economic hardship, many deserted and fled.9 By the mid-​sixteenth century the situation had become quite serious. In the 1580s, Ganzhou Vice Prefect Qi Rudong sought to remedy the situation through a policy of adjusting tribute grain obligations according to the quality of the colony fields. He divided colony fields into three grades according to fertility and quality. The grades determined the frequency at which soldiers

150  Rao Weixin were required to ship tribute grain. Those with the best fields were required to make the trip in three years out of four and those with middle-​grade fields in two years out of every three. Those with the poorest quality fields were only required to fulfill their obligation to submit grain to the garrison, and did not have to take on the additional burden of transporting tribute grain. This was an attempt to relieve the burden on the tribute grain troops in order to stabilize the system. It seems that this policy initially met with some success, but soon after Qi Rudong left his post, the reform was abandoned.10 In the early years of the Qing, the new state dissolved most of the Ming garrisons that were not involved in the tribute grain system. For garrisons with tribute grain responsibilities, the organizational structures, colonies, and fields of the garrison were retained and brought under the administration of the Board of Revenue. The Ganzhou tribute grain guild continued to be held responsible for transporting tribute grain on sixty tribute grain barges. The positions of Guard commander (zhihuishi) and Battalion commander (qianhu) were renamed garrison commandant (wei shoubei), and Company commander (qianzong). The men holding these positions were required to escort the tribute grain soldiers on their northward journey in alternate years. Although Xinfeng, Huichang, and Nan’an Battalions did not originally have any tribute grain responsibilities, the soldiers, military households, and agricultural colonies of these three Battalions were initially put under the temporary administration of Ganzhou Guard. Because so many of the Ganzhou Guard’s original military households and soldiers had deserted, particularly during the period of upheaval during the Ming-​Qing transition, many of the agricultural colonies had fallen into disrepair, and the tribute grain burden of those tribute grain soldiers that remained at the garrison had increased substantially.11 From about 1651 onwards, the tribute grain soldiers of Ganzhou Guard took advantage of this period of unified administration and sought to reapportion responsibility for thirty of the garrison’s sixty tribute grain barges to Xinfeng, Huichang, Nan’an Battalions, which had now been placed under Ganzhou’s administration. Naturally this gave rise to dissatisfaction and resistance from the military households from these three Battalions. Nan’an Battalion, under the jurisdiction of Nan’an Prefecture, pled its case, and a judgment of 1661 eliminated the Battalion’s responsibility for ten barges. Xinfeng and Huichang Battalions were not so lucky. These Battalions had not been responsible for the transport of tribute grain during the Ming. So they were originally in line to be dissolved. But because they had now been placed under the jurisdiction of Ganzhou Prefecture together with Ganzhou Guard, they were pressed to share the burden with the Guard by taking on the tribute grain burden for thirty tribute grain barges. Each Battalion was made responsible for fifteen tribute grain barges. So from the late Shunzhi reign (1644–​1661), Ganzhou Guard was responsible for thirty tribute grain barges, Xinfeng Battalion for fifteen barges, and Huichang Battalion for fifteen barges, for a total of sixty, with all of the corresponding tribute grain

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  151 transport duties. The garrison commandant and Company commander directed the grain tribute. A  new iteration of the Ganzhou Guard guild emerged.12 The “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” was one of the fifteen tribute grain barges under Huichang Battalion. Changes in the composition of the tribute grain crews were even more fundamental. In theory each of the thirty tribute grain barges under Ganzhou Guard was to be staffed by tribute grain soldiers from the Guard. But from the mid-​to late Ming, and especially after the Ming-​Qing transition, many of the Guard’s tribute grain soldiers and colony soldiers had deserted. So in the early Qing, all of the military households who remained (including both “serving” and “surplus” soldiers) were registered as tribute grain soldiers. This was still not enough to make up the shortfall. Some civilian households who happened to be cultivating colony fields that belonged to military households who had deserted were now registered as tribute grain soldiers.13 Local authorities looked beyond the garrison itself and back to the original native place of the military households. Some members of military households who had remained in their original native place (yuanji junhu) when their ancestors were first conscripted in the early Ming were thus roped in. Xinfeng and Huichang Battalions had not previously been tasked with providing tribute grain transport. The tribute grain soldiers in these Battalions were descended from military colony households that had never provided such services in the Ming. But of the ten tribute grain military households making up Huichang Battalion’s “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge,” at least five –​the Luobei Xie, the Chenfang Chen, the Gusong Liao, the Ruilin Xie, and the Shuixi Huang –​were actually military households residing in their original native place who were now re-​assigned as tribute grain military households. Members of these lineages had first been conscripted in the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century, and were subsequently dispatched from Ganzhou to Dezhou Guard in Shandong, where they became garrison and colony soldiers. The men who had been dispatched to Shandong were known as “garrison military households” while their relatives remaining in their ancestral hometown were “military households residing in the native place.” According to Ming regulations, these “native place” lineage members were required to subsidize their relatives in the garrison and to substitute for them as required.14 During the late fifteenth century, probably in response to security needs arising from large-​scale uprisings in the Gannan area, military lineages were recalled from Dezhou to Huichang, where they took up agricultural and defensive responsibilities as garrison soldiers of Huichang Battalion. When Huichang Battalion was given responsibility for fifteen tribute grain barges from the Ganzhou Guard, these lineages’ garrison military households were targeted for reregistration as tribute grain soldiers. But as described above, beginning in the mid-​to late Ming and continuing through to the early Qing, desertion among Jiangxi garrison colony troops became extremely common because of the dual burden of military corvee and military grain production. Huichang Battalion was no exception. According

152  Rao Weixin to the genealogy of the Ruilin Xie, Yuanya, the sixth-​generation descendant of the Ziyi branch of the lineage, was sent from Jiangxi to Dezhou Guard in Shandong to take over the family’s military service obligations, taking with him twenty-​five taels of silver collected by the different branches of the lineage to cover his expenses. By the late fifteenth century, Yuanya had been transferred back to Huichang Battalion to cultivate colony fields, and his descendants inherited this responsibility. Yuanya’s branch of the lineage thus became a military household in Huichang. By the early Qing, his line of descent had been broken and there was no one left to fulfill tribute grain service obligations.15 At that time, Huichang Battalion maintained a special register that recorded the name under which each military household in the Battalion was registered as well as information about their place of residence or place of origin. The “name” under which the military household was registered was typically that of the first ancestor who had been conscripted into the military at the beginning of the Ming. Thus the names under which the ten military household lineages of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” were registered were as follows: 1. Liao Yu household [Liao Yu hu]: i.e. the name under which the military household of the Gusong Liao was registered 2. Chen Lannao household: registration name of the Chenfang Chen 3. Huang Nongshi household: registration name of the Shuixi Huang 4. Xie Nuzi household: registration name of the Ruilin Xie 5. Chen Anshou household: registration name of a Chen lineage in Yudu (precise location unspecified) 6. Xiao Kan household: registration name of the Xijiang Xiao 7. He Hansheng household: registration name of the Xijiang He 8. Sun Fusheng household: registration name of the Liangsanba Sun 9. Qiu Manzi household: registration name of the Liangsanba Qiu 10. Xie Guanyinbao household: registration name of the Luobei Xie 11. The Wanzai branch These lineages lived dispersed across Huichang and the surrounding counties (see Map 9.1).16 Using this military household register, officers were able to track down the members of the Yuanya branch of the Ruilin Xie who had remained behind in their original native place when one of their ancestors was first conscripted, and forced them to take over responsibility for the tribute grain obligations. As a result, the Ruilin Xie, who had been military lineage members residing at their place of origin during the Ming, were now in the early Qing forced to become a tribute grain military household. The genealogies of other lineages show that they underwent a similar transformation in registration status. They were conscripted to Huichang Battalion’s “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge,” which was named for the first three families on the register (the Luobei Xie; Chenfang Chen; Gusong Liao) at the same time.17

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  153

Map 9.1 Hereditary military household lineages of Ganzhou Guard

This clearly demonstrates that while the Qing may have nominally continued the garrison-​based tribute grain system of the Ming, in actual fact, there were significant changes to the organization of the system. The organization of both the tribute grain barges and the military households responsible for manning the barges was restructured. Unlike during the Ming, when tribute grain soldiers were drawn from the ranks of soldiers stationed at the garrison, in the Qing some garrison military households that had not previously been responsible for tribute grain obligations, and

154  Rao Weixin even some military households that had remained at their place of origin, were conscripted into the tribute grain system. This meant that the tribute grain soldiers of Qing came from a more diverse range of backgrounds than their Ming predecessors. Both as a specific corvee obligation and as a unit of status registration, the designation “military household” had a more expansive social meaning in Qing than in Ming. The Qing tribute grain military household system was more flexible than it had been in the Ming. The social basis for the institution became more diverse, and this in turn created new possibilities for social integration and social impact.

Military household lineages and tribute grain communities The transformation in the operating mechanisms of the tribute grain system in the Qing marked an even more fundamental change. The lineages of tribute-​ grain households became more directly involved in tribute-​grain matters, and this led to the emergence of a kind of “tribute grain” community or collectivity, whose members were linked together by their obligation to provide labor to the system. The military household lineages were the members of this collectivity, and the tribute grain barge was its basic organizational unit. The composition of the Qing tribute grain barges remained nominally the same as in the Ming. Each tribute grain barge would normally comprise ten tribute grain soldiers. But after the early Qing reorganization, these tribute grain soldiers might be drawn from multiple military household lineages. In other barges, all of the tribute grain soldiers might come from a single lineage. That is, a single lineage might take responsibility for all the tribute grain tasks of one tribute grain barge. There was thus much variation in the composition of tribute grain military households, in the quantity of colony fields they were allocated, between the tribute grain groups of different garrisons, and even among different barges of a single garrison’s tribute grain guild. Thus the internal organization of each barge and their particular operations varied considerably. But there was at least one point that all barges had in common. The military lineages of each barge shared responsibility for building and maintaining the barge and using it to provide tribute grain transport services. If the tribute grain barge could not be constructed on schedule, or if it did not transport the correct quality and quantity of tribute grain to the capital, then responsibility fell collectively on all the military household lineages of that vessel, who were fined. This characteristic of Qing tribute grain organization forged a community out of the military household lineages of each tribute grain barge and the members of each of these lineages, who shared common responsibilities. The ten military household lineages of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” were one such community. The “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” was established in 1662. It adopted an operational model whereby a new barge was built every ten years while responsibility for the annual shipment of tribute-​grain rotated among the members. After a barge had been in use for ten years, each lineage was required to

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  155 contribute income from their government-​allotted colony fields to pay for the construction of a replacement barge. They then had to agree on a person to dispatch to Nanchang to pay a designated barge workshop to supervise the building of the new vessel. If the funds were insufficient, then the ten households would have to make up the difference. Each of the ten households selected one tribute-​grain soldier who took responsibility in rotation for the tribute grain journey. Since the total rotation cycle took ten years, one full rotation was completed each time the grain tribute barge was rebuilt. After the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” was first constructed in 1662, the Luobei Xie sent their twelfth-​generation descendant Xie Xilun to take responsibility for the first tribute grain shipment.18 By 1671 the ten lineages had completed the first rotation. This cycle of responsibility ensured the continued operation of the tribute grain barge. In around 1692 the lineages came to an agreement on a new method of operation by which “two teams alternated responsibility” (liangban hudang). This system divided the ten military household lineages into two teams, an “upper” and “lower” team, of five households each. The upper team was made up of the Luobei Xie, the Chenfang Chen, the Gusong Liao, the Liangsanba Qiu, and the Ruilin Xie; the lower team comprised the Shuixi Huang, the Liangsanba Sun, the Xijiang Xiao, the Xijiang He, and the Chen from Yudu. The two teams took alternating responsibility for the construction of a new vessel every ten years and for the tribute grain shipment. The five households of each team also adopted more specific measures for the construction of the barge and the rotation of responsibility for tribute grain shipment within the ten-​year cycle. When it was the turn of the upper team, each upper team household would be responsible for two tribute grain shipments (that is, one minor cycle every five years). In the following ten year cycle, they would be relieved of these responsibilities. From 1753, there was also an arrangement whereby one household took responsibility for tribute grain transportation for ten years, with the other households providing support.19 This is how Xie Shijin came to lead the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” for ten years. This system of “two teams alternating responsibility” was obviously more complicated than the original ten-​year cycle, but the fact that it continued operating for more than one hundred years from the late seventeenth to the early nineteenth century suggests that it must have had its merits. Through the establishment and operation of this kind of cooperative system, the ten military household lineages of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” came to form a stable, long-​term social organization. Yet maintaining the stable operation of the “Xie-​ Chen-​ Liao Barge,” whether by the early Kangxi “ten-​year cycle” system or by the later “two teams alternating responsibility” system, ultimately hinged on each military household lineage’s internal processes and guarantees to ensure that funds and men were provided to the grain tribute operation. Sending tribute grain soldiers to undertake the shipment was an onerous assignment for military household lineages in the Qing, and it is hard to imagine an individual tribute

156  Rao Weixin grain soldier fulfilling the tribute grain responsibilities without the support of his lineage. Xie Shijin’s record of the tribute grain process of the “Xie-​Chen-​ Liao Barge” in the “Principles of Tribute Grain Service” can help us understand this point. Every year between the fifth and seventh months of the lunar calendar, the Jiangxi Tax Intendant Circuit would issue documents ordering the start of the annual tribute grain process. These would make their way down to Ganzhou Prefecture and Huichang County. Then, the Huichang County yamen would send a notice to the tribute grain military household lineages responsible for that year’s tribute. In the seventh month, the tribute grain military household lineages that had received notice to conduct the shipment would select two reliable and able adult males from their lineage to be the serving soldier (zhengding) and reserve soldier (fuding) for the tribute grain voyage. The serving soldier would take a certificate from his lineage to the Huichang County yamen, where he would apply for approval.20 After approval was received, he would take the document of official approval to Ganzhou to seek further permission. In an acknowledgement of the tribute grain soldiers’ labor, the Ming and Qing governments permitted them to take a certain quantity of tax-​free local goods such as charcoal or mushrooms to sell on the journey north to subsidize their expenses. During the Qianlong era, they were permitted to take a cargo of 126 bushels; in 1799 the limit was increased to 150 bushels. Thus the soldiers also had to report to the customs office in the prefectural walled city of Ganzhou to request approval for the types and quantity of local products they were carrying so that these tax-​free local goods could pass customs. Only after these procedures were completed and approval granted could the tribute grain soldier take the barge and the local products through the customs checkpoint on the Gan River outside the walled city of Ganzhou. Around the eighth month, after the tribute grain soldiers had completed the procedures described above, they would follow the Gan river downstream to Nanchang. Already in the Ming, the Ganzhou Guard guild had established a waterside storage facility by the Gan river outside the Nanchang city wall where tribute grain was loaded onto the barges. After the Huichang Battalion’s fifteen tribute grain barges became relatively independent in the Qing, they established their own residence for the Battalion’s tribute grain soldiers near the Guard’s granary. When the transport soldiers of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” arrived in Nanchang, they would be housed in this residence. The next step was to submit the permits received from the prefectural and county government offices to the provincial Tax Circuit Intendant office for verification. After they had been verified, the tribute grain soldiers obtained a “red document” stamped with the official seal of the Tax Circuit Intendant that authorized them to conduct the tribute grain voyage. They would then present this at the offices of the Ganzhou Garrison in Nanchang, and receive a duplicate “red document.” Utilizing this duplicate, the tribute grain soldiers could go to the pier at the grain storage facility to take over the grain tribute

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  157 barge from the returning soldiers of the previous tribute grain journey, load the vessel with grain and prepare for the barge’s departure. The tribute grain soldiers received approximately 310 taels of silver for transportation expenses from the Tax Circuit Intendant, which was to be used to cover food expenses and other daily expenditures during the journey. If a new tribute grain barge had to be constructed that year, they also received 800 taels for barge-​building expenses, which would be given to a designated barge workshop for the construction of a new tribute grain barge. The tribute grain soldier did not actually captain the barge himself; his main responsibilities were managing the various procedures and documents over the course of the tribute grain journey, keeping watch, and discharging the tribute grain. The tribute grain barge maintained a crew of two long-​term helmsman, nine sailors, and a cook. Their salary was collected from the Tax Circuit Intendant by the tribute grain soldier, and totaled approximately thirteen taels. This amount was standard for the period from the mid-​eighteenth to the mid-​nineteenth century. Completing the various procedures and preparations in the provincial capital could take as long as three to four months. Toward the end of the year, the tribute grain guilds of the various Jiangxi garrisons finally began to load the tribute grain onto their vessels at their own granaries. The Ganzhou Garrison’s sixty grain tribute barges, including the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge,” were responsible for transporting tribute grain that had been paid as tax from the Jiangxi counties of Yushan, Yongfeng, Linchuan, Jinxi, Chongren, and Ganxian.21 By the time the tribute grain soldier had received the tribute grain, the year was almost at an end, so it was often not until after the New Year that the barges would leave the pier at Nanchang and begin their long journey north. In order to guarantee a successful journey and a timely arrival, the more than six hundred tribute grain barges from Jiangxi were all required to proceed along the same fixed route. They passed through Boyang lake and navigated the Yangzi River before entering the Grand Canal at Guazhou, near Yangzhou. The barges then passed through Huai’an, the location of the office of the director general of grain transportation, where the quantity and quality of each barge’s tribute grain was checked in a process called “inspecting the grain” (panliang). After the inspection, they continued north along the Grand Canal, passing through Jining, Linqing, and Dezhou. They then crossed the Yellow River, continuing north on the Grand Canal, passing Tianjin, before finally arriving at the granary at Tongzhou. According to regulations, tribute grain barges from the various Jiangxi guilds were required to arrive in Tongzhou by the sixth month of the lunar calendar. A delay of up to three months was permitted if bad weather or bandits were encountered. Once the barges arrived in Tongzhou, they unloaded the tribute grain and the empty barges returned south. The deadline for their return was the eleventh month of the year; if they were any later this would impact the next cycle of tribute grain transportation.

158  Rao Weixin

Map 9.2 The Grand Canal

Not only was the tribute grain voyage undertaken by the soldiers of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” long and dangerous, it also entailed complicated procedures and various kinds of objectionable practices, monetary gifts, and even deliberate obstruction by officials. Exaction and extortion were common, which often led to heavy expenses for the tribute grain soldiers that were even more burdensome because they were unpredictable. According to Xie Shijin, the gifts and bribes for officials in the offices at various levels of provincial administration including Huichang County, Ganzhou Prefecture, Ganzhou customs, the provincial Tax Circuit Intendant, and Ganzhou Garrison added more than twenty taels to the cost of the voyage. The decennial barge construction added a further 1,200 taels. There was also a multitude of other expenses such as barge maintenance, bonus payments for the helmsmen, crew, and cook, expenses for passing sluice gates, for porters to pull the barge through shallow water, and for a lighter to unload the tribute grain on arrival

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  159 at Tongzhou. Although the tribute grain soldier received a partial subsidy from government departments, including a share of the 310 taels annually for transportation expenses and 800 taels every ten years for barge construction from the Tax Circuit Intendant, the subsidies did not come close to covering their actual outlays. This shortfall had to be made up by the military households that comprised the barge. This brought pressure to bear on their lineages. In 1748, the Shuixi Huang were unable to collect enough money to cover the tribute-​ grain voyage expenses, and were forced to sell timber from their ancestral mountain holdings.22 If the tribute grain soldier encountered stormy weather or ice on the waterways, was cheated or extorted by local bullies, or encountered other natural or human-​made disasters, any losses that occurred were usually the burden of the soldier himself. For example, in 1662, Xie Xilun of the Luobei Xie, the first to undertake the tribute grain voyage under the ten year rotation system, encountered obstructions on the waterways, causing a delay that led him to exceed his budgeted expenditure. He had to make up the shortfall with twelve taels of silver of his own.23 In 1687 when the Xijiang Xiao were responsible for the voyage, the tribute grain barge was damaged on the journey north, and the voyage had to be abandoned midway. The cost of the damage to the tribute grain barge was borne by the tribute grain soldier from the Xiao family.24 If the tribute grain soldier himself could not cover the losses, he would have to turn to his lineage or that of the other military households of his barge. In order to guarantee the funds that they needed to provide and to facilitate the completion of the tribute grain responsibilities, the Luobei Xie, the Chenfang Chen, the Gusong Liao, the Ruilin Xie, and the Shuixi Huang began in the Kangxi period to endow special estates, known as “tribute-​grain sacrificial [estates]” [cao ji] or “grain tribute sacrificial associations” [cao ji hui]. (These terms evoke the sacrificial estates [ji chan] that were used to support ancestral sacrifices.) The income from this collective lineage property was dedicated to the purpose of providing for their tribute grain obligations. For example, in 1707, the Ruilin Xie endowed an estate and set up regulations to ensure that tribute-​grain obligations were fulfilled. These stipulated that anyone who committed minor violations would be expelled from the lineage, while those who committed major violations would be reported to the authorities and dealt with in accordance with the law.25 Another example is the Chenfang Chen, who, in 1775 and 1794, two years in which they were responsible for the tribute grain voyage, were burdened with massive expenses. They collected more than 1,000 taels to purchase and establish “tribute grain sacrificial fields” to support the voyage in future.26 The case of the Luobei Xie is particularly interesting. Since the beginning of the Qing, members of this lineage had moved successively to Wanzai County in northwest Jiangxi. By the late eighteenth century, they had established an ancestral hall and lineage collective property in Wanzai, forming a branch organization of the lineage. Even though they had moved away, the Xie in

160  Rao Weixin Wanzai remained in close contact with their relatives in Luobei, and would return periodically to make offerings to their ancestors and sweep the ancestral graves (as they still do even today). More importantly, because of the difficulty in attaining local registration for new residents, until the mid-​ nineteenth century, many of these lineage members still retained their old registration status as “military households residing in their native place.” This meant that they still bore the burden of tribute grain military service. In the years when the lineage was responsible for the grain tribute, the Xie residing in the original native place of Luobei and the Xie who had moved to Wanzai split the tribute grain expenses equally, each contributing 150 taels.27 From this, we can see that in the Qing tribute grain obligations were shared by the entire lineage of a tribute grain military household. Endowing tribute grain property not only helped ensure that the lineage could fulfill its obligations, but also strengthened the cohesiveness and shared identity of the lineage organization. Lineages put in place mechanisms to select the lineage member who would perform the tribute grain journey and to regulate his behavior. In the late eighteenth century, at the same time that the Gusong Liao were establishing their “tribute grain sacrificial estate,” they also drew up regulations that stipulated that a member from a well-​off household within the lineage should be appointed as tribute grain soldier.28 Previously it was not uncommon for tribute grain soldiers from poor families (so-​called “poor soldiers” [pin ding]) to misappropriate collective funds during the tribute grain journey. This would result in regular funds being insufficient and impede the successful fulfillment of tribute grain obligations. In order to guard against this kind of abuse, the Qing government promulgated multiple decrees stipulating that the various garrisons’ tribute grain military household lineages must send well-​ off members (yin ding) on the tribute grain voyage. If it was found out that “poor soldiers” were being sent the responsible officials would be punished.29 Obviously, the internal regulations of the Gusong Liao were complementary to these government regulations, serving the same goal of guaranteeing the effective operation of the tribute grain system. The recruitment of tribute grain soldiers faced a more serious problem: concealment of military household status and even desertion to escape tribute grain responsibilities. In response, the early Qing government implemented a system to inspect the registration of tribute grain military households and their members every five years. The quinquennial registration inspection of civilian households and household members was cancelled beginning in 1772, but the inspection of tribute grain military households and household members continued, and the frequency increased to once every four years. Military registration was inspected carefully to ensure that military households were not concealing their adult male members or otherwise evading their responsibilities. Some tribute grain military household lineages also drafted corresponding internal regulations. These strengthened the lineage organization’s control over its members. For example, when the Ruilin

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  161 Xie were compiling their genealogy in 1825 they drafted rules including a clause stipulating that lineage members were not permitted to conceal adult males or deliberately avoid military corvee, otherwise they would be handed over to officials to be dealt with in accordance with the law.30 In conclusion, even though tribute grain transportation had become a heavy burden for military household lineages and the lineage members who undertook the voyage often saw it as a perilous undertaking, the strong involvement of each military household lineage ensured that the “Xie-​Chen-​ Liao Barge” was able to fulfill its obligations and undertake its functions effectively. The tribute grain system had become organically integrated with the lineages that provided the manpower for the system.

Conclusion: Tribute grain and the Qing “integration breakthrough” The historical consensus is that after the Qing conquest the garrison system and the military households were simply incorporated into the system of local civilian administration. Military households were converted into civilians, and military administrative regions into civilian administrative regions. As part of this process, the military households residing in their native place would have been converted to civilian registration at the beginning of the Qing. But in tribute grain provinces, some military households were converted to tribute grain households, continuing to hold a distinctive status and to bear responsibility for the specialized corvee service of the tribute grain transportation. The case of the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” shows that even some military households who remained at their place of origin came to be incorporated into the Qing tribute grain system. Thus the background of the households that made up the Qing tribute grain system was more diverse than previous scholarship has recognized.31 For the former Ming military households, both garrison military households and military households in the original native place, incorporation into the Qing tribute grain system was not simply a matter of continuing to hold a distinctive “military household” status. Rather, being incorporated into the new system meant a new status and new kinds of social relations. As demonstrated in the case discussed here, several of the ten lineages that comprised the “Xie-​ Chen-​Liao Barge” had originally been military households residing at their place of origin who only became tribute grain military households in the Qing. Under the tribute grain system they formed a new social organization, and this also implied transformations to their social relationships and their social structure. This organization was not simply a by-​ product of the administrative system. The successful operation of the system depended on coordination between the different military household lineages that were responsible for each barge as well as the auto-​organization and cooperation of each military household lineage. The system facilitated the integration of the tribute grain system with lineage organization, forming a kind of community that linked

162  Rao Weixin the state and local society. I  believe that it was this social mechanism that allowed the tribute grain organization to operate for most of the Qing. This case can help us better understand the history of Qing governance. The nature of the Qing state and its governance mechanisms has been a topic of intense interest for a long time. From Ho Ping-​ti’s discussion of Qing “Sinicization” to the question of the Manchu elements discussed more recently by Evelyn S.  Rawski and other New Qing Historians, to the East Asian world’s “late sixteenth century” posited by Japanese scholar Kishimoto Mio, there has been much debate on the challenges faced by the Qing.32 Moreover, in discussions that have been going on since the 1970s around the development of international trade and the emergence of a global monetized economy since the sixteenth century, and on the significance of the general crisis of the seventeenth century, scholars from Europe and North America have put forward different interpretations of the divergence between Eastern and Western societies from a comparative historical perspective.33 S.A.M. Adshead argues that the histories of East and West diverged in the late seventeenth century because Europe and China used different methods to extricate themselves from a general crisis. According to Adshead, the states of Europe underwent deep institutional transformation and social reforms, and the relationship between the state and society achieved an “integration breakthrough.” In contrast, continues Adshead, there was no comparable “integration breakthrough” in China, which made only minor adjustments to its traditional institutions.34 Adshead evaluates historical progress in the Qing from the perspective of Europe and the West. If we look at the issue from a China-​centered perspective, and particularly from the perspective of Chinese society, the Qing tribute grain system actually demonstrates a high level of interaction and integration between Chinese state and society since the seventeenth century.35 The composition and operation of the tribute grain system as exemplified by the “Xie-​Chen-​Liao Barge” and the collectivity this reflected may be understood as expressions of a distinctively Chinese “integration breakthrough.”

Notes 1 For example, Harold Hinton, The Grain Tribute System of China:  1845–​1911 (Harvard 1956); Zhang Zhelang, Qingdai de caoyun (The Qing dynasty grain tribute system) (Jiaxin shuini gongsi wenhua jijinhui 1969); Hoshi Ayao, “Shindai sōun seido no tenkai” (The development of the Qing dynasty tribute grain system) in Meisei jidai kōtsū-​shi no kenkyū (The study of transportation during the Ming-​ Qing period) (Yamaguchi shuppansha 1971), 211–​375; Susan Mann and Philip Kuhn, “Dynastic decline and the roots of rebellion,” in John K.  Fairbank, ed., The Cambridge history of China, vol. 10, The Late Qing (1800–​1911) (Cambridge 1978); Li Wenzhi, Qingdai caoyun (Qing dynasty grain tribute) (Zhonghua shuju 1995); Jane Kate Leonard, Controlling from afar: the Daoguang Emperor’s management of the Grand Canal crisis, 1824–​1826 (Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan 1996); Ni Yuping, Qingdai caoliang haiyun yu shehui bianqian (Qing

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  163 dynasty grain tribute, maritime transportation and social change) (Shanghai shudian 2005). 2 Philip Kuhn, Rebellion and its enemies in late imperial China: Militarization and social structure, 1796–​1864 (Harvard 1970), 5. 3 Huichang xianzhi (Huichang county gazetteer) (1872; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989), j.10, 224; Jiangxi sheng Huichang xian dimingzhi (Place-​name gazetteer of Huichang County, Jiangxi) (Huichang xian renmin zhengfu diming bangongshi 1985), 103. 4 Jun Yue, “Qingdai weisuo yinge lu” (The evolution of military garrisons in the Qing dynasty) Zhonghe yuekan 3.5–​7 (1942), 5: 27–​39, 6: 36–​44, 7: 71–​78; Hoshi Ayao, “Shindai sōun seido no tenkai,” 187, 212–​213. 5 Ganzhou fuzhi (Ganzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1536; reprint Tianyige cang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan, vol. 38, Shanghai guji 1982), j. 6; Chongxiu Nan’an fuzhi (Nan’an prefectural gazetteer, revised) (1609; reprint Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1990), j. 11, 462–​463. 6 Yu Zhijia, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi (Garrisons, military households and military corvee) (Beijing daxue 2010), 161-​15, 200–​235. 7 Ganzhou fuzhi (1536) j. 6; Yang Hong and Xie Chun, Caoyun tongzhi (Comprehensive gazetteer of grain tribute) (1528; reprint Xuxiu siku quanshu vol. 836, Shanghai guji 1995), 68; Ganxian zhi (Ganxian county gazetteer) (1684; reprint Qingdai guben fangzhi xuan, pt. 2, 20, Xianzhuang shuju 2001), j. 15, 570; Lin Shiliang, “Mingdai caojun zhi chutan” (Preliminary investigations into the Ming military grain tribute soldier system), Beijing shifan daxue xuebao, no. 5 (1990), 79–​87. 8 Ganzhou fuzhi (Ganzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1621; reprint Beijing tushuguan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 32, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988), j. 7, 137–​140; Shimizu Taiji, “Mingdai de caoyun” (Grain tribute in the Ming dynasty), in Bao Zunpeng, ed., Mingshi luncong 8: Mingdai zhengzhi (Taiwan xuesheng shuju 1968), 165–​187. 9 Yu Zhijia, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi, 161–​165, 200–​235. 10 Ganzhou fuzhi (1621) j. 12, 286–​287. 11 Jiangxi tongzhi (Jiangxi comprehensive gazetteer) (1732; reprint Wenyuange siku quanshu vol. 514, Shanghai guji 1987), j. 28, 10–​12. 12 Huichang xianzhi, j.  10, 299–​306; Xinfeng xianzhi (Xinfeng county gazetteer) (1664; reprint Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988), j.  2, 984–​985; Xinfeng xianzhi (Xinfeng county gazetteer) (1751; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989), j. 6, 312–​ 313; Nan’an fuzhi (Nan’an prefectural gazetteer) (1673; reprint Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988), j. 7, 624; Dayu xianzhi (Dayu county gazetteer) (1874; reprint Chengwen chubanshe, 1989), j. 9, 366–​371. 13 Jiangxi tongzhi, j. 28, 10–​12; Yu Zhijia, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi, 215–​224, 236–​289. 14 Yu Zhijia, “Ming-​Qing shidai junhu de jiazu guanxi –​weisuo junhu yu yuanji junhu zhijian” (Lineage relations of military households in Ming-​Qing: between garrison military households and those in their native place), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 74.1 (2003), 97–​140; Yu Zhijia, “Lun Mingdai de fuji junhu yu junhu fenhu” (On military households with affiliated registration and the household division of military households in the Ming), in Gu Cheng xiansheng jinian ji Ming-​Qing shi yanjiu wenji (Zhongzhou guji chubanshe 2005), 80–​104. 15 “Ziyi fang shizhuan:  Yayi gong” (Pedigree of the Ziyi branch:  Master Yayi), in Mianjiang Ruilin Xie Shi qixiu zupu (Xie of Mianjiang Ruilin genealogy, 7th edition) (1917), j.  15, collected during fieldwork from the Xie lineage in Ruilin Township, Ruijin County in 2004.

164  Rao Weixin 16 Xie Shijin comp., Caowu zeyao (Principles of tribute grain service), collected during fieldwork from the Xie lineage in Ruilin Township, Ruijin County in 2004. 17 Liao Tingzhen, “Junji youlai” (The origins of military registration) (1737), in Shicheng Gusong Liaoshi bajiu lianxiu zupu (Liao of Shicheng Guzong genealogy, eighth and ninth combined editions) (1993), vol. 1; “Yuncao” (Grain tribute) in Changning Luobei Xieshi erxiu zupu (Xie of Changning Luobei genealogy, second edition), part 2, vol. 1; Huang Hewen comp., “Chenfang Chenzi zupu xu” (Preface to the genealogy of the Chen of Chenfang) (1783), in Shicheng Chenfang Chenshi qixiu zupu (Chen of Shicheng Chenfang genealogy, seventh edition) (1938), vol. 1.  These genealogies were collected from the Liao lineage of Gusong village, Xiaosong Township, Shicheng County; the Xie lineage of Luobei village, Nanqiao Township, Xunwu County, and the Chen lineage of Chenfang village, Pingshan Township, Shicheng County respectively. 18 Xie Ronggui, “Xilun gong zhuan” (Biography of Master Xilun), in Changning Luobei Xieshi erxiu zupu, part 2, vol. 1. 19 Chen Qingli, comp., “Quchen, Xiongyuan Zhouchou sangong Maogongci zhuan,” “Junwu zao jieyi” (Biographies of the ancestors Masters Quchen, Xiongyuan and Zhuochou of the shrine of ancestor Mao; On military service) in Shicheng Chenfang Chenshi qixiu zupu, vols. 1 and 2; Xie Shijin, comp., Caowu zunyao; “Yuncao” (Grain tribute), in Changning Luobei Xieshi erxiu zupu, part 2, vol. 1. 20 In 1670, all military garrison households and colonies in Jiangxi were converted to civil administration. Henceforth Huichang Battalion and its grain tribute military households were actually under the administration of Huichang County, and the Ganzhou Guard defense and Battalion commanders were stationed to defend the provincial capital of Nanchang. They became responsible for managing the grain tribute group, and took responsibility in an annual rotation for supervising the tribute grain soldiers on their delivery mission. 21 The tribute grain was paid by the tribute grain households of these six counties to their respective county, then transferred by hired bargemen from the county yamen to the county’s granary in the provincial capital. 22 Yuyang Shuixi Huangshi shisan xiu zupu (Huang of Yuyang Shuixi genealogy, thirteenth edition) (1993), collected during fieldwork in 2012 from the Huang lineage of Shuixi village, Laicun Township, Ningdu County, Jiangxi. 23 Xie Ronggui, “Xilun gong zhuan.” 24 “Ticheng cha Ganzhou wei Pei zao caochuan xianman” (Report on the inspection of the compensation for the construction of Ganzhou Guard grain tribute barges), in Dong Na, ed., Ducao shucao (Draft treatise on the grain tribute) (reprint Siku cunmu congshu, vol. 68, Qilu shushe 1997), j. 7, 270–​271. 25 Xie Guoxin comp., “Jitian juntian heji” (Combined record of sacrificial fields and military fields), in Mianjiang Ruilin Xieshi qixiu zupu (1917), j. 16. 26 Chen Shaole, comp., “Cao ji ji” (Record of grain tribute and sacrifice), in Shicheng Chenfang Chenshi qixiu zupu (1938), j. 1. 27 “Yuncao” (Grain tribute) in Changning Luobei Xieshi erxiu zupu. 28 Shicheng Gusong Liaoshi bajiu lianxiu zupu (1993), j. 1. 29 Tuo Jin et  al., comp., Qinding hubu caoyun quanshu (Complete book made by imperial order on the Board of Revenue and grain tribute) (1812; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1969), 1131, 1152–​1153; Pan Shi’en et al., comp., Qinding hubu caoyun quanshu (Complete book made by imperial order on the Board of

The “Xie/Chen/Liao Barge” of Ganzhou Guard  165 Revenue and grain tribute) (1844; reprint Gugong zhenben congkan, vols. 319–​321, Hainan chubanshe 2000), 332. 30 “Wuxiu zupu tiaogui” (Rules of compilation for the fifth edition of the genealogy) (1825), in Mianjiang Ruilin Xieshi qixiu zupu (1917) vol. 1. 31 Qinding hubu caoyun quanshu (1812), 1118–​1124. 32 On this debate, see Liu Fengyun and Liu Wenpeng, eds., Qingchao de guojia rentong: “Xin Qingshi” yanjiu yu zhengming (National identity in the Qing dynasty:  “New Qing History” and its critics) (Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe 2010); Wang Rongzu, ed., Qing diguo xingzhi de zaishangque: huiying Xin Qingshi (A further re-​evaluation of the character of the Qing Empire: a response to New Qing History) (Yuanliu chubanshe 2014). 33 See Guojia Qingshi biancuan weiyuanhui, ed., Qingshi yicong 11:  Zhongguo yu shiqi shiji weiji (Essays on Qing history, vol. 11: China and the seventeenth century crisis) (Shangwu 2003). 34 S.A.M. Adshead, “The Seventeenth Century General Crisis in China,” Asian Profile 1.2 (1973), 271–​280. 35 In the Ming, and especially from the mid-​Ming into the Qing, deepening reforms to state taxation and corvee policies as well as the widespread development of popular lineage organization led to the emergence of a new type of tax structure oriented around the lineage, in which two forms of local political authority, hereditary lijia household registration and lineage organization, became integrated with one another. This development can be seen as an expression of the broader trends towards local autonomy in the Ming and Qing and of greater interaction and integration between state and society. In the Qing, the organic integration of the tribute grain system with lineage organization, and the resulting formation of a grain tribute collectivity, became an important social foundation and mechanism for the operation of local society not only for the tribute grain system itself but for the larger system of imperial governance. It thus illustrates at an even higher level the mutual integration of the dynastic state and society. See Zheng Zhenman, “Ming-​Qing Fujian de lijia huji yu jiazu zuzhi” (Lijia registration and lineage organization in Ming-​Qing Fujian), in Zhongguo shehui jingjishi yanjiu no. 2 (1989), 38–​44; Zheng Zhenman, Family lineage organization and social change in Ming and Qing Fujian (University of Hawai’i 2001); Liu Zhiwei, Zai guojia yu shehui zhijian: Ming Qing Guangdong diqu lijia fuyi zhidu yu xiangcun shehui (Between state and society: The lijia tax system and rural society in Guangdong in Ming-​Qing) (Zhongshan daxue 1997; reprint Zhongguo renmin daxue 2010).

10  The tribute grain system, military colony lands, and transport soldier lineages in Ming and Qing The case of Huangzhou and Qizhou garrisons of eastern Hubei Xu Bin The tribute grain system that administered the collection and transportation of the grain tax from several provinces –​Shandong, Henan, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Anhui, Jiangxi, Hunan, and Hubei –​to the capital region was a critical element of the Qing fiscal regime. The tribute grain not only provided for the needs of the imperial family, the nobility, officials, and bannermen, but also filled the stomachs of the common people of the capital. It thus underpinned the very stability and continuity of imperial rule. So important was the system that it has sometimes been described as the granary of the imperial court.1 Because the task of transporting the tribute grain continued to be fulfilled by garrison soldiers during the Qing as it had been in Ming, many observers past and present have seen the Qing tribute grain system as basically a continuation of its Ming predecessor.2 Obviously, this perspective implies a fundamental continuity between Ming and Qing in terms of governing institutions and policies. Re-​examining the relationship between the two systems has the potential to reshape our understanding of the relationship between the two dynasties. As other chapters in this work have shown, the garrison system established by the founding Ming emperor had begun to decline long before the fall of the Ming. Garrison soldiers ceased to be reliable fighters, and the empire was increasingly forced to rely on mercenaries for its combat forces. Most previous scholarship on the Ming garrison system has focused on the causes of this decline, and therefore paid little attention to the implications for the tribute grain system.3 As for the Qing, tribute grain system soldiers comprised only a very small part of the Qing military, which was made up largely of the Eight Banners and the Green Standard Army, and so there has likewise been little scholarly interest in this distinctive type of soldier. Scholars who study the tribute grain system in the Qing typically do trace its origins back to the Ming, but most don’t go beyond a description of the system, neglecting the details of the tribute grain soldiers. Turning the story around and focusing on the soldiers involved in the system can provide a new perspective on some key issues. This

The tribute grain system  167 chapter examines the historical development of the tribute grain system and its interactions with human communities, in order to reconsider the question of continuity and change in the Ming-​Qing transition. The tribute grain system connected the grain-​producing regions of the southeast to the political center in the north. Tribute grain was levied from provinces in the southeast, and the task of transporting the grain was borne by the transport soldiers stationed in these provinces. So even though the tribute grain system had an enormous influence on governance across the entire empire, it was implemented at the regional level. Therefore, our discussion needs to begin with specific spaces and communities in local and regional contexts. A superficial discussion of any institution in Chinese history can create the false impression that it was universally applied across the entire empire. If we take the specific spaces and communities that intersected with the system as our point of entry, we can better understand its larger significance. This chapter examines the garrisons and transport soldiers of the Huangzhou region of Hubei. In 1364, when Zhu Yuanzhang had gained control of Huguang (present day Hubei and Hunan), but not yet the entire empire, he left his commanders Huang Rong and Zhao Yingqing behind to defend Qizhou and Huangzhou as he continued his conquest. After the conquest was complete and the new dynasty established, Qizhou and Huangzhou were converted to Independent Battalions, and in 1379 they were enlarged to Guards.4 Three hundred years later, at the beginning of the Qing, most garrisons across the empire were disbanded, but Qizhou and Huangzhou remained operational because of their continued role in the transportation of tribute grain to the capital. In the mid-​nineteenth century, tribute grain from the south began to be transported by sea, and the raison d’être for the tribute grain garrisons disappeared. Only in 1902 were they finally disbanded, and administration of the lands under the military colony system transferred to local civilian administrative units.5 In my fieldwork in the villages of this region I  found two genealogies compiled by military household lineages of Huangzhou Guard surnamed Cai and Li.6 These genealogies were compiled in 1895 and 1918 respectively. Besides recording the histories of the two lineages, they also provide detailed descriptions of their military corvee obligations. The Cai genealogy includes a document titled the “Huanggang Cai Tribute Grain Duty Record” (hereafter the “Record”) produced by fourteenth-​generation descendant Cai Jingshang in 1729. It describes how the garrison military household handled its tribute grain obligations in the early to mid-​Qing.7

The inheritance: The evolution of the Ming garrison military household The Huangzhou Guard that Cai Jingshang knew in the early and mid-​Qing “had a total of 850 households.”8 According to early Ming regulations from the central government:

168  Xu Bin The number of soldiers in a Guard was set in 1393. The quota for the number of soldiers in interior and frontier garrisons is 5,600 per Guard, 1,200 per Battalion, 110 per Company. Some Guards may have more soldiers, but the size of Battalions and Companies is uniform.9 Huangzhou Battalion had been converted to a Guard in 1379. Although it was possible it was never assigned a full complement of soldiers, the total number must have been far greater than 850. How could the numbers have declined so much between Ming and early Qing? Moreover, the “Record” suggests that the figure of 850 households in Huangzhou Guard may already have been valid for late Ming. What was the impact of the decline in numbers for garrison military households? This decline was not unusual. Similar declines in numbers occurred in Qizhou, the other garrison in the Huangzhou region. According to the late Ming Comprehensive Huguang gazetteer, Huangzhou Guard had 4,435 soldiers, and Qizhou 5,740.10 Huangzhou Guard comprised four Battalions and Qizhou five; this suggests that these numbers roughly correspond to the original quota of soldiers at the time of the establishment of the garrisons in early Ming. But according to the local gazetteer, Qizhou Guard had only 606 transport soldier households in the late Qing. Thus the number of soldiers in both Qizhou and Huangzhou declined sharply over the course of the Ming. Similar changes likely occurred in other garrisons responsible for tribute grain transport. Qing observers were aware of this decline. The author of the late Qing Qizhou gazetteer comments: Since antiquity, there has never been a military system superior to the well-​field system. The Ming system of garrisons and colonies sought to recreate its intentions. But after a long period of peace, passivity became the norm. By the end of the dynasty, the problems and inefficiencies had become so extensive that they cannot be fully described in words. Clearly, while the basic structure of two garrisons did not change, enormous changes took place within them. These changes must have been part of the experience of the garrison soldiers from the early fifteenth century, when the number of soldiers first began to decline. Several factors explain the decline. One was military transfers ordered by the court. In the late fifteenth century, Ma Wensheng noted that during the reign of the founding emperor, thirty-​six garrisons were established in Huguang, with more than 300,000 soldiers. In addition, many garrisons were also established along the [Yangzi] River to control its upper reaches and to protect Nanjing … [Later] the Yongle Emperor moved the capital to Beijing … The imperial soldiers in the garrisons along the Yangzi in Nanjing, Huguang, and Jiangxi were reduced by 50 to 60 percent.11

The tribute grain system  169 The reassignment of large numbers of soldiers from garrisons in Huguang, including Huangzhou and Qizhou, to the north after the capital was moved to Beijing reflected these new imperial military priorities. Desertion was the other main reason for the progressive decline in the number of soldiers in Huangzhou and Qizhou garrisons. There are many existing studies both on desertion in Ming and on government policies to address it. But a key factor that has been neglected in previous scholarship is the impact of changes to the family structure of the registered garrison soldiers themselves. To promote economic recovery after years of devastation, in the early Ming the government stipulated that with the exception of the serving soldier and his immediate family, all other adult males in a military household should return to their original native place, the place they lived at the time of initial registration as a military household, and fulfill civilian corvee responsibilities there. As a result, the serving soldiers in the garrison were initially typically either single men or heads of nuclear households. They maintained frequent contact with their relatives in their native place (yuanji junhu), and the garrison soldier would sometimes return there to ask for resources to pay for military supplies and as compensation for his active service. After a serving soldier died, his replacement would be recruited from among his relatives residing at the original place of registration. Moreover, even if some soldiers escaped their military obligations by deserting, under the strict conscription policies of the early Ming, a replacement would still be found from among the relatives at the original native place. The male descendants of garrison soldier families who returned to their native place were required to fulfill civilian corvee obligations. But those who remained at the garrison were exempt.12 So the number of family members or supernumeraries in the garrison rapidly increased. According to Yue Chih-​chia’s research, prior to 1433 the government’s basic attitude toward supernumeraries in the garrison was that they should return to their original place of registration to fulfill civilian corvee obligations. But if there was an adequate supply of labor in that native place, then things would be allowed to take their course without additional interference.13 As the number of supernumeraries remaining at the garrison continuously increased, the Ming court adjusted its policy. Some of them were permitted to be included in the garrison’s registration records. Several people named in the sixteenth century Qizhou gazetteer, including Liu Xuan, Jin Lan, Tian Peng, Hua Ji, Chen Xi, and Song Liangchen, achieved official rank through the imperial examinations while registered at the garrison as supernumeraries during the mid-​to late fifteenth century.14 Because the supernumeraries were still registered under the name of the garrison’s serving soldier, the garrison military household, which had originally been typically either a solitary male or at most a nuclear family, gradually expanded into a patrilineal kinship group, that is, a lineage. We can see from the names of successful candidates in the imperial exam who were registered under the garrison during the

170  Xu Bin Zhengtong reign (1436–​1449) that these changes first appeared as early as the 1420s or 1430s. The mutual interaction of state institution and human community produced an equilibrium state. Members of the community worked within the institution to expand their freedom of action and obtain maximum benefits, while the institution continually adjusted in response to changes in the community. Such changes resulting from the interaction between the system and the community directly affected the Cai surname of Huanggang. According to their genealogy, “our ancestor Shouqin took on military duties under the household name Cai Huanglang, registered under Huangzhou Guard.” At the beginning of the Ming, the “first ancestor” Cai Zhen was accepted as a student at the Huanggang County school and, as a result, moved from Nanchang County in Jiangxi to Xiaoyu village in Huanggang. He sired three sons, Cai Rongqin, Cai Shouqin, and Cai Shaoqin. Rongqin later returned to Jiangxi, Shaoqin moved to Mt. Wanghua in Macheng County, and Shouqin “was registered in Huangzhou Guard” under the household name Cai Huanglang. The claim that Cai Zhen gained entrance to the Huanggang county school in Huguang from Jiangxi is a flattering portrayal of an ancestor that ought not necessarily to be taken as fact. Cai Zhen must have been a garrison soldier. As a supernumerary, his eldest son Rongqin was probably required to return to Jiangxi. The second son, Shouqin, who was registered with the Huangzhou Guard under the household name Cai Huanglang, probably replaced his father Cai Zhen as serving soldier after his father’s death or old age when he was no longer able to carry out his military obligations. (Because their dates of birth and death are not recorded in the genealogy, we don’t know which of the two it was.) This tells us that after Shouqin registered this household, his male descendants remained at the garrison. There is no record in the genealogy of any interaction with the relatives in their original native place. In this way, the descendants of Shouqin gradually formed a kinship group sharing a single household registration. According to the regulations of the Ming court’s policy described above, the registration of Shouqin’s descendants at the garrison must have occurred after 1433. This was already more than sixty years removed from when their ancestor Cai Zhen first migrated to Huanggang at the beginning of the Ming. (It is possible that the descendants of Shouqin had already settled at the garrison earlier than this, but were only registered sometime after 1433.) The Cai surname used the name “Cai Huanglang” as its household name at Huangzhou Guard, and gradually formed a kinship group linked by the shared obligation to provide military service. The so-​called “850 military households of Huangzhou Guard” and the “660 tribute grain military households” of Qizhou Guard in the late Ming actually refer not to individual soldiers but to this sort of kinship group. The civilian registration of the third son, Shaoqin, in Macheng County was possibly a case of a military relative attaching their registration (jiji) to a

The tribute grain system  171 neighboring subprefecture or county. Relatives of garrison soldiers were permitted to register with the civilian authorities in neighboring subprefectures or counties during the Ming, but in order to ensure that there would be enough people to bear the military corvee obligations of the garrison, the court placed limits on the number of relatives of garrison soldiers who were allowed to do this. For example, in 1450, it was stipulated that supernumeraries from imperial army households, with the exception of those who remain (at the garrison) to assist the serving soldier, are permitted to register with nearby civilian authorities to pay the grain tax and fulfill corvee. [In practice] whether a family consists of three to five people, or more than ten people, only one or two of them register in the civilian district while the rest hide at home. Regardless of age, those who are liable to pay the grain tax should pay it to (the civilian) officials. All other adult males should be returned to the garrison.15 If the account in the Cai Surname Genealogy is accurate, the policy did not achieve its intended result. The Cai Surname Genealogy does not mention any interaction between the descendants of Shouqin and lineage members residing at the original place of registration. This was similarly the result of an adjustment to the rules of the institution. Yue Chih-​chia points out that at the beginning of the Ming, military corvee in the garrisons was assessed only on the serving soldier, and supernumeraries at the garrison were not liable. However, with the passage of time, military corvee in the garrisons became more varied, and the number of deserters grew. This compelled the Ming government to consider rules to increase the supply of soldiers, and the use of supernumeraries to provide corvee labor in the garrisons or even to fulfill military service itself became increasingly common.16 The background to this transition was that the government gradually abandoned the method of recruiting replacement soldiers from the original native place, to the extent that garrison military households gradually lost contact with their relatives in their original native place and began to follow an independent path of development. As a result, military households in the garrison gradually came to bear the entire burden of military corvee. The case of Qizhou and Huangzhou Guards indicates that even as the number of garrison soldiers was decreasing, the unit by which the number of soldiers was recorded was converted from the individual soldier (ming) to the household (hu). The unit that bore the burden of military corvee was the group of people represented by the “household.” That is to say, it was not only the supernumeraries who remained in the garrison who were responsible for corvee labor. Rather every person in the garrison military “household” was collectively responsible for military corvee obligations. This meant that the burden of military corvee could more or less be controlled within the parameters of what the households of garrison soldiers were able to sustain.

172  Xu Bin Because this made the supply of military labor more reliable, the state tacitly permitted this shift.

Tasks of the garrison soldiers and reorganization in the early Qing The series of adjustments that the Ming government made to the management of garrison soldiers was both a response to and a cause of enormous changes for the garrison soldiers. The result was that the Qing government inherited a garrison system that was operational and that potentially could have been maintained. But the Qing government still had to consider whether this system was ultimately useful. In deciding whether to continue or abandon the system, it had to take into account the functions provided by the garrison as a whole and those provided by the soldiers. What, then, was the function of Qizhou and Huangzhou Guard soldiers’ military corvee? Because of regional differences, the roles that garrison soldiers across the empire fulfilled varied by region. According to Yue Chih-​ chia, the categories of soldiers in Ming garrisons included colony soldiers, training division soldiers, patrol soldiers, handicraft soldiers, military police, tribute grain transport soldiers, coastal defense soldiers, and cavalry.17 For garrisons deep in the interior like Qizhou and Huangzhou, the obligation to undertake military expeditions was likely not as onerous as for garrisons in coastal or frontier regions. According to the late fifteenth century official Ma Wensheng, after the Yongle emperor moved the capital to Beijing he ordered the imperial army to [provide] tribute grain to supply the capital … The imperial soldiers in the garrisons along the Yangzi in Nanjing, Huguang, and Jiangxi were reduced by 50 to 60 percent.18 Because Huguang was one of the major provinces for providing tribute grain to the capital, tribute grain transport soldiers were among the most numerous soldiers at these garrisons. In the Qing, the Eight Banners and the Green Standard Army fulfilled military combat responsibilities. So as far as the Qing government was concerned, there was no need to maintain the vast majority of garrisons across the empire. But because of the importance of tribute grain to the empire, garrisons for which tribute grain was a major obligation, like Qizhou and Huangzhou, were not only retained but even expanded. The transport of the tribute grain had not always been the responsibility of garrison soldiers. In the early Ming, tribute grain was collected and transported by civilians. Because Nanjing, the capital at that time, was close to the main grain-​producing provinces, the burden of transporting the tribute grain was manageable. But when the capital was moved north, far from the grain-​producing regions in the south, the challenge of transporting tribute grain became more pronounced. The government implemented a series

The tribute grain system  173 of policies to address this new situation. In 1471, new laws on long-​distance tribute grain transportation were implemented, transferring full responsibility for the task of transporting the tribute grain to soldiers in the garrisons in the southern, tribute-​grain-​paying provinces. Because the garrisons themselves administered a considerable population and territory in the form of the military colony fields that were intended to make the garrisons self-​supporting, this approach seemed sustainable. The military duties of garrisons in the interior were not onerous. So the tribute grain itself was supplied by civilian households, and the transportation provided by soldiers from the garrisons. By dividing this onerous task in two, the overall burden was made more reasonable. In the seventeenth century Huguang became a battleground in the wars of the dynastic transition. Once the Qing had prevailed, the situation in the region was desperate: “When the dynasty was first established, the people still suffered from the travails of the Ming. Of the soldiers of Huangzhou Guard, the 850 households were extinguished and 850 units of military colony fields lay fallow.” The Qing court had to reorganize the garrisons to ensure the smooth operation of the tribute grain system. First, the Qing “ordered the remaining soldiers to cultivate the colonies in order to support grain transport.”19 Here, “remaining soldiers” refers not just to those transportation soldiers who had tribute grain responsibilities in the Ming, but to all military households. According to the Li Surname Genealogy, in the Ming Guard troops had included such categories as standing soldiers, drill soldiers, and defensive soldiers as well as transport soldiers. After the reorganization of the early Qing, all the military households in garrisons that were not dissolved were assigned tribute grain responsibilities. The garrisons now served the single purpose of tribute grain transportation. The garrison soldiers were organized into “banners” (qi). Each banner comprised thirty-​ two soldiers, and was responsible for one tribute grain barge. There were differentiated responsibilities within each banner. There were “transport soldiers” (yunjun) and “standing soldiers” (banjun); transport soldiers were further subdivided into the categories of “main” (zhengyun), “auxiliary” (fuyun), and “accompanying” (suiyun). The transport soldiers had the heaviest burdens. Under normal circumstances, soldiers in the other categories “bore no burden except when there were serious disasters such as wind or fire.”20 The Cai genealogy similarly reports: There is a big difference in the monthly rations received by transport soldiers and standing soldiers. The transport soldiers are soldiers on the same barge as me, who make the journey just as I do. The standing soldiers only provide support by rowing. The Qing court clearly saw the Ming system of transport soldiers as an effective mechanism for handling tribute grain transport, which is why it maintained the methods used by the preceding dynasty. However, the local

174  Xu Bin authorities’ stipulation of different responsibilities for the different types of soldiers created unanticipated consequences. Even though they nominally belonged to the same barge, some bore a heavier burden than others, and this led to disputes. The Qing court sought to maintain the numbers of military households, and this led to civilian households sometimes being forced into military registration. A resident of Huanggang County reported: Our hometown had a lineage whose founding ancestor was called Li Min, and who were part of the transport soldier system. In 1895, I stayed as a guest in the house of a member of this lineage, Li Chunxi. I asked him how they had come to serve as transport soldiers, and he complained bitterly to me. He said that when the Qing was first founded, most of the garrison’s transport soldiers had deserted to avoid the onerous duties. The local authorities relied on the register of garrison soldiers left over from the Ming. The register listed a garrison soldier named Li Ming. The Li family’s founding ancestor was Li Min. The garrison officers used the excuse that the two characters were different but [almost] homophonous to force [our family] to register in the garrison system.21 Although this account may not be entirely accurate, it suggests that this kind of issue did occur. A similar situation took place in Qizhou during the early Qing. The gazetteer records that a certain person from the subprefecture named Hu Zhenglun adopted an heir. He was already over sixty years of age. A military household with the surname Hu falsely accused the heir of being a deserter. The situation was extremely precarious. Zhenglun cleared his name for him, so that he could continue to perform the ancestral sacrifices at home.22 The Qing was aware of the changes in the garrison since the Ming, and sought to strengthen and perfect the institution in accordance with the situation on the ground. In this way Qizhou and Huangzhou Guards and the garrison military households under their jurisdiction began their long career of tribute grain transport in the Qing.

Military corvee, colony fields, and lineage formation The Li surname decried the injustice of their military registration, suggesting the burden of tribute grain military corvee had become something to be avoided at all costs. Their genealogy includes a vivid description of their bitterness over their registration as transport soldiers: “From that time onwards, the rich did not feel secure on their land, and the poor could hardly make a living. So they all deserted. The situation was similar in many provinces.”23

The tribute grain system  175 The burden of tribute grain military corvee did not consist only of the responsibility of transporting the tribute grain, but also included a whole series of arrangements surrounding the task of transportation. First, military households were responsible for the expenses of constructing the tribute grain barges. The cost of building a tribute grain barge had already been high in Ming; now it rose even higher.24 The state provided a subsidy, but this was not sufficient to cover the total cost. This led to a situation whereby “in the year when [a new] barge had to be constructed, the military household was strained. As a result the registered household [head], and even his sons and grandsons, could not sleep soundly.”25 Second, if an accident occurred on the journey and tribute grain was lost, the military household was responsible for making good the loss. Moreover, there were regulations on the use of the Grand Canal. Fines were levied for not following the regulations or when barges travelled early or ran late. This was consistent across Ming and Qing. The Li of Huanggang suffered such losses twice. “The cost of the rice and the barge had to be compensated. This disruption affected the entire lineage; our surname’s difficulties began from this point.”26 Natural disasters were even more difficult to anticipate, but potentially created another heavy burden for the tribute grain military households. Tribute grain households were also required to pay various additional fees extracted by clerks at checkpoints and storehouses. Moreover, for the individual soldiers from the military households who took responsibility for the voyage, the journey was full of danger. In their genealogy, the Li describe “perils of wind and fire, shortfalls in provisions, sinister and deceitful companions. Those without their wits about them will suffer at every turn.”27 The descendants of garrison military households lived under a single garrison military household registration, creating the foundation for an organized lineage. During the Qing, those who remained in the locality and had not deserted were compelled to form alliances to respond to this kind of situation. Their responsibility was collectively borne by the entire population of the registered “household.” Thus the burden of military corvee played a key role in the establishment of garrison military household lineages. The genealogy of the Cai surname of Huanggang records the situation of their lineage’s tribute grain obligations at the beginning of the Qing. The text clearly reflects the important role of military corvee obligations in the formation of the lineage. It also illustrates in detail how garrison soldiers carried out their military corvee duties, demonstrating how state institutions could have a profound impact on human experience. Cai Jingshang wrote that the lineage began to take sole responsibility for the transport obligation of a tribute grain barge in the early Qing. The lineage was divided into four branches, but the branches were all different sizes. This made it difficult to create an effective system to rotate responsibility for tribute grain transportation among the branches. In 1663, several relatives of Cai Jingshang formed an alliance with

176  Xu Bin another transportation soldier lineage, named for its founding ancestor Li Xinbao, “to fill a quota of ten soldiers, combining to form a barge [crew]” under the government’s regulations for “combining tribute grain barges.” Then in 1669, the government implemented a policy of “assigning standing soldiers to support tribute-​grain transportation,” which meant that the responsibilities of the transportation soldiers were finally lightened. In terms of the specific operation of the transportation, Cai Tiaojiu paid the costs of three trips himself, giving the lineage several years of peace. Because the state had allocated colony fields to each garrison soldier, Cai Tiaojiu recruited tenants to cultivate the lands and then used the rental income to subsidize transportation expenses. In addition, the government also provided that the income from “the colony field be assigned to three [named] transport soldiers. After the tax had been paid, the remaining rent could be used to help with transportation expenses,” which further helped to resolve the problem of tribute grain transportation expenses. This demonstrates that government policy could ameliorate the burden of tribute grain transport to a certain degree. This policy was possible only because while the three named soldiers were still found in the registry, in actual fact, they had all already deserted, and what the names actually represented was a quota of colony fields registered under their names. The policy of “assigning standing soldiers to support tribute grain transport” of 1669 must in fact have been a subsidy to standing soldiers who had not deserted or perhaps the transfer of colony field allotments that had been assigned to standing soldier households that existed in name only to the transport soldiers to help meet their transportation costs. This demonstrates that the Huangzhou Garrison’s “850 military households” did not represent the actual number of garrison military households, as it included a large number of empty slots. It reveals that because of the damage caused by war, the rectification of the early Qing garrisons was inadequate to restore garrison soldier numbers to the levels of the late Ming. The formulation of “850 military households” used in the Qing actually referred to allotments of colony fields and not to the actual number of households. The garrison military lineages responded to the policy changes in ways that stimulated lineage formation. The Huanggang Cai surname initially dealt with their responsibilities by allocating them to the four branches. This kind of arrangement might have taken into consideration the different circumstances of each branch, but with each branch developing on its own trajectory it became difficult for the household as a whole to fulfill its obligations. As we saw above, in the early Qing Cai Tiaojiu donated his own resources in order to fulfill the collective burden, and personally paid for several tribute grain voyages on his own, such that “the whole lineage could be worry-​free, and not just for a single year.” Cai Tiaojiu’s contribution was not unusual. A  similar case occurred in Qizhou in the early Qing. According to records in the subprefectural gazetteer, during the Kangxi reign (1661–​1722), Wang Zhude,

The tribute grain system  177 a student of the Imperial University, whose father had died early, and who treated his mother with the utmost filial respect, took on responsibility for the tribute grain barge from his older brother, Imperial Student Lin, giving up his studies to support his family, and saving his family from the expenses. He donated one thousand taels of silver to the household to cover the costs of tribute grain transportation. The lineage praised his virtue.28 However, for lineages like the Cai, this kind of initiative where a single person tried to resolve this problem for the entire lineage was not a long-​term plan. There needed to be a regular arrangement in order for the problem to be resolved permanently. For this purpose, Tiaojiu consolidated the colony fields under the household’s name that had been fallow since the war at the beginning of the dynasty to assist with transportation expenses. These colony fields thus became the collective lineage property of the Cai surname. Cai Jingshang’s rhetorical question, “Is not his establishment of the [collective] estate truly the sincere expression of what is most important?” points to how Tiaojiu’s move stimulated the development of the lineage. The colony fields were subsequently managed in the name of their founding ancestor. The quantity of the fields and the details of the cultivator were carefully recorded, and described as sacrificial fields for their first ancestor.29 Transforming colony fields into lineage collective property was a method adopted by nearly every garrison military household. The Huanggang Li Surname Genealogy provides an explanation: The Li surname has colony [fields producing] six bushels of grain. After the grain tribute was suspended in 1845, and expenses to cover transportation were no longer required, the produce from these fields was divided into eight shares which accrued interest … [This property] was the product of our predecessors’ hard work. The accumulated interest would only be used in times of need.30 Because the colony fields was property legally given by the state to assist with tribute grain transportation, after the tribute grain burden became an important factor in the establishment of garrison military lineages, colony fields naturally became an important part of a lineage’s common property. When Qing garrison military households established lineages, the male descendants sharing a common military household registration provided the demographic foundation, and the holding of colony fields as common property created the necessary economic conditions, stimulating the formation of lineage organization to handle tribute grain transportation obligations.

Disputes over tribute grain transportation Responsibility for a single transport barge was often shared by multiple garrison lineages, who had to cooperate together. However, because the

178  Xu Bin obligations of the different military households on a single barge could vary, it was difficult to avoid the problem of transport soldiers shirking more onerous duties and seeking lighter ones. Moreover, because the interests of tribute grain transportation obligations and colony fields were tied up together, arguments and even legal disputes between garrison soldiers became common. According to Cai Jingshang the principle that “ten soldiers operate one barge together” was already in place the Ming. It was similar to the civilian lijia system in which one li comprised ten households who shared tax and corvee obligations.31 During the reorganization of the early Qing, a significant change took place. “Thirty-​two [soldiers] were assigned to each banner, and each banner operated a single barge.”32 Perhaps because the Cai lineage were relatively well-​off, they became responsible for the tribute grain transportation obligations of an entire tribute grain barge. Probably this came about as part of an attempt to equalize obligations based on an assessment of the actual circumstances of the garrison soldiers during the early Qing. In 1663, Huangzhou Guard made another adjustment: “Two barges were combined into one, and three into two.” Combining tribute grain barges further lightened the burden of tribute grain transportation. As a result, the Cai surname “combined with Li Xinbao to fill a quota of ten soldiers to form a single barge, changing the name to the Cai-​Li-​Bao [barge].” Later the Cai surname would lodge repeated complaints against the Li Xinbao household in order to protect their own interests. The Cai surname described the causes and resolution of these cases in their genealogy. The two garrison soldier households now had shared responsibility for a single transport barge. The Li were responsible for providing seven transport soldiers and three standing soldiers; the Cai for three transport soldiers and seven standing soldiers. As mentioned above, in the Qing dynasty, these different categories of soldiers that remained from the Ming dynasty were all involved in tribute grain transportation, but they had different duties in the grain transport system. Because in the Ming dynasty, transporting tribute grain was already the main responsibility of transport soldiers, in the Qing the burden borne by these original transportation soldiers was heavier than those of other types of soldiers. The allocation of colony fields to transport soldiers and standing soldiers and other types of soldiers may also have been different. Because of the different assignments, it appeared that the Cai had a smaller share of the duties compared with the Li with whom they shared the barge. In actual fact, the two parties allocated the duties of the transportation barge evenly. This was naturally a cause of dissatisfaction to the Cai, and in 1707, they lodged a legal complaint. The official who adjudicated the case ordered that the colony lands originally allotted to the Cai and Li be redistributed, such that the Cai and the Li both were given five transport soldier and five standing soldier allotments each. This reallocation had two implications. First, it redistributed the colony fields under the names of each garrison solder, which suggests that the result

The tribute grain system  179 of this intervention was to maintain the status quo in which Cai and the Li each bore half the burden. The Cai’s burden had, in fact, not been lightened. To address this, local officials also gave the Cai the use of three colony field allotments registered under the names of garrison soldiers who had already deserted. The Li were dissatisfied with this settlement. In 1723, they lodged a complaint seeking a further reallocation. Cai Chengxia and others opposed the petition, and the Li demands were ultimately not upheld by the authorities. The Cai victory lasted until the end of the tribute grain transportation system in the late Qing.33 The Li who shared a barge with the Cai is not the same Li family discussed above. They may not even have lived in the same place as the Cai. During the Ming and Qing, the colony fields of Qizhou and Huangzhou Guards in eastern Hubei were distributed across numerous counties. Qizhou’s colony fields were spread across nine subprefectures and counties in the provinces of Hubei, Jiangxi, and Anhui.34 So the places where garrison soldiers lived were quite dispersed. The garrison served as a kind of nexus for these households, and they formed a trans-​regional social organization.35 The dispute described above between the Cai and the Li over their duties regarding the tribute grain transportation barge was actually resolved through a redistribution of colony fields. From this we can see that while tribute grain transportation was a heavy burden for transportation soldiers, the state allocated colony fields to them as compensation. When transportation soldiers established lineages, they relied heavily on colony fields. Moreover because colony fields were registered under the garrison and were differentiated from the regular civilian fields in subprefectures and counties, garrisons soldiers’ rights to them were protected. Garrison soldiers frequently used this point to assert their rights over lands that the state had allocated to them, and to claim rights over lands left behind when other households deserted. The garrison soldiers and their descendants thus became a powerful local interest group.

Conclusions The cases of Qizhou and Huangzhou Guards and the two military household lineages demonstrate several important points. First, the tribute grain system of the Qing was significantly different from the system that had been established in the early Ming. The system inherited in the early Qing was the result of experiments, practice, and adjustments that had unfolded over the course of the Ming. The figures of 850 military households of Huangzhou and the 650 transport, standing, and supernumerary military households of Qizhou reflect the interaction of state and community, providing the Qing government with a blueprint that it could use for reference. The structure that had evolved by the late Ming was confirmed by the early Qing, and was further strengthened by Qing policies that ordered all garrison imperial soldiers, whether or not they had been transport soldiers

180  Xu Bin in the Ming, to be reorganized into the tribute grain transportation system. This situation continued until the tribute grain system was ended in the late Qing. Second, scholars such as Liu Zhiwei, Katayama Tsuyoshi, and Michael Szonyi have made important contributions to our understanding of how the household registration system and the tax and corvee system under the Ming and Qing lijia system influenced the formation of lineages.36 This chapter has discussed garrison military lineages under the garrison military system rather than civilian households within the civilian system. The two distinct groups have something in common –​the formation of a corporate body for tax and corvee purposes in response to the state’s levies. But there are also some clear differences. The initial unit of registration for civilian households in the household register was the “household” (hu), and the standard for levying tax and corvee was “people and property.” The earliest unit of registration for garrison soldiers in the garrison register was a “name” (ming), which represented an individual soldier. Behind this individual was a connection to the military household living in the original native place. When garrison solders gradually lost contact with the military household at their native place and took on the burden of military corvee themselves, their corvee unit became the “household.” But colony fields, at least in name, belonged to the state, and were not private property. Therefore in this context, “household” was more closely related to corvee obligations than it was to tax. Moreover, because the burden of military corvee was so heavy, every person within the “household” came to be involved with the fulfilling of the obligation. Third, garrison soldiers formed into lineages in part as a consequence of how they addressed tribute grain transportation obligations. They developed various mechanisms to ensure their obligations were fulfilled. In order that the tribute grain transportation was carried out smoothly, the state implemented adjustments, adopting measures like combining tribute grain barges and “taking from standing soldiers to support transport” (boban buyun) to accommodate the actual ability of the garrison soldiers to bear the burden. Because the Qing court considered the tribute grain the lifeblood of the state and Huguang, situated deep in the interior, was one of the provinces that produced tribute grain, the state’s management of Huguang and other territories where the tribute grain system was implemented was strict. The agency of Qing dynasty garrison military households was limited. They could only push the government in a limited way to make minor adjustments to the system, and were not able to push for reform of the entire tribute grain system. However, this is not to say that garrison military households were entirely restricted by the system. They also pursued their interests from within the institutional framework in which the state placed them. On the one hand, transport soldiers would often carry goods other than tribute grain, trading them in far-​off places for their own profit. Moreover, scholars are often misled by official and private sources suggesting that transportation soldiers complained incessantly, receiving the impression that the lot of a transportation soldier

The tribute grain system  181 was dismal. We should probably view this as a kind of rhetorical strategy they used to bargain with the authorities. From fieldwork we can see that both the Li and Cai discussed in this chapter were prominent families in their locality. They made use of their status as transportation soldiers to extend themselves into local society and seek profits outside of the tribute grain system. For example, they took advantage of the facts that colony fields were linked to the burden of tribute grain transportation and that garrisons and subprefectures and counties belonged to two parallel systems of administering territory, which meant that garrison military households’ possession of colony fields was legally recognized. These recognized rights to colony fields transformed the tribute grain garrison soldiers into a powerful interest group in local society.

Notes 1 Zhao Erxun, et  al., Qingshi gao (Draft history of the Qing) (1927; reprint Zhonghua shuju 1983), j. 122. 2 Feng Guifen, “Caoliang kaitun yi” (Discourse on tribute grain and opening of military colonies) in Ge Shirong ed., Qing jingshi wen xubian (Collected essays on statecraft from the Qing, continued) (reprint Guangling shushe 2011). 3 Deng Qingping, “Ming-​Qing weisuo zhidu yanjiu shuping” (Review of scholarship on the Ming-​Qing garrison system), Zhongguoshi yanjiu dongtai no.  4 (2008),  14–​21. 4 Huangzhou fuzhi (Huangzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition), j.  4; Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1884), j.  7; Taizu shilu (Veritable records of the Taizu reign), Hongwu 12/​6/​xinyi (1379) and Hongwu 12/​8/​bingzi (1379) in Ming shilu (Veritable Records of the Ming), j. 125, j. 126. 5 Zhang Jianmin, Hubei tongshi (Comprehensive history of Hubei) (Huazhong shifan daxue 1999), 169. 6 Copies of these two genealogies are held in the rare books collection of the Wuhan University Library. 7 “Huanggang Caishi caowu jilue” (Record of the Huanggang Cai’s tribute grain obligations), in Caishi zongpu (Cai surname genealogy) (1918). 8 Ibid. 9 Shen Shixing et  al., Wanli DaMing huidian (Statutes of the Great Ming, Wanli edition) (reprint Taiwan wenhai chubanshe 1987), j. 137. 10 Huguang zongzhi (Huguang general gazetteer) (Wanli edition; reprint Siku quanshu, Qilu shushe 1996), j. 30. 11 Zhang Xuan, Xiyuan jianwen lu (Record of things seen and heard in the West Garden) (Ming; reprint Harvard-​Yenching Institute 1940), j. 58. 12 See Yu Zhijia, “Shilun Mingdai weijun yuanji yu weisuo fenpei de guanxi” (On the relationship between native place and Guard assignment of Guard soldiers in Ming), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 60.2 (1989): 367–​450. 13 Yu Zhijia, “Mingdai Jiangxi weisuo junyi de yanbian” (The evolution of military corvee in Jiangxi Ming garrisons), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 68.1 (1997), 1–​53.

182  Xu Bin 14 Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (Jiajing edition; reprint Tianyigecang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan, vol. 55, Shanghai guji shudian 1981), j. 7. See Yu Zhijia, “Ming-​Qing shidai junhu de jiazu guanxi –​weisuo junhu yu yuanji junhu zhijian” (Lineage relations of military households in Ming-​Qing:  between Guard military households and those in the native place), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 74.1 (2003), 97–​140. 15 “Yuding jiji naliang” (On supernumeraries registering with civilian authorities and paying grain tax), in Huo Ji ed., Junzheng shili (Substatutes on military administration) (reprint Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988), j. 1. 16 Yu Zhijia, “Mingdai Jiangxi weisuo junyi de yanbian.” 17 Yu Zhijia, “Ming-​Qing shidai junhu de jiazu guanxi.” 18 Ma Wensheng, “Tiwei yin zaibian sichong yufang yi gu Nanbu shiye” (Memorial on preparing defenses to secure the south against disaster), in Chen Zilong, ed., Ming jingshi wenbian (Collected essays on Ming statecraft) (reprint Zhonghua Shuju 1962), j. 62. 19 “Huanggang Caishi caowu jilue.” 20 “Dingchong junji ban” (On replacements fulfilling military registration), in Lishi zongpu (Li surname genealogy) (1895). 21 “Dingchong junji ban.” 22 Qizhou zhi (1884), j. 11. 23 “Dingchong junji ban.” 24 Li Wenzhi and Zhang Taixin, Qingdai caoyun (Tribute grain in the Qing) (Zhonghua shuju 1995), 205–​208. 25 “Dingchong junji ban.” 26 Ibid. 27 “Dengshi lang Changguang gong zhuan” (Biography of Court Gentleman Master Changguang), in Lishi zupu, j. 1. 28 Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1863), j. 13. 29 “Jitian ji” (“Record of sacrificial fields”), in Caishi zupu (1918), j. 1. 30 “Dingchong junji ban.” 31 On similar institutional arrangements in Jiangxi tribute grain garrisons, see Rao Weixin’s chapter in this volume. 32 “Dingchong junji ban.” 33 “Huanggang Caishi caowu jilue.” 34 Qizhou zhi (1863), j. 5. 35 For a specific discussion, see Rao Weixin’s chapter in this volume. 36 Liu Zhiwei, “Ming-​Qing Zhujiang sanjiaozhou diqu lijia zhong de hu de yanbian” (The evolution of the “household” in the lijia system in the Pearl River Delta during the Ming and Qing), Zhongshan daxue xuebao, zhexue shehuikexue ban no. 3 (1998), pp. 64–​74; Katayama Tsuyoshi. “Shindai Kantonshō Shukō deruta no zukōsei ni tsuite: zeiryō, koseki, dōzoku” (The tujia system in the Pearl River Delta in Guangdong in Qing:  taxes, households, lineage membership), Tōyō Gakuhō 63.3–​4 (1982), 1–​34; Michael Szonyi, Practicing kinship: Lineage and descent in late imperial China (Stanford 2002).

Appendix I: Ming and Qing reign periods

Ming Hongwu Jianwen Yongle Hongxi Xuande Zhengtong Jingtai Tianshun Chenghua Hongzhi Zhengde Jiajing Longqing Wanli Taichang Tianqi Chongzhen

1368–​1398 1399–​1402 1403–​1424 1425 1426–​1435 1436–​1449 1450–​1456 1457–​1464 1465–​1487 1488–​1505 1506–​1521 1522–​1566 1567–​1572 1573–​1620 1620 1621–​1627 1628–​1644

Qing Shunzhi Kangxi Yongzheng Qianlong Jiaqing Daoguang Xianfeng Tongzhi Guangxu Xuantong

1644–​1661 1662–​1722 1723–​1735 1736–​1795 1796–​1820 1821–​1850 1851–​1861 1862–​1875 1875–​1908 1909–​1911

Appendix II: Ming weights and measures

Chinese unit

U.S. equivalent

Metric equivalent

1 li 1 mu 1 qing 1 liang (tael) 1 sheng 1 dou (peck) 1 dan (bushel)

1821.15 feet 0.16 acres 16.16 acres 1.327 ounces 0.234 gallons 2.34 gallons 23.4 gallons

0.555 kilometers 0.065 hectares 6.539 hectares 37.62 grams 1.031 liters 10.31 liters 103.1 liters

Source: Kenneth Swope, ed., The Ming World (Routledge 2019).

Appendix III: Glossary and character list

pacify the borders and transform the people 安边化民 baihu Company commander 百户 Baiying jiangjun White-​tasseled General 白缨将军 balaoye [ritual of] raising up the Master 拔老爷 banjun training division soldier 班军 bang guild/​gang  帮 baojia local constabulary system 保甲 baozhang security group head 保长 baqi Eight Banners 八旗 bawugeng [ritual of] raising up [the deity] at dawn 拔五更 beiwo jun coastal defense soldier 备倭军 boban buyun taking from standing soldiers to support transport 拨班补运 caobang tribute grain guild 漕帮 caochuan tribute grain barge 漕船 caoji tribute grain sacrifical [estate] 漕祭 caojihui tribute grain sacrificial association 漕祭会 caojun drill soldier/​troops  操军 caojun tribute grain soldier 漕军 Caowu zeyao “Principles of Tribute Grain Service” 漕务则要 caoyun tribute grain transport system漕运 caoyun junhu tribute grain military household 漕运军户 caoyun zongdu director-​general of grain transport 漕运总督 Chen Anshou hu Chen Anshou household 陈安受户 Chen Lannao hu Chen Lannao household 陈烂脑户 Chenfang Xie shi Xie surname of Chenfang陈坊谢氏 Chenghuangmiao Temple of the City God/​God of the Wall 城隍庙 chengxiang qihui Seven Associations of the Walled [Fort] and Settlements 城乡七会 chuan barge (tribute grain organization) 船 dan bushel  石 anbian huamin

186  Glossary and character list conditional sale 当 Belvedere of Clear Virtue 德清观 herd office 典牧所 registered adult male (fiscal unit) 丁 small mountain valley or basin; lit. cavern 硐 (Tibetan) aboriginals or indigenes 番 (Tibetan) aboriginal/​indigene/​barbarian  番夷 official for pacifying the Yao 抚傜官 reserve soldier 副丁 attached registration 附籍 auxiliary grain tribute soldier 附运 to replace hereditary native officials with circulating [i.e. imperially appointed] officials 改土归流 gaoshan Yao mountain Yao 高山傜 gongguan public office 公馆 gongsheng tribute student 贡生 gongtong de zupu shared genealogy 共同的族谱 guanhua official dialect 官话 guoshan Yao mountain pass Yao 过山傜 Gusong Liao shi Gusong Liao surname 古松廖氏 He Hansheng hu He Hansheng household 何瀚生户 hetong tunhu contractual colony households 合同屯户 Hong Chengchou 洪承畴 hongmao guogong Red-​haired Duke红毛国公 hu household  户 Huanan xuepai South China studies school 华南学派 huanei zhi min civilized subjects 化内之民 Huang Nongshi hu Huang Nongshi household 黄浓莳户 Huanlü Guan Green-​girdled Belvedere  环绿观 huawai zhi min (uncivilized) subjects beyond the pale of civilization 化外之民 hushou household head  户首 jiading family soldier 家丁 Jiangxi duliangdao Jiangxi tax intendant circuit 江西督粮道 jiapu family retainer家仆 jiashen family deity 家神 jichan sacrificial estate祭产 jidian official ritual 祭典 jiji attached registration 寄籍 Jinshantou Forbidden Mountain Peak 禁山头 jinshi presented scholar 进士 jitun qiyun relying on the military colonies to support tribute grain transportation 计屯起运 jiu Yao di old Yao lands 旧傜地 dang Deqing guan dianmusuo ding dong Fan Fanyi fu Yao guan fuding fuji fuyun gaituguiliu

Glossary and character list  187 jujiang jun handicraft/​artisan soldier 局匠军 jun soldier 军 jundan military service certificate 军单 junhu jiazu military household lineage 军户家族 junhu military household 军户 junmin soldiers and civilians军民 junmin gongzhi common governance of soldiers and civilians 军民共治 junshi xingzheng guanqu military governance district 军事型政管区 junshi xingzhi geographic unit with military characteristics de dili danwei 军事性质的地理单位 junyu supernumerary  军余 langbing “wolf ” soldier 狼兵 li unit of 110 households in the lijia system 里 liangban hudang two teams alternate responsibility 两班互当 lianghu guizong allocating tax responsibilities to patrilines/​ lineages 粮户 归宗 Liangsanba Qiu shi Qiu of Liangsanba 凉伞坝邱氏 Liangsanba Sun shi Sun of Liangsanba 凉伞坝孙氏 lianli pengjia allied li and affiliated jia 连里朋甲 Liao Yu hu Liao Yu household 廖玙户 lijia household registration and corvee system 里甲 longshen dragon spirit 龙神 Luobei Xie shi Xie of Luobei 罗陂谢氏 luoyi Luo barbarian (ethnic group in southwest China) 罗夷 maji sacrifice/​ritual on the despatch of troops 祃祭 majun cavalry马军 man Man barbarian (ethnic group in south China) 蛮 min civilian 民 ming name (a unit for allocation of military colony fields and/​or tax and corvee responsibilities) 名 minhu civilian household 民户 minjian wenxian non-​official documents  民间文献 minYao Yao subjects 民傜 minzu zoulang ethnic corridor 民族走廊 Nanling Nanling mountain range 南岭 panliang [tribute] grain inspection 盘粮 pao tianye conduct fieldwork 跑田野 pengzhong group cultivator 朋种 pinding poor soldier 贫丁 pindazhong assembled cultivator 品搭种 pingdi Yao Yao of the plains 平地傜

188  Glossary and character list Duke Yan, Marquis who calms the waves 平浪侯晏公 qi banner  旗 Qi Rudong 祁汝东 qianhu Battalion commander 千户 qianzong Company commander (Qing) 千总 qiang gang (ritual of) seizing the poles 抢杠 qianjun zuozhi taking soldiers as hostages 佥军作质 qijia banner head (Ming) 旗甲 qingmiao hui Green shoots (crop-​watching) association 青苗会 Qingshi ban Greenstone placard 青石板 Qingshi qiao Greenstone bridge 青石桥 Qishe Dajiang Seven Snake General 七蛇大将 Qiu Manzi hu Qiu Manzi household 邱蛮孜户 rentong identity  认同 Ruilin Xie shi Xie lineage of Ruilin 瑞林谢氏 ruji shouchan to enter into [civilian] registration and pay [civilian] tax 入籍收产 Shaixiang zhi Hou Marquis of Dried Fish 晒鲞之侯 shashou “killer” soldier 杀手 sheng duliangdao Provincial tax circuit intendant 省督粮道 shengfan “raw” (ie unpacified) aborigine 生番 shengyao “raw” (ie unpacified) Yao 生傜 shengyuan government student 生员 shenlu spirit road 神路 Shicheng 石城 shitu weisuo garrison having territorial jurisdiction 实土卫所 shou xiang receiving the surrender 受降 shuhu jinYao “cooked” households and proximate Yao 熟户近傜 Shuixi Huangshi Shuixi Huang surname 水西黄氏 shuyao “cooked” (civilized or pacified) Yao 熟傜 Sichuan xingdusi Sichuan circuit military commission 四川行都司 suiyun accompanying grain tribute soldier 随运 Sun Fusheng hu Sun Fusheng household 孙富生户 suo Battalion 所 tianshen god 天神 tiezhong replacement cultivator 贴种 tiling superintendent  提领 ting subprefecture (in Qing, typically in charge of ethnic and frontier affairs; in some cases intermediating prefectures and counties and in others directly responsible to provincial authorities) 厅 pinglang hou Yangong

Glossary and character list  189 land survey 土地清丈 native official 土官 military colony 屯 colony register 屯册 colony household 屯户 colony association 屯会 colony head, responsible for collection of colony tax 屯甲 tunjun colony soldier 屯军 tunliang colony land/​land tax 屯粮 tuntian military colony land 屯田 tuntian suo colony battalion 屯田所 tuntian yinzhao colony land certificate 屯田印照 tusi native chieftaincy 土司 wazi slave/​family retainer  娃子 wei Guard 卫 weijun garrison soldier 卫军 wei shoubei garrison commander 卫守备 weiguan garrison officer 卫官 weisuo guards and battalions/​the military system 卫所 weisuo junhu garrison military household 卫所军户 weixue garrison school 卫学 wokou pirate/​maritime bandit  倭寇 Wuguo laoye Grandfathers of the Five Kingdoms 五国老爷 wuzhi xuanbu military appointments register 武职选簿 xian county  县 xianfu [ritual of] presenting prisoners 献俘 xiangyue community pact 乡约 xiangdao dried fish knife鲞刀 xiangqi village elder 乡耆 xiangyong village brave 乡勇 xiangyue community pact/​community pact head 乡约 xiansuo liangxiang (responsible for) payment of taxes to both the county and the Battalion 县所两相报纳 baona Xiao Kan hu Xiao Kan household 萧戡户 xiaoban clerk  小班 xiaoqi two-​hundred household squad 小旗 Xie Chen Liao chuan Xie/​Chen/​Liao barge 谢陈廖船 Xie Guanyinbao hu Xie Guanyinbao household 谢观音保户 Xie Nuzi hu Xie Nuzi household 谢奴仔户 Xie Shijin 谢师缙 Xie Xilun 谢锡伦 Xifan Western (Tibetan) aborigines/​indigenes 西番 Xijiang He shi Xijiang He surname 西江何氏 tudi qingzhang tuguan tun tunce tunhu tunhui tunjia

190  Glossary and character list Xijiang Xiao shi Xijiang Xiao surname 西江萧氏 Xing Ningyi Xing “Arousing Unity” 兴宁一 xing surname 姓 Xing Yongchao 兴永朝 xinggong auxiliary temple 行宫 xingshang [ritual of] distributing merit 行赏 xunbu jun military police 巡捕军 xunshan caiqing patrol the mountains (to prevent) trampling of the young shoots 巡山踩青 yamen government office 衙门 Yangong Duke Yan 晏公 yangzi adopted son养子 Yao Yao (aborigines/​indigenes) 傜 (var. 瑶, 徭) Yaodi Yao lands 傜地 yihan huayi using Han to transform/​civilize barbarians 以汉化夷 yihu erji one household, two registrations 一户二籍 yinci licentious cult or temple 淫祠 yinding well-​off soldier  殷丁 ying Barracks  营 yixue charitable school 义学 youtie land certificate 油帖 Yue Chih-​chia/​Yu Zhijia 于志嘉 yuan arable land located in a mountain basin 源 yuanji junhu military households residing in the native place/​ original place of registration 原籍军户 yuding supernumerary (synonym for junyu) 余丁 yunjun tribute grain transport soldier 运军 yunliang jun tribute grain transport soldier 运粮军 Yuxian bajing Eight sights of Yuxian county 蔚县八景 Zan tusi Zan native chieftaincy 昝土司 zaohu saltern household 灶户 zhengding serving soldier 正丁 zhengjun active service soldier 正军 zhengyun main (active service) grain transport soldier 正运 zhengzhong actual cultivator 正种 zhihui qianshi assistant Guard commander 指挥佥事 zhihuishi Guard commander 指挥使 zhongyousuo middle-​right Battalion 中右所 zhou subprefecture (in some cases intermediating prefectures and counties and in others directly responsible to provincial authorities; conventionally translated as ‘department’ in Qing to distinguish from ting) 州

Glossary and character list  191 zhun shitu weisuo zidi Ziyi fang zongtun zujun

quasi-​territorial garrison  准实土卫所 sons and younger brothers 子弟 Ziyi lineage branch 子仪房 colony official 总屯 ancestral soldier, the first member of a lineage to be registered in a military household 祖军

References

Archives First Historical Archives, Beijing. Hubu (Board of Revenue) Archives (Qing), transcriptions in the Institute of Economics, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing. Mianning County Archives, Sichuan. Taozhou Old Fort Green Shoots Association (Jiucheng Qingmiao Hui) Archives, People’s Cultural Palace of Taozhou, Gansu.

Gazetteers Bamin tongzhi (Gazetteer of the Eight [prefectures] of Min [Fujian]) (1490; reprint Fujian difangzhi congkan, Fujian renmin chubanshe 1991). Chahaer sheng tongzhi (Cha-​ha-​er provincial general gazetteer) (reprint Zhongguo bianjiang congshu, Wenhai chubanshe 1966). Chongxiu Nan’an fuzhi (Nan’an prefectural gazetteer, revised) (1609; reprint Tianyigecang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan, vol. 50, Shanghai shudian 1990). Chongxiu Taiyuan zhi (Taiyuan gazetteer, revised) (1731). Dayu xianzhi (Dayu county gazetteer) (1874; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989). Fuchuan xianzhi (Fuchuan county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition). Fuchuan xianzhi (Fuchuan county gazetteer) (Wanli edition). Ganxian zhi (Gan county gazetteer) (1684; reprint Qingdai guben fangzhi xuan, pt. 2, vol. 20, Xianzhuang shuju 2001). Ganzhou fuzhi (Ganzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1536; reprint Tianyigecang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan, vol. 38, Shanghai guji 1982). Ganzhou fuzhi (Ganzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1621; reprint Beijing tushuguan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 32, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988). Guangxi tongzhi (Guangxi general gazetteer) (Jiajing edition, reprint Beijing tushuguan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 41, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1998). Guiyang zhili zhouzhi (Guiyang subprefectural gazetteer) (Tongzhi edition; reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng:  Hunan fuxian zhiji, vol. 32, Jiangsu guji chubanshe 2003). Hengzhou fuzhi (Hengzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Beijing tushu guan guji zhenben congkan, vol. 36, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1998). Huangzhou fuzhi (Huangzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition).

References 193 Huguang zongzhi (Huguang general gazetteer) (Wanli edition; reprint Siku quanshu, Qilu shushe 1996). Huichang xianzhi (Huichang county gazetteer) (1872; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989). Jiangxi tongzhi (Jiangxi comprehensive gazetteer) (1732; reprint Wenyuange siku quanshu vol. 514, Shanghai guji chubanshe 1987). Lanshan xian tuzhi (Lanshan county illusrated gazetteer) (Republican edition; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1970). Lanshan xianzhi (Lanshan county gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Gugong zhenben congkan vol. 156, Haikou chubanshe 2001). Nan’an fuzhi (Nan’an prefectural gazetteer) (1673; reprint Tianyigecang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan xubian, vol. 50, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988). Ningxi suozhi (Ningxi Battalion gazetteer) ed. Ruan Jingtao (1894), ms., held by members of the Gu surname in Dahebian village, Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. Pingyang xianzhi (Pingyang county gazetteer) (1926). Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1863). Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1884). Qizhou zhi (Qizhou subprefectural gazetteer) (Jiajing edition; reprint Tianyigecang Mingdai fangzhi xuankan, vol. 55, Shanghai guji shudian 1981). Quanzhou fuzhi (Quanzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Wanli edition). Rui’an xianzhi (Rui’an county gazetteer) (1555). Sichuan tongzhi (Sichuan general gazetteer) (Yongzheng edition, reprint Wenyuange siku quanshu, vol. 560, Taiwan shangwu 1986). Taozhou tingzhi (Taozhou subprefectural gazetteer) (1907). Taozhou weizhi (Taozhou Guard gazetteer) (1687). Wenzhou fuzhi (Wenzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition; reprint Hu Zhusheng, ed., Wenzhou wenxian congshu, vol. 3, Shanghai shehui kexueyuan chubanshe 2006). Wenzhou fuzhi (Wenzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Qianlong edition). Wuzhou fuzhi (Wuzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Chongzhen edition). Xinfeng xianzhi (Xinfeng county gazetteer) (1664; reprint Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1988). Xinfeng xianzhi (Xinfeng county gazetteer) (1751; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989). Xuanhua fuzhi (Xuanhua prefectural gazetteer) (1744). Yangshan xianzhi (Yangshan county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition). Yongchun xianzhi (Yongchun county gazetteer) (Jiajing edition; reprint Yongchun wenxianshe 1973). Yongchun zhouzhi (Yongchun subprefectural gazetteer) (Qianlong edition). Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (1709). Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (Guangxu edition; reprint Zhongguo difangzhi jicheng: Hunan fuxian zhiji, vol. 49, Jiangsu guji chubanshe 2002). Yongming xianzhi (Yongming county gazetteer) (Daoguang edition). Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Daoguang edition; reprint Huxiang wenku, Yuelu shushe 2008). Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Kangxi edition; reprint Ribencang Zhongguo hanjian difangzhi congkan, Shumu wenxian chubanshe 1992). Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Hongzhi edition).

194 References Yongzhou fuzhi (Yongzhou prefectural gazetteer) (Longqing edition). Yuxian zhi (Yuxian county gazetteer) (Qianlong edition; reprint Xuesheng shuju 1976). Yuzhou zhi (Yuzhou prefectural gazetteer) (1877; reprint Chengwen chubanshe 1989).

Genealogies Caishi zongpu (Cai surname genealogy) (1918), Rare Books collection, Wuhan University. Changning Luobei Xieshi erxiu zupu (Xie surname of Changning Luobei genealogy, 2nd edition), held by lineage members in Luobei village, Nanqiao Township, Xunwu, Jiangxi. Chenliujun Xieshi zupu (Xie surname of Chenliu genealogy) (2005), held by lineage members in Juntun village, Lanshan, Hunan. Dengshi jiapu (Deng surname genealogy) (1891), held by lineage members in Mianning, Sichuan. Fengshi jiapu (Feng surname genealogy), held by lineage members in Mianning, Sichuan. Henanjun Lishi zongpu (Li of Henan genealogy) (2000), held by lineage members in Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. Hongbu Linshi baxiu zupu (Hongbu Lin surname genealogy, 8th edition) (2009), held by lineage members in Yongchun, Fujian. Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (Hongbu Lin surname genealogy, 4th branch) (2011), held by lineage members in Yongchun, Fujian. Hongbu Linshi sifang zongpu (Hongbu Lin surname genealogy, 4th branch) (1930), held by lineage members in Yongchun, Fujian. Hunan Yongzhoufu Yongmingxian shibadu Liangshi zupu (Genealogy of the Liang surname of sector 18, Yongming county, Yongzhou Prefecture, Hunan), held by lineage members in Yongming, Hunan. Jinshi zupu (Jin surname genealogy), held by Jin Biao in Duanyanggou village, Lintan County, Gansu. Lishi jiapu (Li surname genealogy) (1775), collection of the Family History Center, Salt Lake City, Utah, no. 652, vol. 2. Lishi zongpu (Li surname genealogy) (1895), Rare Books collection, Wuhan University. Liushi zupu (Liu surname genealogy) (Republican period), held by the Liu family in Xichang, Sichuan. Lushi zupu (Lu surname genealogy) (1704), manuscript, held by lineage members in Mianning, Sichuan. Lushi zupu: qizhong fang (Lu surname genealogy: Qizhong branch) (1980), collected in fieldwork in Yongming, Hunan. Mianjiang Ruilin Xieshi qixiu zupu (Xie of Mianjiang, Ruilin genealogy, 7th edition) (1917), held by the Xie lineage in Ruilin Township, Ruijin County, Jiangxi. Qianlong wushier nian suici ding wei siyue Tian Taiyun miao lu zupu (Genealogy copied by Tian Taiyun in 1787), held by lineage members in Qingxi village, Jiangyong, Hunan. Ruanshi zupu (Ruan surname genealogy) (1894), held by Ruan lineage members in Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. Shicheng Chenfang Chenshi qixiu zupu (Chen of Shicheng Chenfang genealogy, 7th edition) (1938), held by the Chen lineage of Chenfang village, Pingshan Township, Shicheng County, Jiangxi.

References 195 Shicheng Gusong Liaoshi bajiu lianxiu zupu (Liao of Shicheng Guzong genealogy, 8th and 9th combined editions) (1993), held by the Liao lineage of Gusong village, Xiaosong Township, Shicheng County, Jiangxi. Shixiu Caishi zupu (Cai surname genealogy, 10th edition) (1944), held in Baocheng village, Huangsha Township, Yizhang County, Hunan. “Sichuan Chengdu Si Ningfan wei yigu shixi Zhihuishi Li Cheng’en zongtu” (Genealogical chart of Commander Li Cheng’en of Ningfan Guard, Chengdu, Sichuan) (Wanli period), manuscript by Li Yingchun, held by the Li family in Mianning, Sichuan. Tangshi zupu (Tang surname genealogy) (1917), held by lineage members in Yongchun, Fujian. Taoyuan Taiping Lishi zupu (Li surname of Taiping, Taoyuan genealogy) (2008), held by lineage members in Yongchun, Fujian. Tianshuijun Zhaoshi zupu (Zhao surname of Tianshui genealogy) (1937), held by lineage members in Juntun village, Lanshan, Hunan. Yizhou Chenshi zongpu (Chen surname of Yizhou genealogy) (Jiaqing edition), National Library of China. Yuyang Shuixi Huangshi shisanxiu zupu (Huang surname of Yuyang Shuixi genealogy, 13th edition) (1993), held by the Huang lineage of Shuixi village, Laicun Township, Ningdu County, Jiangxi. Zhangxing zupu (Zhang surname genealogy), held by lineage members in Yongming, Hunan.

Inscriptions “Canggu beiji” (Granary inscription) (1888), located in the Ruan ancestral hall, Suocheng Township, Lanshan County, Hunan. Untitled inscription, (no date), located in Gudiao primary school, Gudiao village, Cushijiang Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. “Wang Guan mubei” (Tomb inscription of Wang Guan) (1849), located at grave of Wang Guan near Pusadu village, Mianning County, Sichuan “Xiaoyuye Yang fu xinggong jibei” (Record on the auxiliary temple to Duke Yang at Xiaoyuye), inscription on the outer walls of Xiaoyuye Auxiliary Temple, Jinxiang, Zhejiang. “Xiongfu Yanggong miao ji” (Record of the Yanggong temple) (1623), located in Banyueyan, Yansiying village, Taochuan Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. “Yanjiazhai xinxiu kaimen yizuo beiji” (Stele recording the construction of a gate in Yanjia fortress) (1613), located on the west side of the south fortress gate, Yanjiazhai village, Yongquanzhuang Township, Yuxian County, Hebei. “Yaomu wanli ernian shibei guji” (Old record on stone of Yao affairs, dated 1574) (1574), located in Xinhe village, Xiling Township, Gongcheng County, Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region. “Yongming xian shijin bei” (Stele of prohibitions for Yongming County) (1623), located in Gudiao primary school, Gudiao village, Cushijiang Township, Jiangyong County, Hunan. “Zhu Taocheng gongjun beiji” (Commemorative stele on the Taozhou wall), located in the New Fort City God temple, Taozhou, Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Region, Gansu.

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204 References _​_​_​_​_​, “Lun Mingdai de fuji junhu yu junhu fenhu” (On military households with affiliated registration and the household division of military households in the Ming), in Gu Cheng xiansheng jinian ji Ming-​Qing shi yanjiu wenji (Memorial volume in honor of Gu Cheng: Research questions in Ming-Qing history) (Zhongzhou guji 2005), 80–​104. _​_​_​_​_​, “Ming-​Qing shidai junhu de jiazu guanxi  –​weisuo junhu yu yuanji junhu zhijian” (Lineage relations of military households in Ming-​Qing: Between guard military households and those in the native place), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 74.1 (2003), 97–​140. _​_​_​_​_​, “Mingdai Jiangxi weisuo junyi de yanbian” (The evolution of military corvee in Jiangxi Ming garrisons), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 68.1 (1997), 1–​53. _​_​_​_​_​, Mingdai junhu shixi zhidu (Hereditary military households in the Ming) (Xuesheng shuju 1988). _​_​_​_​_​, “Quanya xiangzhi –​yi Ming-​Qing shidai de Tongguan wei weili” (Interlocking governmental jurisdiction in Ming-​Qing: The case of Tongguan Guard), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 80.1 (2009), 77–​135. _​_​_​_​_​, “Shilun Mingdai weijun yuanji yu weisuo fenpei de guanxi” (On the relationship between native place and guard assignment of guard soldiers in Ming), Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo yanjiu jikan 60.2 (1989), 367–​450. _​_​_​_​_​, Weisuo, junhu yu junyi –​yi Ming-​Qing Jiangxi diqu wei zhongxin de yanjiu (Garrisons, military households, and military service in Jiangxi in the Ming-​Qing periods) (Beijing daxue chubanshe 2010). Yue Chih-​Chia, see Yu Zhijia. Zhang Daochun, “Chahaer sheng tianfu yanjiu” (Studies on Cha-​ha-​er taxation), in Xiao Zheng et  al. eds., Minguo ershi niandai Zhongguo dalu tudi wenti ziliao (Materials on the land question on the Chinese mainland during the 1930s) (Chengwen chubanshe 1977), 1159–​1160. Zhang Jianmin, Hubei tongshi (Comprehensive history of Hubei) (Huazhong shifan daxue 1999). Zhang Jinkui, Mingdai weisuo junhu yanjiu (Studies on military households in Ming garrisons) (Xianzhuang shuju 2007). Zhang Zhelang, Qing dai de caoyun (The Qing dynasty grain tribute system) (Jiaxin shuini gongsi wenhua jijinhui 1969). Zhao Shiyu, “‘BuQing buMing’ yu ‘WuMing buQing’  –​Ming-​Qing yidai de quyu shehuishi jieshi” (“Neither Qing nor Ming” and “No Qing without Ming”: A local social history interpretation of the Ming-​Qing transition), Xueshu yuekan, no. 7 (2010), 130–​140. _​_​_​_​_​, Changcheng neiwai (Inside and outside the Great Wall) (Beijing daxue 2016). _​_​_​_​_​, “Shenfen bianhua, rentong yu diguo bianjiang tuozhan: Yunnan Tengchong Dongshi zupu chaoben zhaji” (Status change, identification and expansion of the imperial border: A note on the manuscript of the genealogy of the Dong family of Tengchong, Yunnan), Xibei minzu yanjiu, no. 1 (2013), 67–​76. _​_​_​_​_​, “Weisuo junhu zhidu yu Mingdai Zhongguo shehui –​shehuishi de shijiao,” (Garrisons, military households, and Chinese society in the Ming:  from the perspective of social history), Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban), no. 3 (2015), 114–​127. Zhao Shiyu and Shen Bin, “Cong shehuishi dao Zhongguo shehui de lishi renleixue,” (From social history to the historical anthropology of Chinese society) Zhongguo shixue 25 (2015), 35–​49.

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Index

Aborigines, Western see Xifan administration, territorial, by garrisons see under garrison system agriculture see military colonies allocating tax responsibilities to patrilines (lianghu guizong) 135 ancestral halls 34, 86, 132, 159; constructing 50, 53, 138; see also sources: ancestral halls ancestral tombs 54, 108, 136, 160; relocation of 86 anthropology 13, 14; historical 128 (see also South China school); social 9 attached registration (fuji; jiji) see household registration, attached bandits 27, 30–​31, 36, 59, 87, 90–​91, 148; see also pirates Banner system (Qing) 2, 8, 20, 87–​88, 135, 166, 172 Banner, cult of (Qidao) 66, 67–​69, 77–​78; decline 68–​69, 78 Barracks (ying; yingbing) 26, 32–​36, 68, 76–​78; see also garrison system Battalions (suo) 5–​6 see also garrison system Beijing, relocation of capital to 72, 168, 172–​173 Board of Personnel (Libu) 94 Board of Revenue (Hubu) 16, 89, 150 borderlands; colonies in 7; imperial integration of 15, 17, 18–​20, 21, 26–​27, 79, 82–​83, 99–​114; trade 115–​116 braves (militiamen; xiangyong) see militia, civilian Cai Jingshang 167, 178 Caowu zeyao, see Principles of Tribute Grain Service

caoyun see tribute grain system Chaling Guard (Hunan) 7, 131 charitable activities 62, 87, 124 Chenghua reign (1465–​1487) 34, 44–​45, 68, 71 chenghuang miao see City God Chinese identity see under identity City God/​God of the Wall (chenghuang): temples to 66, 69, 92–​93, 119 civil service examinations 5, 16, 50, 57–​58, 60, 61, 85, 105–​106, 110, 136, 137, 169–​170; and access to legal system 110; education for 5, 6, 50, 53, 59, 105–​106, 136; purchase of degrees 60 civilian registration see household registration civilianization 7, 17, 42, 50, 83, 86, 108, 116, 117, 128–​144, 161, 164n20, 167; disputes over 82–​98 coastal regions see southeast China region colonialism, internal 26, 82 colonies see military colonies colony association (tunhui) and register (tunce) 137 commercialization and monetization 17, 25n16, 162; see also under corvee labor; taxation community compact (xiangyue) see under social organizations Comprehensive Record of Fuling (Fuling tongji) 31, 32, 36 conflicts between military and local civilian residents see land ownership: disputes Confucianism 56, 92–​94; see also temples: Confucian conscription 16–​17, 29, 30, 32, 33, 37, 50, 102, 151, 169, 174

Index  207 contracts and deeds see under sources corruption 37, 53–​54, 106, 133, 145, 149, 158, 160 corvee labor 6, 16, 35, 47, 58–​59, 61, 102, 111, 142, 169; commutation of 17, 47; exemption from 6, 31, 48, 88, 129, 131, 136, 169; rotation of duty 51, 133, 134; see also household registration system Daoism 66, 69–​72, 75, 78 Daozhou Battalion (Hunan) 28 Datong (Shanxi) 87, 88, 91–​92 Deng Maoqi uprising 43, 54 Deng Si uprising 27 desertion, military 17, 68, 77–​78, 84–​85, 128, 150, 151, 160, 171, 174; from colonies 29, 33, 37, 42, 46–​47, 105, 131, 149, 176; disincentives 33, 47; effect on family structure 169–​170; incentives 33, 46–​47, 105, 149, 151, 160, 174 Dragon Spirit (longshen) see under ritual and religion Duke Yan cult 66, 72–​74, 78 Dunhuang (Gansu) 21 Eight Banners see Banner system Eight Households of Nine Colony Battalions 133–​143 empire: and ethnicity 15, 82–​83; flexibility 99; as institution 11, 83, 110, 125; and local societies 15, 82–​83, 125 ethnicity: classification 16, 82–​83; imperial institutions’ effect on 15, 16, 18–​20; see also under identity examinations see civil service examinations expansion, territorial see borderlands family deity (jiashen) cults 100 family retainers (jiapu) 105, 111 Fan (aborigines/​indigenes) 110, 115–​118, 126n1; see also Xifan;  Yao Faure, David 13, 19–​20 fieldwork see under methodology fishing 73–​77, 78 folklore see under sources fortresses and stockades 27, 33, 48, 59, 60, 62, 65, 72, 76, 83, 85, 87, 93–​95, 107–​108, 117–​124, 130, 138 frontiers see borderlands

Fu Yiling 9, 11, 13 Fuchuan County (Guangxi) 30 fuji see household registration, attached Fujian 10, 17, 42–​64, 135 gaitu guiliu see under native chieftancy system Gansu 4, 19, 21, 115–​127 garrison (weisuo) system 5–​6, 14, 16; administration of territory by 5, 17, 22, 82, 83, 128–​129; coastal 65; decline of 83–​86, 104–​106, 128, 166, 168–​169 (see also desertion); dissolution in Qing 4, 8, 20, 22, 31, 36–​37, 46, 116, 119, 133, 142, 150, 167, 172; reform of 44–​45, 83–​84, 142; regional variation 79, 104, 135, 148, 161, 167; statistics 6, 29, 68, 74–​75, 131, 167–​168, 170; survival of 128–​129; see also Barracks system; conscription; desertion; military colonies; military households; military institutions of Ming; schools; tribute grain system gazetteers: compilation of 92–​93; see also under sources Geertz, Clifford 11, 14 gender and religion 74 genealogies: compilation of, 6, 19, 51, 53, 108–​109, 111, 118, 136, 138, 161; “shared” 132–​133; as sources 1, 10, 31, 35, 83, 86, 88, 101, 116, 118, 131, 134, 135, 137, 152, 167, 171, 173, 175, 177 geography: historical 128; see also military institutions of Ming, influence: on geography; mobility, geographic God of the Wall see City God Gongcheng County (Guangxi) 30 granaries 137, 156 Grand Canal 7, 8, 156–​158, 175 Green Shoots (crop protection) Association (qingmiao hui) 115–​127 Green Standard Army (Qing) 8, 20, 123, 166, 172 Guangdong 30, 135 Guangxi 19–​20, 30 guanhua see language: official Guards (wei) 5–​6 see also garrison system Gudiao village (Hunan) 30 Han identity see under identity Hebei 4–​5, 15, 22, 83–​98 hereditary military service see under military households

208 Index historical anthropology (lishi renleixue) see anthropology; South China school historiography: “from below” 13, 166–​167; economic 3, 13; global 3, 4, 23, 162; in Hong Kong 9, 13–​14; institutional 14–​16, 17, 128; interdisciplinary 13; local 11, 15, 118–​119; New Cultural History 14; New Qing History 20, 95, 162; New Social History 14; quantitative 13; social 1, 13, 17, 128; in Taiwan 9, 13, 14; Western 13–​14, 162; see also South China school Hongwu emperor 6, 7, 17, 37, 67, 69, 70, 72, 76–​77, 121, 166, 167 Hongwu reign (1368–​1398) 132 Hongzhi reign (1488–​1505) 44–​45, 50, 70, 71, 72, 86 hostages 60, 103 household registration system (lijia) 16, 48–​55, 83, 88, 102, 129, 133–​134; purchase of registration 58, 60 household registration, attached/​ dual (fuji; jiji) 17, 48–​49, 52–​55, 58, 60, 61–​62, 83, 136–​137, 170–​171; by affiliation 55, 134–​135, 137; indigenous families split into two registrations (yihu erji) 102–​103; and marriage 56; see also lineages; taxation:  dual Hua’nan xuepai see South China school Huangshabao (Hunan) 137 Huangzhou Guard (Hubei) 167, 178 Hubu see Board of Revenue Hui/​Huihui 3, 19; identity (see under identity); mosques 19, 123; rebellion (1863) 123–​124 Huizhou 10 Hunan 7, 17, 26–​41, 128–​144 identity (rentong) 19–​20; Chinese (as distinct from Han) 11, 18, 111; ethnic 8, 15, 16, 18–​20; Han 3, 4, 16, 19, 105–​110; Hui 3, 19; imposed; local 8, 12, 96, 117; military household and descendants 4, 19, 42, 108–​110, 117, 119, 121–​122, 130–​131, 135, 137, 138, 141; Xifan 4, 19; Yao 20, 36, 138; see also inclusion and exclusion inclusion and exclusion 12, 16, 20; see also identity internal colonialism 26, 82

irregular guards/​troops 30–​32, 35–​37, 116 Islam see Hui/​Huihui jiashen (family deity) cults 100 jiading (private soldiers) 104 Jiajing reign (1507–​1566) 69, 74–​75, 84–​85, 105 Jiangnan region 75 jiapu (family retainers) 105, 111 jidian see ritual and religion: military jiji see household registration, attached Jintian Battalion (Hunan) 28 Jinxiang Guard (Zhejiang) 18, 65–​81 Jizuiying (Hunan) 34–​35 junhu see military households juntun see military colonies junyu see supernumeraries Kangxi emperor 141–​142 Kangxi reign (1661–​1722) 53, 86, 108, 123, 133, 155, 176–​177 “killer” soldiers (shashou) 27, 32–​35; descendants of 34; see also mercenaries land ownership 8, 16, 21, 34, 52, 83; alienation 17, 21, 45, 131, 135; certificate (youtie) 8, 120; disputes, 19, 30, 51, 54, 87–​88, 117–​120, 122, 124, 138; to finance education, 50, 59; and marriage 56; sacrificial 50, 60, 135, 159; see also under military colonies; see also sources: contracts and deeds land registration and surveys 37, 90, 108, 141; exemption from 37, 88 lang bing (wolf soldiers) 37 language: Cantonese 35; dialects 34–​35; official (guanhua) 35; ritual and symbolic 19; translators 115, 122; written 130; see also under Manchu legal system: access to 110; popular attitudes towards 115; unofficial 124 Li lineage of Ningfan 108 Li lineage of Taiping 48–​50, 56–​57, 58, 61 Li lineage of Yuzhou 86–​89 Liang Fangzhong 9, 13 Libu (Board of Personnel) 94 lijia system see household registration system Lin lineage of Dapu 50–​54, 57, 60 Lin lineage of Hongbu 50–​53, 57, 58, 60

Index  209 Lin lineage of Lingbian 50–​54, 57, 60 lineage organization 141, 142, 159–​160, 165n35, 169–​170, 177; genealogies (see genealogies); military (see military households); see also undertribute grain system; see alsounder individual lineages by surname lishi renleixue see South China School Liu Zhiwei 13, 16, 19, 142, 165n35 local defense and security 59, 62, 69, 85, 87, 123–​124; see also bandits; pirates; rebellions local elites 6, 8, 20, 57–​59, 61–​62, 67, 85–​87, 91–​95, 118–​119, 137, 138, 142; Hui 123; see also marriage; mobility, social localization 17, 22, 43, 48–​55, 58–​59, 61–​62, 86–​89; of institutions 65–​81 logistics see military colonies; tribute grain system Longqing reign (1567–​1572) 34 longshen see ritual and religion: Dragon Spirit Manchu (ethnic group) 20, 22, 87–​88, 162; language 20 Mao Zedong 7 maritime ban see under trade market forces see commercialization marriage 17; dowry 58; between military and civilian households 55–​56, 58, 62; inter-​ethnic 99, 104; networks 43, 55–​58 Mei Kui 76–​77, 79 memory, historical 2, 14, 23, 99, 116–​117; of Ming military ancestry 108–​109, 111, 135, 138, 142; mercenaries 17, 31, 166; source of pay 33; see also “killer” soldiers; recruitment methodology 1–​2, 79, 83, 125, 145–​146, 166–​167; fieldwork (pao tianye) 1, 8–​9, 10, 12–​13, 15, 43, 83, 101, 128–​132, 134, 137, 139, 146, 167; see also sources migration see mobility, geographical military colonies (tuntian, juntun) 6, 7, 26–​64; changes to taxation regime 131–​135; civilianization 17, 45, 131; colony head (tunjia) 54; encroachment on 27, 29–​30, 37, 42, 44, 54, 87–​88, 105, 118–​120, 131–​134, 149; land acquisition 7, 44–​45, 129; usage

rights as pay or reward 31–​32, 33, 36, 37, 38; land reclamation 30–​31, 36, 47, 48, 124, 137–​141; location of 7, 28, 129; personnel of 26–​27, 45–​46; private ownership of land 8, 17, 21, 108 (see also, under this heading, encroachment); reforms 44–​45; renting out land 29, 37, 131, 176; statistics about 7, 29, 42, 43, 45–​46, 131, 149; supernumeraries as tenants in 33, 45, 131; see also desertion: from colonies; land ownership; localization military households (junhu) 6, 14, 61, 129; adoption into 49; civilianization 128–​144 ; composite 45; division of, prohibited 49; hereditary positions 4, 65, 105, 107, 116, 146; localization see localization; “residing in native place” (yuanji junhu) 6, 151, 160, 161, 169, 171; surveillance of 102; tribute-​grain (see tribute grain system); see also corvee; identity; memory, historical; supernumeraries; taxation military institutions of Ming, evolution of 16–​18, 23, 26–​27, 33–​35, 128–​129, 171; see also civilianization military institutions of Ming, influences and legacies 13, 15: on ethnicity 2, 3, 4, 15, 19–​20, 36; failures 8, 38; on geography 2, 7, 82, 142; during Ming 2, 16–​18; on minority nationality status 82–​83; in PRC 2, 7, 82–​83, 130; in Qing 2, 7–​8, 19, 20–​23, 30–​31, 36–​37, 54, 65, 83, 82–​96, 108, 110–​ 111, 116–​127, 128, 166; in ROC 2, 8, 94–​95, 135; statistics about 42; from Yuan 3, 6, 16, 22; see also mobility, geographic; mobility, social; trade, military colonies, military households; garrisons militia, civilian 26, 35, 59, 62, 75, 76, 78, 123–​124, 138 Ming dynasty 72, 76–​77, 83, 168–​169 Ming History 118–​119 Ming-​Qing transition 20, 61, 95–​96, 108, 116, 125, 142, 173 Ministry of Personnel 94 Ministry of Rites 70 mobility, geographic 7, 17, 30, 34–​35, 58, 86–​88, 138–​143, 148; ethnic corridor (minzu zoulang) 129–​130

210 Index mobility, social 17, 56–​59, 61–​62 monetization see commercialization; taxation Mongols; conflict with Ming forces 84; see also military institutions of Ming, legacies: from Yuan mountain passes, defense of 107, 138; by indigenous people 30–​32, 35–​37, 116 Muslims see Hui/​Huihui names: generational characters in 109; indigenes taking Han surnames 105–​107, 109–​111, 118; see also place names Nanling mountains 30, 128–​144 native chieftaincy system (tusi, tuguan) 5, 14, 18, 102, 116–​118; replacement by imperial officials (gaitu guiliu) 18, 102 native place see military households: “residing in native place” navy and naval actions 68, 76, 77; Duke Yan as deity of 72, 78 Ningfan (Sichuan) 4, 19, 99–​114 Ningxi Battalion (Hunan) 128–​144 Ningxi Battalion Gazetteer (Ningxi suozhi) 129, 132–​137 Ningyuan Guard (Hunan) 28, 33 northeast China region 79 northwest China region 15, 79, 104, 115–​116, 123 Old Man Yang (Yangfu) cult 66, 74–​77, 78–​79 pao tianye see methodology: fieldwork paying (dual) taxes to both the county and Battalion (xiansuo liangxiang baona), 31, 35–​36, 38, 40n34, 83 People’s Republic of China (PRC), territorial claims of 20; see also military institutions of Ming, influence:  in PRC Pingyang County (Zhejiang) 71 Pipa Battalion (Hunan) 28–​29, 36 pirates (wokou) 43, 59, 68, 69, 71, 76–​79; see also bandits place names 36, 139, 141 postal routes see under transportation Principles of Tribute Grain Service (Caowu zeyao) 146–​147, 156–​159 private soldiers (jiading) 104–​106, 111 public works 62, 138

Qianlong reign (1736–​1795) 123 Qing dynasty 83, 125, 162; see also Banner system; Manchu (ethnic group); military institutions of Ming: legacies in Qing qingmiao hui see Green Shoots Association Qingshuijiang (Guizhou) 10 rebellions and uprisings 27–​28, 34, 43, 54, 87, 102, 107, 123–​124, 133, 135, 138, 141–​142 Record of Military Appointments (Wuzhi xuanbu) 86, 87 recruitment of soldiers 26–​27, 30–​32, 33–​37, 75, 76, 78, 104–​106; military service certificate (jundan) 120; see also conscription; mercenaries religion see ritual and religion rentong see identity research methods see methodology ritual and religion 9, 18: ancestral sacrifice 138; and architecture 100; blood oath 69; communal drinking ceremony 86; Dragon Spirit 117, 120, 122, 124; as dynamic not static 1–​2, 12–​13, 34; and gender 74; Grandfathers of the Five Kingdoms (wuguo laoye) 121; indigenous pre-​ empire 75, 78, 100; interaction of military and civilian 65–​81; licentious cults (yinci) 69, 77, 78; of lineages 4, 60; military (jidian) 66–​69; origins and evolution of 12–​13, 34, 68–​69, 75–​76; processions 12, 74, 122; recognition and regulation of 69, 122–​123; specialists 10, 68, 70–​71, 79; unifying function in military 69, 77, 78–​79; and weather 76, 122; see also Hui/​Huihui; sources: religion and ritual; see also under individual cults Robinson, David 3, 98n37 Ruyuan County (Guangdong) 30 salt trade 25n16, 73 schools 5, 6, 16, 60, 62, 83, 87, 92–​94, 105–​106, 123, 136; see also civil service examinations: education for; students self-​sufficiency of military see military colonies Seven Associations of the Walled Fort and Settlements (chengxiang qihui) 119–​120 Shanxi 87, 88, 91–​92

Index  211 Shijian (Hunan) 34–​35 Shunzhi reign (1644–​1661) 133, 150 Sichuan 4, 19, 99–​114 Sinicization 18, 20, 125, 162 social networks 8, 12, 118–​119; see also marriage social organizations 8, 19, 34, 87, 115–​127, 137–​141, 161–​162; community compact (xiangyue) 85, 119, 123; official recognition of 123; trans-​regional  179 Song dynasty 40n34 sources 1, 8–​12; ancestral halls 10; architecture 100; boundary stones 117–​118; context and local knowledge 10; contracts and deeds 10–​11, 101, 116, 120, 122, 124, 132 (see also land ownership); destruction of 13, 118; folklore, legends, and oral history 13, 18, 34, 73, 99, 104; gazetteers 31, 34, 43, 45, 46, 85, 90, 129, 132–​134, 168, 169; genealogies (see genealogies); inscriptions 10, 34, 76, 85, 101, 116, 132, 134, 135; religious and ritual texts and practices 10, 12, 14, 18, 34; temples 1–​2, 10, 34, 68–​72, 134; traditional treatment of 11–​12; South China school (Hua’nan xuepai) 1–​2, 9, 19–​20; and historical anthropology 14; as distinct from local history 11; and Western historiography 13–​14 southeast China region 17, 72–​79, 104, 111, 135, 141 southwest China region 35, 111 state-​building, responses to 22, 23 state-​society relations 11, 16, 22, 161–​162, 165n35, 167, 170 status, social: bribery and 53–​54; and cultural success 58, 138; of former military families 42, 117, 121–​122, 135, 138; marriage and 56–​58; of tribute-​grain families 161; see also ancestral halls: constructing; ancestral tombs; genealogies: compilation; temples: constructing stockades see fortresses students 177: protests by 90; quotas for 5, 6, 91, 94; rights of 92–​94; see also civil service examinations suo see Battalions supernumeraries (junyu/​yuding) 6, 88, 169, 171; and private trade 106; as tenants of colony lands 33, 45 surnames see names

Taiping Rebellion 138 Tang dynasty 75 Tang lineage of Dali 54–​55, 58, 62 Taochuan Battalion (Hunan) 27–​30, 33 Taozhou (Gansu) 19, 115–​127 taxation 7, 33, 14, 16, 91, 111; collection 28, 50, 54, 59, 62, 91, 122, 134, 145; on colony lands, 42, 44, 45–​47, 54; commutation 17, 33, 46–​47, 91, 94–​95; dual (xiansuo liangxiang baona) 31, 35–​36, 38, 40n34, 83; exemption from 31, 38, 88, 129, 133; local 8, 22, 31, 33, 35, 37, 62, 91; statistics about 31, 46, 55; see also civilianization; tribute grain system tea-​horse trade 102, 115–​116, 121 temples 65–​81; Confucius 92–​94; constructing 50, 92–​93; damage and repair 68, 69, 71, 78; lands 124; legitimacy of (see ritual and religion: licentious cults); litigation 71; see also ritual and religion; sources: temples territorial administration by garrisons see under garrison system territorialization see localization Three Feudatories rebellion 141–​142 Tibetans see Fan; Xifan; see also identity toponyms see place names trade: international 3, 162; maritime ban 3; private 115–​116, 156; see also tea-​horse  trade transportation 27–​28, 31, 37; Grand Canal; postal routes 27; see also tribute grain system tribute grain system (caoyun) 14, 21, 22, 129; barges of 146–​148, 151, 154–​157, 178; disputes 177–​179; and Duke Yan cult 73–​74; financing of 149, 157–​159, 175, 176 (see also lineage corporate estates under this heading); garrisons supporting 73, 180; lineage corporate estates to support 159, 160, 177, 179; organization of 149, 150, 154–​157, 173, 178; origins 173; private trading by soldiers 156, 180; provinces involved 146, 166; procedures 156–​157, 175; reforms 149–​150, 178, 179–​180; rotation of duties 155, 160, 164n20, 175; staffing 151–​154, 160; statistics on 146, 149–​151; surveillance of 160–​161 tunhui (colony association) (tunhui) 137 tunjia (colony head) 54 tuntian see military colonies tusi see native chieftaincy system

212 Index Wang lineage of Mianning 100, 107, 109 Wang Mingke 14 Wanli reign (1572–​1620) 50, 85, 104 watchtowers and signal towers 65, 76 wei see Guards weisuo see garrison system Wenzhou (Zhejiang) 15, 71 Wenzhou Guard (Zhejiang) 68 white stone cult 100 wokou see pirates wolf soldiers (lang bing) 37 Wu Sangui rebellion 133, 135 Wu Tao 111 xiangyong (braves) see militia, civilian xiangyue see social organizations: community compact Xie Shijin 146–​147, 156, 158 Xifan (Western Aborigines; Tibetans) 4, 19, 99–​114 Xing Ningyi (Xing “Arousing Unity”) 134, 137, 142 Xing Yongchao 135, 141 Xinjiang 7, 21 Yangfu cult see Old Man Yang cult Yanshiying village (Hunan) 34 Yao (ethnic group) 20, 27, 30, 40n34, 130, 136, 138; “cooked” (pacified) 27, 30–​31, 35, 37–​38, 111, 138; identity (see under identity); rebellion by 138 Yin Geng 85, 88

yinci see ritual and religion: licentious cults yingbing see Barracks Yizhang County (Hunan) 137 Yongchun County (Fujian) 43–​64 Yongle emperor 172 Yongle reign (1402–​1424) 68, 72 Yongming County (Hunan) 31, 33, 37 Yongzheng emperor 90 Yongzheng reign (1723–​1735) 86, 108 Yongzhou Guard (Hunan) 26–​41 Yongzhou Prefecture (Hunan) 26–​27, 37 Yu Zhijia see Yue Chih-​chia Yuan dynasty 101; see also military institutions of Ming, legacies: from Yuan yuanji junhu see military households: “residing in native place” yuding see supernumeraries Yue Chih-​chia 128, 169, 171, 172 Yuelutiemuer uprising 100, 102 Yuxian County (modern; Hebei) 15, 83 Yuzhou County (Ming era; Hebei) 83 Yuzhou Guard (Hebei) 4–​5, 22, 83–​98 Zhao Shiyu 19, 110–​111, 128–​129 Zhejiang 10, 18 Zheng Zhenman 13, 135, 141, 165n35 Zhengde reign (1505–​1521) 47 Zhengtong reign (1436–​1449) 68, 170 Zhili 90–​92, 94 Zhu Yuanzhang see Hongwu emperor Zhuang (ethnic group) 30